Gotham Diaries Read online

  “Tandy? Oh my God, is that you?” a loud voice from behind her called. Tandy turned and looked over her dark sunglasses to find a very excited-looking Dana Trip smiling brightly in her face while getting a simultaneous manicure and pedicure. Dana, a tall, thin, fair-skinned strawberry blonde, was one of Tandy’s holdovers from college, someone she had avoided for the past year. Dana’s fortunes had been on the rise while Tandy’s spiraled down. Tandy resented Dana for the ease with which she’d stumbled into her life.

  Fresh from Omaha, Nebraska, Dana had not been looking for a husband, let alone a filthy-rich one. She had simply been trying to adjust to the fast pace of the East Coast. When she and Tandy were freshmen at Boston University, they lived across the hall from each other in the dorm. Dana had been a fairly quiet girl, attractive in a clean and wholesome way, as if she had been living in the fields among the cornstalks—rosy cheeks, clear baby-blue eyes, and shiny hair. She had been dull during their college years unless she was surrounded by boys, and then she affected a loud, grating laugh. When Dana moved to New York City after graduating at the bottom of the class, she took a position as an advertising assistant and married soon after. Women like her married well very easily, Tandy realized. Dana was tall, white, blond, buxom, and educated. It had not been difficult for her to snatch the multimillionaire Charlie Trip from his second wife. Dana had the unaffected persona down to a science: the sort of aloof demeanor that made a man chase her all the more.

  “Dana, it has been too long. You look radiant!” Tandy never gave a compliment she didn’t mean. Dana, who had lost some of her bloom after marrying, really did appear healthier. Maybe she had given up smoking.

  “Thank you. I am feeling wonderful, too. I’ve been involved with Shuram Alita, who is an amazing guru. Have you heard of Stonemark Forum?” Tandy nodded. She had heard people talking about it here and there. “Well, I’ve been working with them for the last year and a half. Shuram Alita is the founder, and he’s taken me under his wing. He has been a lifesaver to me. But listen, I could go on forever. Pull out your Palm Pilot, I know you have it with you, and let’s make a date for lunch.”

  Feeling a little hesitant but unable to think of an excuse quickly enough, Tandy reached into her handbag, a medium-sized chocolate Birkin she had purchased long ago. Dana was always a little nutty, even in school. She was into tarot cards and astrology and even went through a phase of trying to learn white witchcraft. Tandy did not feel like wasting any of her time listening to Dana ramble on about her encounters with a guru who was probably going to take her for all of her husband’s money. But then again, one never knew; maybe Dana could figure a way to help Tandy out of her misery. Maybe, Tandy thought, she could come up with a project that Dana and her husband could finance and support that would pay Tandy a salary or some kind of financial bonus. She would be ready to pitch an idea by the time their lunch arrived.

  After setting up the date, Tandy proceeded toward the very back corner of the shop to let the bikini-wax assistant know she was here to see Renata. “How are you, Tandy?” the assistant greeted her, with a sweet smile and a Portuguese lilt. “Go on in. She will be right there.” Tandy always showed up for a wax first thing in the morning, as soon as the salon opened. Coming in early assured that she would not have to wait and usually would not run into anyone she didn’t want to see. She also got Renata at her freshest.

  The small room reminded Tandy of a doctor’s examining room. She placed her purse on the floor and stepped out of her mules. After sliding off her panties and pants at the same time, she hung them on the hook by the door, careful to hide her underwear. Saddling up onto the table, covered in clean white paper, she did her normal glance around the stark white room to see if anything had changed. Everything remained the same. The photo of Renata’s granddaughter, the name plate engraved with Renata’s name, and the various products that helped heal and manage the waxing, such as Tend Skin, were perched in their assigned places. While the world changed, this room and Renata seemed to remain exactly the way they had been from the first day Tandy stepped in the door. Sitting naked from the waist down, with her arms wrapped around her legs, hugging them close, Tandy thought it was a relief to know that somewhere things remained the same.

  “Goood morning, Tandy!” Renata said with a bright smile as she flung open the door. Renata was about five feet tall and always wore white to highlight her natural skin color, which looked consistently tanned. Her thick black hair was pulled back in a bushy ponytail that bobbed from side to side as she spoke. “How are you? Things are good with you?” Her thick accent revealed her heritage, reminding her clients that they were receiving an authentic Brazilian bikini wax. Never mind that the Brazilian wax was not really Brazilian but an ode to Playboy magazine. But Renata was a consummate professional, and her waxing sessions were more than mere hair removal. They were also therapy sessions for her clients. Renata not only listened, she also offered advice through wonderful stories of the struggles of her family, her adolescence, of being a single mother after divorce, of being a grandmother. She had many clients, and most of them were VIP. Renata’s little room, filled with the scent of beeswax, was a place where worlds collided. Ironically, while Renata was discreet, she still liked for everyone to know with whom she worked, that they were part of a special crowd. She also liked to make connections, and she knew who knew whom.

  “You saw Dana Trip when you came in?” Tandy and Dana had both been clients for a long time, and Renata had seen them in the salon together in the past.

  Tandy lay back on the table with her sweater pulled above her belly button to avoid getting talc on her clothes. “Yes …” she answered as Renata angled her right leg, like that of a ballerina getting ready to make a pirouette.

  Renata dipped the wooden spatula into the hot wax and gently blew on it. “She told you about the Forum?” Renata spread the wax along the right side of Tandy’s groin. “She looks very good, don’t you think?”

  “She does,” Tandy agreed, wincing from the sting as Renata ripped the muslin from her skin.

  “She is so happy. She said she is living life like never before.” Renata continued applying the wax to the left side of Tandy’s groin.

  “Good for her,” Tandy managed, wishing that Renata could talk about something other than Dana’s new fad. Once again Renata ripped the muslin, smarting the tender skin. Now Renata tapped Tandy’s right leg, indicating that it was time for Tandy to lift it. Tandy placed the leg against the curve of Renata’s waist so that her small frame held Tandy’s thigh. It was this position that Tandy hated the most. She always felt so exposed, with her legs spread-eagled and her femininity open to all the world. Thank God no one ever walked in.

  Renata delicately handled the lips of Tandy’s vagina as she covered them in wax. “She said the Forum made her realize that it was time for her to leave her husband. She was not happy in her marriage and is ready to live life her way instead of the way he wanted.”

  Oh, the pain of the hairs tearing out of this soft spot on Tandy’s body made her eyes tear every time. Thank God Renata snatched the muslin quickly. “I hope she knows what she’s doing,” Tandy thought out loud.

  The cynic in Tandy figured that Dana had probably decided she would be better off single and rich than married to an overbearing man. Face it, most women dreamed of being free of their marriage at some point. And the possibility of being wealthy and single versus wealthy and married could poise the neglected women—or those at the opposite end of the spectrum, the micromanaged—to flee during that down moment in the cycle of matrimony. But sometimes, when the fantasy became the reality, life could get much harder. Tandy knew that sad fact all too well.

  During their marriage, Phil had handled all of the major financial affairs. He paid the mortgage, managed the portfolio, and kept all of the large items in check, or so Tandy thought. She paid the credit-card bills and everything related to the day-to-day management of the house and their charitable contributions. When Phil di
ed, Tandy was ready to handle the big business of her life. She knew there was some debt but figured the worst-case scenario would result in the sale of her apartment. But even that wouldn’t be so bad, since the apartment had increased in value so much since they’d bought it twelve years before. She would still have enough, including the insurance, to be comfortable for the rest of her life. The insurance policy was something that Tandy had been adamant about. She had insisted that Phil increase his coverage from two million to six million the year before he died. She had pestered him, and finally, he had taken care of it. Tandy had reasoned that Phil’s need to be reminded about the policy was an unwillingness to accept his own mortality. He figured he would be around forever. But Phil had high blood pressure and high cholesterol. He was about forty pounds overweight, did not exercise, and worked very very hard. Tandy did not want to take any chances. With his enormous love for her, Phil had to acquiesce. That was what he told her. He said he wanted to be sure she was well taken care of in case something happened to him.

  As Tandy continued to delve deeper into her thoughts and Renata applied more wax to her bottom, she got angrier. Phil had been so weak and untrustworthy. The day she went to their accountant’s office for the reading of the will and the explanation of the disbursement of the estate, Tandy had been optimistic. She knew she was going to be a wealthy woman. With their daughter set to enter college in a year, Tandy would be free. Instead, she discovered that her bastard of a husband had not known how to manage shit and had left her in debt to the tune of millions. Over the years he had run up horrendous debt that left her exposed to the realities of life. The first big blow came when Tandy asked about the insurance policy. The accountant was aware that Phil had investigated executing a new policy; but, he told Tandy, her husband never got around to actually signing it or paying anything on it.

  “What? He did what? You mean he never executed the insurance policy that he told me he got a year ago?” Tandy pushed her chair back, stood up, and began pacing the large conference room. “Okay, then. What did that stupid ass leave me? Will someone get me a drink? I know there’s some Scotch around here somewhere.” She felt a rage well up inside of her that she had never known before. “What about the apartment? If I sell that, I should be fine.”

  “Well, actually, Tandy,” the heavyset, oily-skinned accountant continued, “Phil had taken out a second credit line against the apartment. As you probably remember, there is a lien from the government because of back taxes still owed from last year. If you sell the apartment now, you will probably be able to cover the lien and repay one of the loans, but you won’t have much, if anything, left over.”

  Tandy sat back down at the head of the table as someone ushered a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and a Baccarat tumbler her way. After taking a deep swallow of the liquor, she began grabbing at straws, hoping for some relief. “What about the 401(k)?” she demanded.

  “That is at about five hundred thousand, but given some of the loans, you may be in a position where you have to use that money to pay them off. I suspect we can take some of it for general living expenses, but it will be tight. So that you know, your daughter’s trust is in good shape. Phil made sure to contribute to her trust, so that stands at two million dollars, which no one can touch. When Deja turns twenty-one, she gets full control of the trust. Until then, Phil instructed me to be the trustee, covering her school expenses and other pertinent costs.”

  Tandy cocked her head to the side as if trying to really hear what the man was telling her. “You mean Phil made sure her trust stands at two million dollars, which I cannot touch, and I am in debt? How am I supposed to live? What am I supposed to do?” Tandy shouted at the room. She was irate. The thought of how Phil had pretended to be so in love with her, always trying to be intimate with her, when he was such a lousy lover! His smelly breath and thick spit had kept her from ever wanting to kiss him on the lips. The way he had feigned undying love for her but in the end treated her like trash, leaving her near destitute while he made their daughter rich!

  Hell, all those years she served as PTA president and attended countless meetings; all those years she pretended that Deja’s awkward, overweight ass made her a fine ballerina at her painful recitals, when she was really the clumsiest girl onstage. Tandy had toiled for years, volunteering at Deja’s various schools, being on block duty in the dead of winter, chaperoning the class on boring field trips. She had even painstakingly coached Deja when she wanted to try out for the tenth-grade play. The poor thing had not been able to act worth a damn, but still, Tandy worked with her on posture and enunciation. Tandy was a good mother, and this was how Phil repaid her? If she could, she would dig him up and beat the living hell out him. Since then, in fact, she often had dreams that Phil was still alive. They would be walking along the beach hand in hand; she would turn and look up into his face, and then she would start beating him, punching him, and clawing at his droopy eyes. He would be too weak to fight back. She would see the blood on her hands and wake up.

  “Oooh …” Tandy winced again as the final tug of muslin pulled the remaining hair from the crack of her behind.

  Renata said, “So, Dana says she is going to be very smart about how she leaves her husband. She plans to sell property and even jewelry before she tells him. She definitely has a plan.”

  “I hope it works the way she plans.” Tandy didn’t care what happened to Dana. She would most certainly end up better than Tandy had.

  “All done,” Renata singsonged as she sprayed a disinfectant that stung Tandy’s bikini area as if it were an open cut. The pain reminded her that she had better come up with an idea to get out of her own situation quickly, otherwise this would be the last sixty-dollar bikini wax from J. Sisters.

  SEVEN

  “I TOLD you there would be some cuties at the gym this morning. See what you’ve been missing by not coming with me?” Manny teased Lauren as they entered her apartment building.

  “There were some hotties, but I couldn’t work out at the Harlem gym every day. I’d be distracted and feel like I would have to look good while I sweated. I’m better off in the fuddy-duddy gym over here on the Upper East Side, where the only eye candy is the occasional good-looking trainer.” Lauren laughed.

  “Suit yourself, but all you need to do is put on some spandex and pull that hair back, and you look better than any of the women in there. We had the best bodies in there this morning, and you know I’m telling the truth.” Manny always liked to let Lauren know that he appreciated how attractive she was.

  “Aren’t you sweet.”

  “I’m just telling the truth.”

  The warm scent of something delicious tickled their noses as Lauren and Manny stepped off the elevator and directly into Lauren and Ed’s foyer. “Mmm. Smells like Mr. Francis has already gotten started. I told him to make us some egg-white omelettes, fruit salad, waffles, and mimosas.”

  “Oooh, that sounds so good after that workout. But check out the treat I brought for us. We should hit this before we have brunch.” Manny removed a thick joint from his sport pack. Lauren hesitated and looked around the soaring octagonal foyer with multiple doors as if she thought Mr. Francis might pop out of any one of them. She and Manny had smoked pot together in the past, although not in the middle of the day.

  “How about we save that for a more festive occasion,” Lauren started, with her voice lowered. “I need to get some work done before tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, you keep it and think of me when you take that long drag,” Manny suggested as he pressed the joint into Lauren’s hand. He was sorry they wouldn’t indulge this afternoon. But by now Manny had discovered that occasionally, Lauren had a difficult time loosening up. She had to be in the right mood, and it had to be on her terms. But he figured she could enjoy the reefer when the spirit hit her.

  “Listen, Manny, I need to take a shower real quick. I’m getting itchy from the sweat. Why don’t you wait for me in the library and check out the papers. See who
made the style page. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Okay, Lauren, but hurry up. I don’t want to be down here by myself for long.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick,” Lauren said, bounding up the stairs two at a time.

  Manny noted to himself, surveying the palatial digs that overlooked Wollman Skating Rink in Central Park, that when she and Ed decided to sell, he would make a huge commission. The place had to be worth twenty million today, and more than that in a couple of years. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that he was so intimate with one of the world’s wealthiest people. Who could have known when he was growing up that this was where he would be?

  Clarice Marks would have been so proud if she had lived to see him hanging out with the rich and famous, Manny thought. His mother always wanted to be around people like this, she just never knew how to fit in. Poor thing always tried too hard. His mother was the sort of woman Tandy would have ripped to shreds for her overeagerness. Sadly, Birmingham’s equivalent of Tandy Brooks had spent years alienating Manny’s mother from every social group the small Alabama city had to offer black folks. Even though Clarice had memorized Emily Post’s book of etiquette from cover to cover and had a husband who made a respectable living for his family, she never mastered the art of social graces. Her efforts were overbearing and clumsy, usually resulting in scaring off or insulting would-be important social acquaintances. In short, she was gauche and desperate for acceptance. Manny had watched his mother’s pained attempts at social climbing and promised himself that he would not make the same mistakes on his own carefully charted ascent.

  Manny sat down on the small leather sofa in the library, a dark salon encased in oak paneling and bookshelves. One small window faced the street, but the black wooden blinds and dark olive drapes hid the view. As Manny began rifling through the Sunday papers that sat on the wooden coffee table, Mr. Francis eased in without him realizing. “Hello, Mr. Marks.”