The Craigslist Murders - Brenda Cullerton [61]
“Deena, I don’t know what to say. Except to tell her the answer is ‘no’ again. Tell her you’re perfectly willing to pay the $53,000 tuition. But you have to draw the line somewhere …”
This was the dilemma, wasn’t it? thought Charlotte.
Parents didn’t know how to say “no” anymore. They didn’t dare. Only children did.
Charlotte believed that children often longed to hear the word. There was safety and certainty in the word “no.” It implied that there were rules; that there was someone to rely on who was wiser, older, smarter. And what about sending tweenies off on private jets for shop-til-you-drop tours of Paris, then shipping them off to a $70,000 “tough love” wilderness camp in Utah? Vicky had “shared” her latest plans for her daughter before leaving for Botswana. How tough could love be at seventy grand?
Was it all the fat from their asses being injected into their faces that had turned parenting upside down—that had made rich, educated grown-ups so intimidated by their children that Charlotte had seen mothers down on their knees on the street, begging and bribing kids to stop screaming? Is this what had turned so many toddlers and teenagers into tyrants? Is this why daughters dreamt of being as thin as famine victims or becoming boys, while sons annihilated themselves with drugs and booze?
Making a desultory effort to clean up her kitchen after her solitary breakfast, Charlotte thought, once again, of her own mother; of how many ugly betrayals and humiliations there had been. Wandering off towards her bedroom, she stepped into her closet and reached for a wide, pinstripe Comme des Garcons cotton shirt, a pair of orange silk Turkish pants, and a Beene scarf.
Charlotte knew that she had to stop the thinking, the thawing. She had to work. Pavel had opened up an account in her name at Commerce Bank to cover the decorating expenses. “I trust you,” he’d said, holding her hands in his before giving her the checkbook. The opening balance was small, only $200,000. The rest would be wired from an account in Cyprus. Charlotte had been tempted to “borrow” $8,000 to pay off her Amex debts from this account. She’d cover it with mark-ups. But she resisted.
Pavel had paid Max for the cassa panca himself. But Charlotte had covered thousands of dollars more from her own account: fabrics at the D&D, the Murano lamp, and the restored commode that she’d bought from the new dealer downtown. Then there was the $40,000 for curtain hardware: the custom-made poles, finials, brackets, and rings. She’d spend a couple of hours tallying up her totals and then, maybe, head out to East Hampton.
A new client had offered her a limo and two nights at the Maidstone Inn. It would be good to get of town. There’d been a message on her machine from Gina, too.
“I can’t wait to see you, Charlotte,” she’d said. “So please don’t forget our appointment. Oh. And bring cash!”
37
The new client’s chauffeur was driving her back from East Hampton when she saw the sign. Stuck at a dead halt somewhere between exits 31 and 35, she erupted into a burst of laughter. There it was on the side of the road: “Adopt-A-Highway. Litter Control Next One Mile. Rita and Abe Brickman.” Rita had mentioned hiring a publicist; but this was just too good.
Sticking her name on the L.I.E. where every social-climbing slob in an S.U.V would see it on their way back from the beach! And you’d think they could afford to clean up two miles, wouldn’t you? One mile made them seem so cheap. Dabbing at her eyes, Charlotte phoned her branch of the Commerce Bank to check her balance. There was still no money in her account. Pavel had handled the wire transfer before he left for Moscow. She’d stood right next to him when he made the call. So what had happened? He couldn’t have lied, could he?
Commerce was the only bank in town open seven days a week. Dumping her bag in the hallway of the loft, she rushed back downstairs, and hailed a cab. A conversation with the bank manager uptown accomplished nothing.
“I’ve checked the account twice,