Envy(25)

She had just slid her suitcase from beneath the bed to begin packing when the telephone rang. She expected it to be the author. He’d probably invented some very good reasons why it was inconvenient or impossible for him to see her when she arrived tomorrow.

Bracing herself for a barrage of excuses, she answered with a cheerful, “Hello.” To her surprise, a man with a broad Brooklyn accent asked to speak with Noah. “I’m sorry, he isn’t here.”

“Well, I gotta know what to do with this key.”

“Key?”

“We don’t make house calls after hours, ya know. Only, see, Mr. Reed give me twenty extra bucks to get it here tonight. You his ol’ lady?”

“Are you sure you have the right Noah Reed?”

“Deals with books or something?”

“Yes, that’s my husband.”

“Well, he give me this address in Chelsea, said—”

“What address?”

He recited an address on West Twenty-second. “Apartment three B. He axed me to change out the lock yesterday, on account of he’d already moved some stuff in there and didn’t want old keys floating ’round, ya know? Only I didn’t bring an extra key yesterday, and he said he needed at least one extra. So I tole him he’d have it tonight.

“I’m here with the key, but the super’s out for the evening. There’s a note on his door, says call, but a call ain’t gonna help me, is it? I don’t trust leaving a key to Mr. Reed’s apartment with the neighbors. You never know about people, am I right?”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Huh?”

“You said some stuff had already been moved into the apartment.”

“Stuff. Furniture. You know, the kinda stuff rich folks have in their places. Rugs and pictures and shit. Could I afford nice stuff like that? Forget about it. All I know is, I’m ready to get my butt home and in my lounger on account of the Mets game. Only I don’ wanna offend Mr. Reed. He give me twenty extra—”

“Bucks. So you said. I’ll give you twenty more if you’ll wait for me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Maris left her building and practically ran the two blocks to the subway station at Seventy-second and Broadway. A taxi would take too long to get downtown. She wanted to see sooner rather than later the nice stuff that Noah had moved into an apartment in Chelsea that she knew nothing about. She wanted to learn sooner rather than later why he needed an extra apartment. And she wanted to know for whom he was having an extra key made.


* * *


Ivy clung to the old brick, contributing warmth and charm to the building’s exterior. Flowers bloomed in window boxes on either side of the narrow stoop, which was separated from street level by eight steps. The block was lined with similar buildings that had been quaintly refurbished by urbanites trying to create a neighborhood feel and recapture the spirit of a kinder, gentler, bygone New York.

The leaded glass entrance door was unlocked. The locksmith was waiting for Maris in the foyer. Somehow he had managed to zip a khaki jumpsuit over a belly that extended a good two feet beyond his chest. “Who buzzed you in?” she asked him after introducing herself.

“I ain’t a locksmith for nothin’,” he said with a snort. “Only, truth be told, it wasn’t locked. Too hot to wait outside. I was sweating like a pig.”

The air-conditioning was cooling her own damp skin, a dampness she attributed to being in close confines with other sticky passengers on the subway train. The stations were notorious for being drafty and frigid in the winter and completely airless in the summer. But she was also sweating anxiously over what she would find on the third floor in Apartment B.

“You wanna settle up with me?”

She looked at him quizzically, then remembered the promised twenty dollars. After paying him, she asked for the key.

“I gotta check it out first,” he told her. “It ain’t as easy as people think, making keys. I never leave one with a customer before seeing if it works okay.”

“All right.”

“There ain’t no elevator. We gotta climb.”

She nodded for him to precede her up the staircase. “Why didn’t you just go up, test the key, and then leave it in the apartment? Wouldn’t the door have locked behind you when you left?”

“Not the deadbolt. Besides, that’s all I need,” he said, speaking to her over his shoulder as they rounded the second-floor landing. “Something turns up missing, I’m the first one accused of stealing.”

“I doubt that.”

“I ain’t taking no chances goin’ into a man’s apartment when he ain’t there. Forget about it.”

He was huffing and puffing by the time they reached the third level. As he approached the door, he withdrew the spare key from the pocket of his jumpsuit and slipped it into the lock. “Pouyfect,” he said as he swung open the door. Then he stood aside and motioned for Maris to go in. “The light switch is there on your right.”

She felt for the switch and flipped it on.

“Surprise!”

The shout went up from fifty or so people, all of whom she recognized. Her mouth dropped open like a trapdoor. She pressed a hand to her lurching heart. Everyone was laughing over her dumbfounded expression.