Size 12 and Ready to Rock (34 page)

“Don’t
worry?
” I echo in disbelief. I’m standing on the window seat in Cooper’s bedroom, attempting to adjust his curtains so that when the sun comes up in the morning it won’t blind us, but I’m not having much luck. “The guy turns out to have been living in Wasser Hall this whole time. He registered for a summer class and managed to convince everyone he was twenty-nine simply by losing fifty pounds and dying his hair blond. He brainwashed a fifteen-year-old girl from my building into thinking that choking her with his bare hands is an appropriate teaching method. And you’re telling me not to worry?”

“Okay,” Cooper says, with a glance at the ceiling. “Keep worrying. But maybe not so loudly.”

“Sorry,” I say, lowering my voice. “I forgot for a minute that we’re running a safe house for the victims of Gary Hall.”

“Just his main victim.” Cooper is sitting on his bed, the sheets of which I still need to change because I can’t remember how long it’s been since either of us have slept in it, but the amount of dog hair accumulated there indicates it’s become Lucy’s favorite place to nap. “And I thought you said you didn’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” I climb down from the window seat. The curtains appear to be a lost cause. “I just think she should be in the hospital with Bridget, not
here.
We’re not qualified to give Tania the mental health care she obviously needs, Cooper.”

“I’m aware of that.” He looks down at the ice at the bottom of the glass of whiskey he’s been nursing all night. One glass only. He told me he wants to stay alert. For what, I’m not allowing myself to think. “But this is the only place I could get her to go, she was so terrified when she heard what happened. What else was I supposed to do?”

I sink down onto the bed beside him. I don’t blame Cooper. None of it’s his fault.

I place the blame squarely on Christopher Allington’s shoulders.
He
’s the jerk who heard the news about Gary Hall’s being discovered in Wasser Hall—he was in his father’s office, no doubt asking for a loan—then rushed over to Fischer Hall to “make sure Stephanie was all right.”

Tania overheard the two of them talking about what had happened—how I had gone with the wounded protection officer and the “girl from Tania Trace Rock Camp” to Belle-vue Hospital—and promptly went into hysterics.

Cooper, in an attempt to get her away from the startled gazes of the campers and their mothers before they could figure out what was going on, asked Tania where he could take her.

“That’s the part I still don’t understand,” I say. “What made her want to come
here?
She’s never been here before. How did she even think of it?”

Cooper looks uncomfortable. “I may have suggested it as an option.” Seeing my expression, he says, “Look, I was desperate. I suggested her place, my parents’ place, even her and Jordan’s place in the Hamptons . . . every place I could think of, and she kept saying no, no. No place I suggested was ‘safe’ enough. She kept saying Gary was going to find her. And she was crying . . . I’ve never seen anybody cry that much. I didn’t know how to handle it. All I could think was that if
you’d
been there, you’d have known what to do. And all I wanted to do was come here . . . home. I have a bad feeling I may have said something to that effect, and she latched on to it . . . next thing I know, she was saying something about this being the last place he’d ever look for her. It made her stop crying anyway, enough to get her out the door and into the car. I didn’t think much more about it after that, I was so relieved.” He looks at the ceiling. “I didn’t think she was going to
move in.
”

I sigh. “It sort of makes sense, I guess,” I say. “I could see her feeling unsafe in her and Jordan’s apartment, and even at your parents’, though it’s highly unlikely Gary would ever be able to get in. Still, I think she’d be harder to find—and more anonymous—checked into a hotel. We don’t have a doorman or even a super—”

“That’s true,” Cooper says. “On the other hand, here it’s only us. There’s no one to leak her presence to the press, no unsuspecting busboy who can be bribed to let some guy in ‘just to slip something under her door.’ No maid service, no room service, no one knocking to ask if she wants turn-down service. Once the deadlock on the front door is bolted and we switch on the alarm, there’s no way anyone can get in or out without us knowing about it. Considering the level of anxiety she’s been living with, being here must be something of a relief.”

“And,” I point out, “you have your gun.”

“And,” he agrees, “I have my gun. And don’t forget, there’s you, with your sunny disposition and that welcoming smile you gave her when you first came through the door and saw her—”

I lift a pillow and bop him on the head with it.

“Still,” I say, as he laughs, “if she’s expecting the Waldorf, she’s going to be sadly disappointed. No one’s going to be putting a mint on her pillow. I ate all the Oreos the other night.”

“I think all she wants—” Cooper begins to say, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. Literally, someone says, “Knock, knock.”

Cooper looks at me curiously, then calls, “Come in.”

Jordan, in black silk pajamas and a robe, leans in and says, “Oh, hey. Sorry to disturb you guys. Where do you keep your herbal tea? Tania wants some. I was trying to find some myself in that little kitchenette upstairs so as not to be a pain, but this big orange cat started following me around, and I think he wants me to feed him or something—”

“You know what,” I say, getting up off the bed, “why don’t I make some tea for Tania and take it upstairs to her?”

“Are you sure?” Jordan looks worried. “We really don’t want to be any bother. We feel bad enough, putting Heather out of her apartment the way we have.”

“It isn’t a bother at all,” Cooper says. “Is it, Heather?”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Oh no,” I say. “Cooper was happy to surrender his room to me. He likes sleeping
on the couch.
”

Upstairs I find Tania huddled in the middle of my bed, piled beneath so many down comforters that only her head is peeping out. In her hand is the remote to my television. She’s bathed in the rosy glow of my bedside lamp and the bright colors of
Freaky Eaters.

“You really like this show, don’t you?” Tania asks as I come in holding a steaming mug of tea. “You have nine episodes of it recorded, both new ones and repeats.”

“Well,” I say, “you certainly know your way around a digital video recorder, don’t you?”

“You watch a lot of
Intervention
too,” Tania remarks. “I think that show is sad.”

“Not really,” I say, setting the mug down on the nightstand. “The people on it usually beat their addictions and go on to live productive lives.” Although considering what Jared told me about how docu-reality series manipulate the truth—and what I’ve seen Stephanie doing around Fischer Hall—I’m beginning to wonder if there is any honesty at all reflected in the shows I like to watch. “Here’s some chamomile tea. Jordan said you wanted some. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Tania says. “I like it here. It’s snug, like my grandma’s house.”

I’m sure Tania means this as a compliment, but I’m not 100 percent positive I want my home being compared to someone’s grandma’s house.

“And look,” she says, pointing to the floor, “our dogs are in love.”

I glance down and see that her dog, Baby, is curled up in Lucy’s bed, fast asleep. Lucy is sitting a few feet away, looking distressed. She blinks from her bed to me as if to say,
Help!
I’m not certain how Tania can interpret this as two dogs being in love.

“Yeah,” I say. “Sweet. So, is there anything else you need?”

Tania reaches for the tea I’ve brought her, then looks at the built-ins above our heads. “What’s going on with all those dolls?”

Crap.

“Oh,” I say. “Well, that’s my collection of dolls from many nations. My mom got me one from each country I toured in.”

“Aw,” Tania says, taking a sip of the tea and looking positively delighted. “That’s so cute.”

“Not really,” I say. “I should have taken the time to visit the sights in the countries, not let my mom grab a doll from the airport in each one. When will I ever be able to afford to go to South Africa again? Or Brazil? Or Japan? Never. But, you know.” I shrug. “I love them. They’re sort of talismans, or whatever.”

“You’re lucky,” Tania says. “My mom never gave me anything like that. She worked really hard, but she didn’t have money to spend on presents. That’s really special, to have a doll collection, or anything you can pass on to your own daughter.”

I glance back at the dolls. “Yeah,” I say thoughtfully. It seems as if neither Tania nor I lucked out in the mom department. Hers was working too hard to notice what was happening to her, and mine was working
me
too hard to care what was happening to me. “I guess it is . . . if you have a daughter of your own.”

“The pink one is especially beautiful,” Tania says admiringly.

“That’s Miss Mexico,” I say.

“She’s so elegant. I love her dress. And her fan.”

“Here,” I say, and reach up to take Miss Mexico down from the shelf. “You can have her.”

Tania gasps. “Oh no. I couldn’t!”

“Yes,” I say. “You can. You can give it to your daughter. Miss Mexico can be the first in her collection.”

Tania puts down her mug and takes Miss Mexico gingerly in her hands, as if she’s afraid the doll will fall apart at her touch. But she won’t. Miss Mexico is beautiful, but tough underneath—a lot like Tania.

“Thank you,” Tania says. “She’s so gorgeous. I . . . I don’t deserve her. That thing today . . . that girl’s mom must hate me,” Tania says.

I don’t ask what girl she means.

“No one hates you,” I say. “You didn’t do anything to Bridget.
Gary
did. And Bridget is going to be all right. Her family is driving up to get her, and I’m sure Cartwright Records Television is going to give her a nice scholarship to wherever she wants to go to college.” I was betting New York College was going to offer her one too, but I had my doubts she’d want to attend. “She’s going to need a lot of counseling . . . which, if you don’t mind my saying, Tania, is something you could probably—”

“It
is
my fault,” Tania interrupts firmly. “If I had told people sooner—”

“It’s only one person’s fault,” I say. “And that’s Gary’s.” And Simon Hague’s. But I suppose a residence hall director can’t personally meet
every
person who checks into his building. Still, I couldn’t wait to hear what the fallout was going to be when it’s discovered that Simon has been taking extra-long weekends in the Hamptons with his assistant.

“Will you tell the girl,” Tania asks in a tiny voice, “that I’m so, so sorry about what happened to her? And the security guard too?”

“No,” I say. “You’re going to tell them yourself.”

She stares at me. Then her face crumples, and she’s crying. “I know I have to,” she says, “but I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can leave this room.”

“You can stay here for a while,” I say. “But eventually you’re going to have to leave.”

“But not right away,” she says, holding Miss Mexico close—which can’t be comfortable, considering her pointy Spanish comb and fan.

“No,” I say. “Not right away.”

I leave Tania not long afterward, since either the chamomile or the stress of the day appears to have knocked her out. She falls asleep clutching Miss Mexico to her, like a little girl with a new birthday present.

I turn off the television and walk out of my room, holding the mug of tea. The last thing I expect is to bump into Jordan on my way downstairs to the main kitchen—I’ve forgotten he’s in the house—but I do.

“Sorry,” he says when I nearly throw the mug in his face, I’m so startled. “I was coming up to see how she’s doing.”

“She’s asleep,” I say. “Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry,” he says again. “Here, I can take that back to the kitchen.”

“No, I can do it.”

“Really,” he says. “I want to help.”

Except that he won’t help. He’ll just make a mess. Jordan doesn’t know where the trash is, nor has he ever rinsed out a mug in his life. He leaves every dish he’s ever touched for the maid or room service to clean up. He is so annoying. How did we date—let alone live together—for so many years?

“Fine, you can help,” I say with ill grace.

He follows me like a puppy back to the kitchen, then sits down at the table and does nothing as I put the tea bag in the trash and rinse out the mug.

“Where’s Cooper?” I ask, hyperconscious of his gaze on me.

“He’s taking a shower,” Jordan says. “Can I ask you some-thing?”

Oh great. I knew this was coming, but had been hoping to avoid it.

“Not right now,” I say, drying my hands on a dish towel. “I . . . I have to take the dog for a walk.”

“But it’s eleven o’clock at night,” Jordan says, looking shocked.

“I can’t help it,” I say. “When Lucy’s got to go, she’s got to go.” This is a complete fabrication. When Lucy has to go, she goes through the doggie door to the backyard. But I need some excuse to get away from Jordan.

“Baby just goes on a wee-wee pad,” he says, in a tone that suggests this in some way makes Tania’s dog superior to mine.

“Well,” I say, “good for Baby.”

“I don’t think you should walk the dog at this time of night when there is a deranged psychopath on the loose who might be watching the house and wants to kill my wife.”

“My not walking my dog when I normally do so at this time of night might tip the deranged psychopath off that your wife is here,” I counter.

Jordan considers this. “Can I still ask you one thing before you go?”

I realize I can’t avoid him forever, especially when we’re both living in the same house, and I have no intention of going outside with Gary Hall—injured as he might be—on the loose in the neighborhood. I pull out a kitchen chair and sink into it. “What is it, Jordan?”

“Is this guy who’s after Tania really her husband?”

Chapter 26