One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [158]
“Paul Rice?” Thayer asked casually. “The Paul Rice? Who’s married to Annalisa? The society tartlet?”
Lola shrugged. “They’re super-rich. She rides around in a Bentley and has designers send her clothes. I hate her.”
“I hate them both,” Thayer said, and smiled.
Heeding the call to action, Mindy and Enid had scheduled an emergency meeting of the board. On her way down to Mindy’s, Enid paused outside Philip’s door. Sure enough, she heard voices—Lola’s and that of an unidentified man who, she assumed, was Thayer Core. Had Lola willfully misunderstood what she’d said? Or was she simply dumb? Enid knocked on the door.
Immediately, there was silence. Enid knocked again. “Lola?” she called out. “It’s me. I need to talk to you.” She heard hurried whispers, and then Lola opened the door. “Hi, Enid,” she said with false cheer.
Enid pushed past her and found Thayer Core sitting on Philip’s couch with a script in his hand. “Hello,” Enid said. “And who might you be?”
Thayer suddenly became the proper prep-school boy whose image he’d been trying to shed for the past five years. He stood up and held out his hand. “Thayer Core, ma’am.”
“Enid Merle. I’m Philip’s aunt,” Enid said dryly.
“Wow,” Thayer said. “Lola didn’t tell me you were Philip’s aunt.”
“Are you a friend of Philip’s?”
“Yes, I am. And of Lola’s. Lola and I were discussing my script. I was hoping Philip might be able to give me some pointers. But I can see you two have things to talk about,” Thayer said, looking from Enid to Lola. “I need to get going.” He jumped up and grabbed his coat.
“Don’t forget your script,” Enid said to him.
“Right,” Thayer said. He exchanged a look with Lola, who smiled stiffly. Thayer picked up the script, and Enid followed him into the hall.
They rode down to the lobby without speaking, which was fine by Thayer. His head was full of ideas, and he didn’t want to lose them by talking. In the past thirty minutes, he’d gleaned enough interesting material for several blog items. One Fifth was a hotbed of intrigue; perhaps he might create an entire series dedicated to the goings-on in the building. He could call it “The Co-op.” Or perhaps “The Lives of the Rich and Privileged.”
“Goodbye,” Enid said firmly when the elevator doors opened into the lobby. Thayer nodded at her and hurried out. All he needed to continue his attack on the residents of One Fifth was a steady supply of information. He turned over the script in his hand and smiled. It was the first draft of a screenplay by Philip Oakland with a working title of “Bloody Mary.” Philip Oakland would be furious if he discovered Lola had allowed an unfinished script to get out. And it wouldn’t get out as long as Lola was a good girl and played along. From now on, Thayer decided, Lola could come to his apartment. She would keep him up to date on the goings-on in One Fifth, and when she was finished talking, she could give him a blow job.
Enid rang Mindy’s bell. The door was opened by Sam, who had changed his mind about going to school, claiming he was sick. He led Enid into the tiny living room, where the three members of the board were engaged in a fierce discussion about Paul Rice.
“Can’t we force him to allow Time Warner into his apartment?”
“Of course. It’s the same as a handyman. And it’s affecting the other residents. But if he refuses, we have to get a letter from the building’s attorney.”
“Has anyone tried to talk to him?”
“We all have,” Enid said. “He’s impossible.”
“What about the wife? Maybe someone should talk to his wife.”
“I’ll try again,” Enid said.
On the other side of the wall, Sam Gooch lay on his bed, pretending to read his mother’s New Yorker. He’d left his door open so he could overhear the conversation. He looked up at the ceiling, feeling extremely pleased with himself. True, his actions had caused a great deal of trouble for everyone in the building, and he was scared to death of being found out, but it was worth it to get even