Have You Seen Luis Velez?(20)

“Okay,” he said. “Sorry.”

There it was again. The “sorry.” But maybe this one didn’t count. Because on the inside of the thing, he really wasn’t sorry at all.





Chapter Five




* * *



What Would You Think of a Boy Like That?

Raymond stood staring up at the apartment building. It made him feel intimidated, but not for the same reason the last building had. In fact, for exactly the opposite reason.

It was Saturday morning, and he had taken the subway to Midtown. He was only about six blocks from where his father lived. If his father and his new wife hadn’t been out of town for the weekend, Raymond could have walked. It was his weekend to be with his father, if his father had been home. They were going away more often on Raymond’s weekends, and Raymond blamed the new wife for it. He had a creeping sensation that she was doing it on purpose.

This time he felt as though the building were rejecting him. Judging him not good enough. As though the whole neighborhood were clutching its figurative purse more tightly under its arm and wondering who this interloper was and what he was doing here. And when he would give up and go away, so everything could breathe again.

To make matters worse, when he looked down he saw a uniformed doorman watching him. The man had not been at his post when Raymond had first walked up.

Raymond shoved the Spanish dictionary into his nearly empty backpack and moved closer to the man, who narrowed his eyes slightly. Almost imperceptibly.

“I’m looking for a Luis Velez,” Raymond said. “I need to talk to him for just a minute.”

“I can call up to him,” the doorman said, sounding skeptical, “but it’s up to the residents who I let up and who I don’t.”

“Thanks,” Raymond said.

He shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets, as if preparing for a very long wait.

“Who shall I say is here to see him?”

“Raymond Jaffe. But he doesn’t know me. But just tell him I’m a friend of Millie G. If he’s the right Luis Velez, he’ll know exactly what I mean.”

The doorman stepped behind a podium-like desk, a bellman’s desk, and made his call, purposely turning his face away so Raymond couldn’t read his lips or hear what was said. A few seconds later he hung up the receiver and stepped out again. But he didn’t move closer to Raymond. He walked to the glass main doors of the building, which opened into the lobby. He swung one open and just held it that way. It took Raymond a moment to realize it was an invitation.

“Go on up,” he said.

Raymond broke his statue-like pose and stepped up to the doors. He hadn’t expected it to go this way, he realized. He had fully expected to be turned away.

Did this mean he had found the right Luis Velez?

“Twenty-second floor, apartment B,” the doorman said.

Raymond didn’t answer. Just nodded. His heart was hammering in his chest now, his head swimming. He moved to the elevators as if in a dream. A middle-aged woman was waiting for the elevator as well. She had already pushed the button, so he just stood.

When the elevator arrived, and the door opened with a loud bing, it startled Raymond. He stepped on. The middle-aged woman did not. He looked at her questioningly. He even reached one hand out to hold the doors open.

“No, you go ahead,” she said. “I forgot something.”

The door closed and the elevator moved upward. It was fast, and smooth. And quiet. And something burned in Raymond’s chest as he watched the floor numbers light up. Because you might forget something in your apartment, before you go out. But what could you possibly forget in the lobby before you go back up?

The elevator stopped on 22, and Raymond stepped out.

As soon as he did, he saw a woman waiting for him. She was maybe thirty, or maybe in her early thirties. She wore a carefully styled and expensive-looking haircut. Short and modern. Silk lounging pajamas with a silk robe tied over them. It was an outfit that could be worn around the house or into a fancy dinner party. It was that nice. Raymond honestly could not tell if she was Latina or not. Just that she was clearly waiting for him.

Her eyes met his, and she was afraid. And Raymond had no idea why.

It made him more afraid. And he had been plenty scared to begin with.

“Are you Raymond Jaffe?” she asked. She had no accent. At least, no Hispanic accent. Her vowels did carry a slight New York City affect.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, moving closer to her open doorway.

“What do you want to see my husband for?”

Raymond felt something sag in his chest. She didn’t even know what he wanted. Why he had come. The doorman must not have told her. The sweet notion that he had found Luis, on only his second foray out into the world, flew away like a shy bird.

“I thought the doorman told you,” he said.

“Something about a woman. Millie somebody. And that my husband will know exactly what you mean.”

“So he did tell you.”

He was standing right in front of her now, but a respectful few steps back. Behind her in the apartment sat two massive German shepherd dogs. Black and tan, perfectly matching, and maybe close to a hundred pounds each. Raymond swallowed hard and kept his eyes on them. They looked at him, but made no move. There was a calmness about them, in their eyes. They were not worried about what might happen next. They just watched. Maybe they simply had no doubt about their ability to handle him. To handle anything.