Lost and Found (7 page)

Larry hurries to the living room area and turns on the television. “Have a seat. I’ll bring you your ice cream in just a second.”

I walk over a really ugly rug that has an image of the Virgin Mary with Baby Jesus in her arms and sit on the worn plaid couch. My butt sinks almost to the floor.

“Here we go,” Larry says, coming out of the kitchen with two giant glass cups full of ice cream. “Rocky road sundae deluxe, just for you.”

I blink a few times, taking in all the sugar. “You didn’t have to make me a sundae. Wow. This thing is monstrous.” The ice cream dish is cold but my heart goes a little warm.

He sits down on the couch next to me, smiling at his ice cream like a little kid. “If you’re gonna go for it, I say, go big.”

I laugh as I look at the five scoops of ice cream layered with chocolate, whipped cream, and sprinkles in front of me. “Go big? I think you mean go fucking huge.”

He glances over his shoulder, a look of panic crossing his features.

I look behind us and see a photo of The Virgin looking at us.

“Are you worried she’s going to hear?” I jab my spoon at the picture.

“Kind of,” he half-whispers. “She gets all bent outta shape when she hears me swearing.”

I laugh, but he doesn’t laugh with me.

I pause. “Are you serious?” Now that I know he talks to his paintings, I’m a little worried about being in this apartment alone with him.

“Larry!” screeches a voice behind us.

My first bite of ice cream freezes in my throat. “What the fuck?” I accidentally drool part of the creamy goodness back into my cup.

Larry puts his ice cream down on the coffee table and jumps up. “Don’t go anywhere. I just gotta see what my Nona wants.” He takes off jogging down the hall and I’m left there in his living room, trying to decide if I should be laughing or running away.

The ice cream is too tempting. Digging in, I relish the perfect flavor-mixture of chocolate, whipped cream, marshmallows, and nuts. Talk about sex in a glass…

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Larry says when he comes back, grabbing his ice cream and plopping down on the couch next to me. He picks up the remote from his side table and aims it at the television. “She gets all freaked out when she hears voices. Says she can’t tell if they’re out here in the family room or in her head.”

He’s staring at the TV screen, pretending like he didn’t just reveal the fact that he’s taking care of a loonybird named Nona.

“Thanks for the sundae, Larry.” I chew slowly on my frozen marshmallows and chocolate chips, watching him. He’s not nearly as gross-looking when I have a ice cream in my hands. That’s not to say that he’s handsome, but he does have a certain …charm to him. Kind of like sloths do. Or Snuffleupagus.

“Yeah, sure, no prob.” He still isn’t looking at me. Apparently, the antiques road show is an enthralling program not to be missed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been mean to you,” I say, the load of my guilt almost to the point of exploding out of me. Bad karma. I totally deserve it. No wonder I stepped on that stupid ring.

He stops watching the show, but keeps his head down as he picks out his next bite. “You’re not mean. You’re just feisty.”

I smile at that. I don’t mind being called feisty.

“I like feisty women.”

Cringe. “Larry, I don’t mean to be mean, but I’m not ever going to go out with you.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I get it. I’m too much man for ya. You prefer those wispy guys. The guys with wet spaghetti for arms.”

I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing. “Yep. That’s what I like, all right. Pasta arms.”

He puts his legs up on the table and folds them at the ankles. “Well, if you evah feel like going out with a real man, you just let me know, a’ight?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll look you up.”

The screechy voice comes from the back room again. “Get your feet off the coffee table, Larry!”

Larry gets a panicked look on his face and quickly drops his feet to the floor.

I burst out laughing. This is the best sundae I’ve ever had. Ever.

Chapter Twelve

I THOUGHT COMING BACK TO the jewelry store would be easy. I mean, I pretty much know the guy who owns the place. But nope. It’s not easy. It’s freaking me out. I’ve come all the way over here on my day off and before I walk through the door I’m ready to take off in the opposite direction. Hello, hives. Where have you been? Oh, yes, sure, settle right into my armpit there. That’ll be fine. Not at all.

Mr. Goldman sees me through the glass and waves, standing up off his stool to come greet me.

Dammit
. The choice has been taken out of my hands. I push on the glass door and walk through, inhaling the mildewy scent and reminding myself that I’m not doing anything wrong.

It doesn’t really help, though. I feel very guilty for some reason.

“Good afternoon,” he says, glancing at his watch.

“Yeah, sorry about being late. I … uh … fell on the tracks. Of the subway. That’s why I’m late.”

Oh, God. It’s happening again.
The panic-lies are coming.

He lifts a brow. “That’s terrible.” He glances down at my legs. “Are you all right?”

The worry in his voice makes me feel terrible. I try to wave off his concern. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Luckily one of New York’s finest was there, and he jumped down and saved me. About ten people lifted us both up onto the platform and everyone cheered. It was really nice, actually.” I could totally picture it — people happy that lives had been saved, that we’d all pulled together as New Yorkers and helped one of our own. I smiled briefly at the crystal-clear yet totally bogus image I’d concocted in my brain. I’m probably going insane. That would explain a lot.

“I’ll be seeing it on the news tonight, I suppose.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “There were no cameras of any kind. No phones or anything. Everyone was too busy helping or cheering.”

What are the chances of
that
happening, of people in New York City not filming someone almost dying instead of actually helping? Zero. One in a billion, maybe. But I’m prepared to go all the way with this lie because it’s way better than dealing with the real reason I’m here.

That damn ring —
karma’s ass-kicking delivered in the form of a half-million bucks I can’t have. I must have been really bad my whole life to deserve this special kind of torture.

“That’s astounding.” He moves over to his desk and shuffles through some papers. “I’m glad you made it through okay.”

“Yeah, me too.” I move closer, hoping he’ll help me change the subject. “So, did you find any information about the ring?”

“I did. I’m just looking for the paper I wrote it on.”

His organizational skills look worse than Belinda’s, but he surprises me by slipping a yellow sheet of legal paper out of a pile and holding it up with a smile. “Here it is.”

He walks over slowly to the counter and stands opposite me. “I did a little digging, made a few phone calls, and came up with this.” He puts the paper down on the glass case and slides it closer to me. When he’s done pushing the paper, he turns on a small lamp that’s sitting nearby. “Can you read my writing? It’s not the best. Ever since my RA kicked in, it’s been difficult. My penmanship teacher is rolling over in her grave.”

I nod, not sure I know what he’s talking about. His writing is crap, though, that’s no joke. I point to the paper. “Does this say Harper’s?”

He squints at it and then turns the paper to face him. “No, actually it says Cartier. Fifth Avenue.”

I can barely swallow, my throat is suddenly so dry. “Cartier? The
jeweler
Cartier?” Oh my god. It’s right next to the damn fountain. Did the woman throw the ring in right after her boyfriend bought it? Why wouldn’t she just bring it back to the store? Who is she? The stupidest woman alive? She must be.

He looks up at me, confused. “I’m sorry … I don’t follow.”

I wave my hand around, maybe to try and dissipate the fog that has gathered around my brain. “I’m just messing with you. Of course you mean Cartier the jeweler on Fifth Avenue, just the most expensive jeweler in the entire world.”

“Some would argue that title goes to Harry Winston.”

I laugh really loudly, kind of barking it out like a hyena. “Really? More expensive than Cartier?”

“I suppose it depends on the piece. But Harry Winston has the Hope Diamond right now.”

For the life of me, I cannot get my voice to go above a whisper. “I’m not carrying the Hope Diamond around am I?”

The old man smiles and then chuckles. “No, no, no. The Hope Diamond is over forty-five carats and it’s blue.”

“Oh. That’s like … a lot bigger than mine. Than my Mom’s, I mean.”

He winks at me. “Yes. Your mother’s ring is much smaller. But it’s not small by any means.”

I can finally breathe and talk properly again.
 
A quick scratch at my armpit has my hive satisfied for the time being. “Yes, you’re right. It’s too damn big. I hate having it.”

“Are you going to Cartier?” he asks me.

“Yes. Maybe.” Imagining myself going into that store instead of just drooling outside the windows makes me break out in more hives, this time between my boobs. Nice. Love it when they go there.

“Well if you do, you can ask to speak with Wendy. She was a colleague of mine once, and I’m sure she’d be happy to help you.”

“Wendy? Okay, great. Thanks.” I reach into my purse. “How much do I owe you?”

“Owe me?”

I look up at his confused tone. “For the work you did for me.” I’m praying feverishly in my head that he’ll say five bucks, because that’s about all I have. Honestly, I don’t even have that much. Visions of Larry with his fat, harry hand out float in my mind.

“No charge. Just come see me when you’re ready for a pretty emerald to match those eyes.”

My shoulders slump down, and I want to cry over how nice he is. “I could totally hug you right now.”

He waves his hand and nods at me. “It was my pleasure. I don’t often get my hands on stones that big anymore. It was fun playing detective for a little while.”

I back towards the door, holding my bag tightly against me. It presses into my side and makes the ring wrapped in tissue cut into my boob a little, but I don’t care. Today is a great day. “Bye, Mr. Goldman. I appreciate your help.”

His eyes lock on something behind me and he says nothing in response.

Before I can look at what has his attention, the door flies open behind me, making the bell on it smash against the glass.

Mr. Goldman’s eyes go a little wide.

I turn around to see who’s being so rude and then lose my balance when whoever it is shoves me to the ground, ripping my bag out of my hands. My arm is yanked to the side, and it feels like my shoulder is practically dislocated from the force of it.

“What the …!”

That’s all I get out of my mouth before the asshole is gone and I’m left there on the floor, everything I own worth anything stolen from me. Rent money, dead useless cell phone, maxed-out credit card, driver’s license, apartment keys … everything is gone in the wind. I can hear the running footsteps of the thief fading out as they disappear in the distance.

That fucking ring. Oh my god, I have to get rid of it before I get hit by a bus!

I cup my hands over my boobs just in case the thief decides to come back and steal my bra and the ring inside it too. I fear if I don’t find the owner of this thing soon, karma is going to put me in a grave somewhere.

Chapter Thirteen

I TRUDGE UP THE STAIRS, and Larry’s door opens after I pass by it.

“I need the rent, Leah,” he says at my back. “It ain’t no joke no more.”

“I know, Larry.” I can’t look at him, so I just keep walking up, one step at a time. “Except that I just got fucking robbed, so it’s going to take me even longer than before.”

“You got robbed? You serious? Or’re you just saying that to delay paying your rent again?”

I have cried all the tears I can possibly spare on the subway on my ride back home. All I have now is extreme fatigue. “I’m not lying. I have a copy of the police report in my bra.”

“Why is it in your bra?” he shouts up the stairwell.

“Because the fucker stole my purse and I don’t have any pockets!”

When I reach my door I remember that fucker also took my keys.

“Larry!”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have a key anymore.” I was wrong when I thought before that I didn’t have any tears left.

“I’ll be right up. Don’t go anywhere.”

I lean my back on the door and wait, staring at the ceiling, willing my pain to go away. I will not sob. I might let a couple tears fall out, but I won’t break down. I will not waste another single second on the lowlife scum who stole my stuff from me. Karma would be so proud. I must be earning some points somewhere. Please let that be happening.

Larry comes pounding up the stairs and arrives breathless in a black track suit. “Got ya a spare right here. You can keep it.” He unlocks my door for me and hands it over.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Larry. You’re a stand-up guy.”

“Yeah, I am.” He points at my face. “Better than a guy with pasta-arms.”

I laugh, pushing him away as I turn to go inside. “Whatever. Good night.”

“You want some ice cream?”

“No. I’m too fat to eat ice cream every day.”

“Are you crazy? You ain’t fat. You wanna see fat, you should come meet my Nona.”

He immediately stops talking and looks over his shoulder.

I laugh when he turns back around and I catch the look on his face.

“Did she hear you?”

He shakes his head ruefully. “You have no idea. She has ears like a friggin’ elephant or somethin’.”

“Goodnight, Larry.”

He smiles, revealing two front teeth that cross over each other a little, something I never noticed before about him. Kinda cute. “Goodnight, dollface.”

I pause halfway through closing the door on him. “Did you just call me dollface?”

“Yeah. I saw it in a movie once.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Okay. I’ll catch ya later, uhhh, Leah. When d’ya think you’ll have the rent money?”