An Ex to Grind (17 page)

He continued to rescue me (he even invoked the "damsel in distress" label again). As he helped me gather up the assorted items that had fallen, my thoughts drifted back to Dan, as they always did. I began to refocus on the matter of who would keep track of whether or not Leah stayed over. Who would agree to be my spy? Who?

"Well, I guess that's everything," said Evan once we were upright, all my possessions safely back in my arms. "This is what we get for not living in a building with a doorman, right?"

"Doormen sure are handy," I agreed. "Except when you have to tip them at Christmas."

And then the solution to my latest Dan problem dawned on me: Ricardo.

"Want to stop by for a glass of wine once you get your stuff unpacked and put away?" Evan asked as we walked up the three flights together. He held my elbow as we mounted the stairs, was careful of me, protective. I noticed and I was grateful. "This very thoughtful neighbor of mine sent me an enormous basket with all kinds of fruit and cheese, so we won't go hungry."

"Oh," I said, remembering I'd asked Steffi to send it. "The basket. It's just a token of my appreciation for the other night." I felt my face turn as purple as one of Desiree's caftans as I relived the flashing incident.

"I got the basket and now I want to share it," he said. "How about coming over for an hour or so and I'll take a painting break?"

"Can't, sorry," I said. And I was sorry. I would have enjoyed spending more time with Evan, but I had pressing business to attend to.

"You can't or won't come over?" he said as we stood in front of my door.

"I can't," I said. "But I appreciate the offer. Really."

"Hot date?"

Well, yes. But why mention that it was Dan's hot date I was running off to? "Actually, it's that project I've been working on," I said. "It's taking up all my free time, but I think it'll be worth it in the end."

"Sounds mysterious." He arched an eyebrow at me. "You're not plotting a hostile takeover, are you? You can never tell with you financial types."

Since a hostile takeover of Dan was exactly what I was plotting, I simply said good night to Evan and hurried inside my apartment.

I arrived at my old building a few minutes before seven-thirty—late enough for Leah to have already fed Dan a few hors d'oeuvres but early enough for Ricardo to still be on duty. His shift ran from seven-thirty in the morning until seven-thirty in the evening, at which point the night doorman took over.

"Hi, Melanie," said Ricardo after he revolved me through the revolving door into the lobby. "No Buster?"

"No Buster," I said. "I'll be bringing him by on Monday morning."

"Then you came to see Mr. Swain?" He loosened his tie and wiggled his neck around, the way men do when they're extremely uncomfortable. "He's already got company."

"I'm aware of that, Ricardo. I have no interest in going up there," I assured him. Well, I had
some
interest.

"So how can I help you tonight?"

I linked my arm through his and walked him a few steps away from his post. "Actually, I'm here to help you."

Ricardo and I had never been chummy, so he was understandably puzzled.

"I've been thinking about how well you do your job," I began. "I may not live here anymore, but there's no mistaking what a professional you are. I remember the first time I met you. I thought, Wow. This man gives his very best, day in and day out."

He puffed out his chest. "I try. Sometimes the people here don't appreciate what I do for them. Signing for their FedExes. Locking up their valuables in the storage room. Sending up their Chinese takeout deliveries and getting duck sauce on myself when the bag leaks."

"Who wouldn't appreciate all that?" I said with the proper outrage.

He shrugged. "But I'll tell you who does appreciate it: Mr. Swain. He'll say, 'Here, Ricardo,' and hand me a twenty. Just to be a good guy."

I gritted my teeth as I pictured Dan making similar Lord Bountiful gestures all over town. What fun it must be to be generous with someone else's money, I thought. "As I recall, you have five children to support, so every little bit counts, right?"

"I have six now," he said, clearly pleased to have spread his seed yet again. Never mind that he hadn't gotten around to marrying any of the children's mothers.

"Six, huh? Gosh, that's a lot of mouths to feed."

"You're telling me."

"All the more reason why it's high time I repaid you for all the Chinese takeout deliveries you sent up for
me
."

"What do you mean?"

I dipped into my wallet, pulled out five hundred dollars, and greased his palm with it. "Buy your kids some toys."

I thought he'd pass out when he saw the amount.

Five hundred was a lot of money, but I figured that even if Leah was a bust, it could be applied to Dan's adventures with Desiree's next client. The main thing was to bond with Ricardo. "You deserve every penny," I said.

He looked at me with shimmering new respect and thanked me over and over. And then he uttered the magic words. "If there's anything I can ever do for you, Melanie, name it."

I feigned surprise, as if the idea of reciprocity had never occurred to me. "There's nothing I need at the moment." I sighed, let a beat go by. Then: "Although I'm worried about Mr. Swain."

"Worried about him? Why?"

"Well, ever since our divorce he's been horribly depressed," I said. "Okay, suicidal, if you want the truth." Ricardo didn't need the truth, so why bother him with it? "I can't sleep at night, knowing he's so down in the dumps that he might—" I instructed my lower lip to quiver.

"Kill himself?" said Ricardo.

I nodded, trying and failing to coax out a couple of tears. "His psychiatrist is very, very concerned."

Ricardo shook his head in amazement. "You could have fooled me," he said. "He was whistling when he came in this morning, a big smile on his face."

I blinked through my nonexistent tears. "Part of that is the medication they've got him on now. It allows the depression to lift for short periods at a time."

"Like when he plays football in the park?"

"There you go. But his condition is still grave. So we've hired a caretaker for him, a woman named Leah who's supposed to stay with him at night, which is when he's most vulnerable, and prevent him from harming himself."

"You're talking about the babe who's up there now?"

The babe. So Desiree hadn't exaggerated when she'd described Leah. "Yes. The doctor is optimistic that if Leah spends every night with Mr. Swain for three months or so, he'll be free of his suicidal demons and begin to lead a normal life again."

"Man, oh man. This is wild. I had no clue. I'd hate it if something bad happened to him."

I resumed the lip quivering. "Nothing bad will happen if we can be sure that Leah stays up there with him at night."

"Why wouldn't she stay with him? You said she's the caretaker, so she's getting paid for it, right?"

"Right. But not everybody is as trustworthy as you are, Ricardo. Some people slack off on the job."

He looked at his watch and rolled his eyes. "Don't I know it. Donny, my replacement, should have shown up ten minutes ago for the night shift."

"I have to be certain that Leah shows up for the night shift and stays until morning. That's where you come in."

He nodded. "You want me to keep tabs on her?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. And Mr. Swain will be so much better for it."

"Anything for Traffic Dan Swain, Melanie. You too. You're both good people."

I thanked him and reached into my purse again, this time pulling out the small spiral-bound notebook I'd bought on the way over.

"I was planning to stop by here every morning, ask you if Leah had spent the night, and then enter her visitation record in this." I held up the notebook. "It was the doctor's idea. Apparently, Mr. Swain's insurance company requires proof of her consecutive dates of service. Seems like a lot of paperwork for nothing, but chalk it up to the crazy health care system we have in this country."

I know, I know. It's hard to believe I said all this with a straight face, but I did. I'm sorry. It's just that you have to size up the person you're trying to buy off and act accordingly.

"Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you let me mark down the dates this Leah is taking care of Mr. Swain?" Ricardo offered. "I'm right here every morning. No point in you coming over."

I gasped, as if to show my delight at his suggestion. "Oh, Ricardo. You sure you wouldn't mind?"

"Mind? Nah. Like I said, Mr. Swain has always treated me real good. And now you gave me all that money for my kids. It's the least I can do."

I handed him the notebook. "Then we have a deal. Nothing about this to Mr. Swain or Leah or anyone else, okay? It has to be our secret. Ours and the doctor's. If even a whisper about this came out in the press, Mr. Swain's career would be over." Like it wasn't already.

"Don't even think about it."

I thanked Ricardo again, and he thanked me again, and we both reiterated our mutual hope that three months under Leah's care would save Dan's life. There was no point in adding that it was mine we'd be saving.

As I walked away, wearing a self-satisfied grin, he called out to me.

"Melanie?"

I turned. "Yes?"

He hurried over to me, the spare change in his pocket jingling as he ran. "We forgot something," he said. "I'm off on weekends, so you'll have to find another way to keep an eye on the caretaker while I'm gone."

Damn. Damn! Ricardo had always seemed so ubiquitous that I really had forgotten he wasn't on duty Saturdays and Sundays. Now what? I needed backup!

"I'll figure it out," I said.

So I'd have to shell out more money. The question was: to whom?

Buster and I spent a quiet weekend together. He whiled away the hours thinking his happy doggie thoughts about food and water and comfy places to park himself, while I whiled away the hours thinking my obsessive human thoughts about Dan and Leah and the comfy place I hoped they were parking themselves. Desiree had gone to Chicago to visit her mother and new stepfather (she'd fixed them up, she was proud to tell me, adding that she'd only charged her mother half her usual fee), so I wouldn't be getting any feedback from her for a few days. And, of course, Ricardo wasn't around to spy for me until Monday. I felt totally frustrated that the lovebirds might be shacking up on both Friday and Saturday nights but that
I wouldn't be able to count those days. My frustration was only heightened by a chance meeting on Sunday.

Eager to get away from my neighborhood, where some sort of street fair was going on and it was so crowded and noisy that I couldn't concentrate on my paperwork, I decided to take Buster uptown, to my old neighborhood. We were walking along Fifth Avenue when I bumped into Wendy Winger, a semifriend because she used to be married to Ken Winger, the Giants quarterback when Dan was with the team.

Wendy, one of those people who not only gets too close to you when she talks and invades your personal space but who unwittingly spits on you, especially when she's pronouncing words beginning with p, came right up to me and said, "Melanie! Just the person I was thinking about!"