Stabbing Stephanie (12 page)

“Rhoda,” Adam said, speaking for the first time, “how do you know so much about Faith and her husband's publishing company?
That
wouldn't have been in her autobiography.”

“From Lillian!”

“From Lillian?” everyone said.

“Sure. Lillian's a crafty old broad. She's got no illusions. She knows all about Carson & Hart because so many of her friends have published books with them.” She nodded. “Lillian told me all about it last Friday night at Shabbat services. The vanity part of it doesn't matter in the least to her—she could buy the whole damn company if she wanted to. She just wants someone to make a book about her life. And the books Carson & Hart produces
are
quite beautiful. Lillian said doing a book would be an absolute hoot—and those were her words.”

Daniel turned to Jane. “Doesn't look as if Carson & Hart will be a market for any of our projects.”

Jane, remembering the remarks Doris had made the previous night about the books Jane handled, had to nod in agreement.

“I'm hungry,” Greenberg said suddenly. He held up his champagne flute. “Can't drink champagne all night. Anybody seen any food around here?”

Rhoda threw back her head and laughed. “Hon, you can search all twenty-five rooms of this joint, and I doubt you'll find more than a few stale Saltines. I told you—the goyim!”

“Rhoda . . .” Jane began.

“It's true, Jane. They're far more interested in drinking than in eating. There's a beautifully stocked bar, and then there's a table with brie and some crackers—in fact, I think they
were
Saltines!” She laughed again.

“Well,” Jane said, getting restless and eager to leave, “I'd like to pay my respects to Faith and go. It's been a long day.”

Greenberg nodded, and he and Jane bade the rest of the group good night. Greenberg led the way out of the library and down the hall to the living room. The crowd around Faith and Gavin was even bigger than before. Jane spotted Stephanie deep in conversation with Lillian Strohman, their foreheads practically touching. She went up to the two women and waited politely to be noticed.

Stephanie looked up. “Oh, Jane. Have you met Lillian?” When Jane shook her head, Stephanie said, “Lillian, I'd like you to meet my dear cousin Jane.”

Inwardly Jane cringed. “Jane Stuart.” She took Lillian's hand.

“Lillian Strohman. So you're cousins?” she asked with a bright smile. Jane noticed that her makeup was perfect, as if a professional had applied it, then recalled that Lillian had spent time in Hollywood.

“Stephanie is my late husband's first cousin,” Jane told her.

Lillian frowned sympathetically and nodded. “I'm a widow, too. I'm so sorry. When did you lose your husband?”

“Three years ago.”

“Very sad,” Stephanie said briskly. “But the family sticks together.”

This comment stunned Jane. She had met Stephanie precisely twice—at her and Kenneth's wedding, and at Kenneth's funeral. If Faith Carson and her husband hadn't moved their company to Shady Hills, if Stephanie had not gotten her job with them, Jane probably would never have laid eyes on Stephanie again.

“Nice, very nice,” Lillian said sweetly, and Jane just nodded.

“Stephanie,” Jane said, “Stanley and I have to go. Is there someone who could give you a ride? I assume you're not ready to leave.”

“The party's just getting started!” Stephanie exclaimed. “But I understand. No problem, I'm sure I can find my way back. Just let me make sure I've got your address right. Twelve Lilac Way?”

“Nine.”

Stephanie nodded, then made a little moue of disappointment. “I never did introduce you to my little Faithie.”

“That's okay. They'll be around, right? Working in town. I'm sure I'll bump into her at some point. At the 7-Eleven.”

“Okay,” Stephanie chirped, and returned her attention to Lillian.

Jane found Greenberg and then they both found Puffy and Oren and thanked them for their hospitality. Puffy was clearly three sheets to the wind.

“Oh, my darling,” she lockjawed, once again taking Jane's hand in her two hands and squeezing hard. “Thank you
so
much for coming. I'll see you soon?”

Jane had no idea what that meant. She certainly hoped not. Maybe in ShopRite, near the bran.

“Absolutely. Good night. Good night, Oren. Wonderful party.”

She took Greenberg by the arm and propelled him to the front door. “Come on,” she said through her teeth, “let's get the hell out of here while we can.”

Once outside, on the long stairway, he chuckled. “I don't think I quite fit in at parties like that.”

“You mean,” Jane said, “at parties in honor of former royalty?”

“No, parties where so much bull is being slung.”

They both laughed. Reaching the road—there were no sidewalks in this old part of town—they walked alongside the line of cars until they found Greenberg's.

“I am positively starving,” Jane said, getting in. “I do believe Rhoda was right.”

“Yeah, feelin' a mite empty myself. I could go for one of Giorgio's veal parmesan heroes right now. What about you?”

“You're on,” she said, taking his arm as he pulled the car away from the curb. Then she had a thought. “Wait. I can't have food like that. It's not Stillkin.”

He looked at her, waiting, his expression saying nothing.

“Aw, screw it,” she burst out. “I'll trade you half of your veal parm for half my eggplant parm.”

“Deal.”

I
n her study late that night, by the glow of her desk lamp, Jane added to her list the name of an editor at Simon & Schuster, then considered the name for a moment, shook her head, and crossed it out. She wrote in its place the name of another editor at the same company. Yes, this person would be right for
The Blue Palindrome,
would better appreciate it.

From the window over her desk she saw headlights coming up Lilac Way. The car, a white BMW, pulled into her driveway, one of its rear doors opened, and Stephanie got out. She leaned into the car, talking animatedly with whoever was inside, shut the door, and started up the walk.

Jane had left the front door unlocked for her. Much as Jane would have liked to ignore her, to let her come in and go up to her room, Jane felt obliged to greet her, especially since this was Stephanie's first night as Jane's guest. She left her study, crossed the living room, and reached the foyer just as Stephanie was coming in. Seeing Jane, Stephanie gave her a smile that could only have been described as dopey. Jane noticed that her face had gone from pink at the cheeks and chin to allover red.

“You missed a really good tiiime,” Stephanie said a little sloppily in a singsong voice, emphasizing the last word like a mother telling a child she'd made an error in judgment. “Should have stayed later.”

Jane, feeling superior, gave a tight smile of her own and a slight shrug. “I'm glad you had a good time. You must be tired after such a busy day.”

“Actually, no. I feel . . . energized. I was just telling that to Faithie and Gav, saying how excited I am to be starting at their company in the morning.”

“They gave you a ride?” Jane asked, surprised. “That was Faithie—I mean Faith and Gavin in the car just now?”

“Yeah,” Stephanie replied lightly.

For some reason Jane found it amusing that former royalty should have pulled into her driveway, seen her house. How silly, she told herself.

“I wish you'd had a chance to meet them. It's strange.... You go to a party in their honor and never even get up close to them.”

Was she reprimanding Jane? Jane couldn't be sure. “I'm sure the opportunity will present itself again. Do you think they enjoyed the party?”

“Oh, definitely.” Stephanie slipped off her mink and hung it up in the foyer closet. “But it wasn't just fun; it was also profitable.” She turned from the closet and gave Jane a sly look. “Faithie and Gav and I stopped for coffee on the way home. They explained to me how their company works. There was some good business for them at that party tonight, starting with that supermarket woman, Lillian Strudel.”

“Strohman.”

“Right. She's going to do a book with them—her memoirs. In fact, tomorrow Faithie's going to Lillian's house to discuss the project over breakfast.”

“Terrific,” Jane said with gusto, remembering what Rhoda had said about Carson & Hart.

“Well, nighty-night.” Stephanie yawned mightily and started up the stairs.

“Good night, Stephanie.” Then Jane remembered something. “Oh, Stephanie.”

Stephanie turned, her eyes sleepy slits.

“I'd like to take you to lunch tomorrow if you're free. To celebrate the beginning of your new job.”

“Oh,” Stephanie said vaguely, “that's nice.”

“Then you're free?”

“Um, yeah, sure.” Stephanie continued up the stairs.

“Don't do me any favors,” Jane mumbled under her breath.

She returned to her study to work on her submission list for
The Blue Palindrome.

J
ane checked her watch, though she'd just done so a minute earlier. It was 12:45. She and Stephanie had agreed Jane would pick up Stephanie at her office at 12:30. Jane had offered to come up, which she felt would have been more polite anyway, but for some reason Stephanie had discouraged that, insisting instead that she'd “pop out” at half past twelve.

Jane blew out a great gust of air. She really didn't have time for this. She'd spent the morning calling editors about
The Blue Palindrome,
and the responses had been uniformly enthusiastic. Even now Daniel was taking the manuscript to the Mr. Copy on Route 46, where he and Jane had all of their heavy photocopying done, to have the manuscript duplicated. She could be working on her cover letter—something Jane always put a lot of thought into—instead of sitting here at the curb in front of Puffy and Oren's office building, alternately feeling angry and foolish.

She looked up and saw Greenberg coming toward her in his car. She waved and he made a shrugging gesture, his hands out, as if to say, “Where is she?”

She shrugged back and waved him on.

It was her own fault. She was the one who'd invited Stephanie to lunch. Why? She knew why. For Kenneth. It would be over soon. Stephanie would get the apartment she wanted, or another one, settle into her new home and her new job, and she and Jane would probably see each other only seldom. Stephanie certainly wasn't the kind of person Jane could be friends with.

Jane decided that if Stephanie didn't come out in the next five minutes, Jane was going in. But just as she had this thought, Stephanie appeared at the side of the building in her mink. She seemed preoccupied, elsewhere, frowning, her head down. She looked up, saw Jane, and waved with a forced little smile. Then she seemed to sink back into a deep preoccupation as she made her way down the front path between carefully tended beds of mixed yellow and orange chrysanthemums.

Stay cheerful,
Jane told herself;
be nice
. Stephanie reached the car and got in.

“Hi!” Jane said. “Busy day, huh?”

“Mm.” Stephanie stared straight ahead, as if she'd just given directions to a cabbie and was waiting for the car to move.

Jane pulled away from the curb and headed along Packer Road, turning right onto Highland.
“I've
certainly had a busy morning.” She was making herself sick with her falsely bubbly voice. “Did I tell you about the wonderful manuscript I'm submitting?
The Blue Palindrome?”

“Wh—excuse me?” Stephanie turned to her as if she'd just been somewhere far away. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. Just chattering. Stephanie, is something wrong? You don't seem yourself. Don't you like your new job?”

“No, no, it's not that. It's fabulous, really.”

“It must be fun to work with your old friend.” Jane took a left onto Cranmore. They passed the Senior Center on the right, and just after it, Shady Hills Cemetery.

“Isn't that where . . .” Stephanie began.

“Yes. Where Kenneth is buried.” Jane glanced at the black wrought-iron fence and the grass and gravestones rising on the gently sloping hill beyond. The old trees that shaded the graves so comfortingly in the summer gave the whole place a grim, stark feeling now, and Jane looked away. Following the curve in the road, she crossed the railroad tracks, then turned left into the parking lot of Eleanor's, the best restaurant in Shady Hills.

The quaint former gristmill sat on the bank of the Morris River, which looked cold and murky on this gray day.

Inside, Jane asked for a table in the restaurant's small back room, which looked out on the mill wheel and millpond. They both ordered salads. Stephanie gazed out the window, as if transfixed by the gray-green water.

“Stephanie,” Jane said gently, “I don't know you very well, but it's easy to see something's bothering you. Do you want to tell me?”

Stephanie turned to her, her mouth slightly parted. “I was just thinking about Faithie. She behaved so strangely this morning . . .”

“Strangely? How?”

“She came in late because of her breakfast with Lillian Strohman. You remember, that woman from the party last night who's going to do a book with Faithie and Gav?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Faith was . . . I've never seen her that way. She looked as if—as if she'd seen a ghost. Totally preoccupied, wandering around the office but not knowing what she was doing. It was as if she was—I don't know, trying to work out some complicated puzzle in her head. At one point Gavin asked her if something was wrong, and she snapped at him that she was fine. But I know Faith Carson, and she was anything but fine.”

“What do you think it was? Something Lillian had said to her?”

Stephanie shook her head quickly. “What could she have said? They were just meeting to discuss Lillian's book.”

“Maybe Lillian had changed her mind. That might have upset Faith.”

“It wasn't that. I heard Faith asking Sam—that's her son; he works there—to get a contract ready for Lillian.”

Jane hadn't thought about Faith's children. If Jane remembered correctly, she had a son and a daughter, who would of course be grown up now.

“Anyway,” Stephanie said, shaking herself a little as if to clear her mind, “we'll probably never know what it was. Maybe something between her and Gavin, a private thing. But it sure wasn't what I expected on my first day at Carson & Hart.”

Their salads arrived and Jane speared a forkful. “So what's it like there?”

Stephanie pondered. “It's an odd setup. Of course, there are still boxes everywhere, and things are a little up in the air—you know, confused—because of that, but I could still pretty much see how things work.

“Faithie and Gav run the place, of course. They work on all of the bigger projects, the real moneymakers. Then there's Sam, whom I just mentioned, and his sister, Kate.”

Jane frowned. “For some reason I thought the children's names were different.”

“They were. Sam's real name is Surya. He's twenty now—hard to believe. And Kate is really Ketaki. She's nineteen. When Faith and Gavin and the kids came to the States, Faith encouraged them to take on American names.”

“I see,” Jane said. “It hadn't occurred to me that Faith's children would be working at the company.”

“I was surprised, too. Neither one of them was interested in going to college, even after the expensive educations Faith had given them. They've both been a source of great disappointment for Faith. She's told me she believes that Ravi's laziness, his lack of ambition, was passed down to them.

“Anyway, Sam seems to be nothing more than a glorified secretary. I hadn't seen him in a few years, but now that I see him as a grownup, I can tell that Faith is right—he has zero ambition. He's odd, too.”

“Odd? In what way?”

“It's hard to explain. He seems to think he's some kind of lady-killer. He's very good-looking, I'll give him that, but he behaves as if he has the power to make women swoon at his feet, when he really just comes off like some kind of... lounge lizard!”

“Very
odd.”

“Now Kate, she's a different story.”

“What is she like?”

“Solid. Quite serious. She's always been like that—intense. She's managing editor at the company. She's also quite a talented photographer. She's got an actual studio set up in the office to take pictures for the jackets of the company's books.”

“Interesting. Is that the whole staff?”

“Pretty much. There's a young guy named Mel, I think, who works in the mail room. And an older Hungarian woman named Norma, who's the cleaning lady, but not just for Carson & Hart. She cleans the whole building. Not all at once, of course.”

Jane maintained a cheerful countenance, though in truth she was bored senseless. The rest of the meal was an endurance test, Stephanie blabbing on and on about the apartment she'd loved so much and how she just
had
to get it. Not once did Stephanie ask anything related to Jane or anyone in her world. Stephanie, Jane had come to realize, was a true narcissist, and narcissists are boring.

Mercifully, as soon as the waiter had taken away their plates, Stephanie looked at her watch and announced that she'd better get back to work. “Wouldn't want to take too long a lunch break on my first day.” She put her bag on her lap, brought out a compact and lipstick, and got to work on her face. Meanwhile, Jane paid the bill.

A few minutes later, pulling up in front of the office building, Jane offered to come in. “I'd love to get a look at this place. And of course I want to meet the famous Faith Carson.”

“You will,” Stephanie said, pushing open her door, “but not today.” She got out, slammed the door, and scurried up the walk, not looking back for either a good-bye or a thank-you. Jane had expected neither.

 

 

“Missus, what the devil have you got on?”

Florence stood at the foot of the stairs, staring up at Jane, who had just put on an iridescent orange nylon running suit.

“I'm going jogging,” Jane said matter-of-factly, though she felt anything but matter-of-fact. She couldn't say the Stillkin Diet wasn't working, because she wasn't really on it. Tonight Florence had offered to make another Stillkin recipe for Jane's dinner, but Jane had thanked her and declined, choosing instead to eat spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread along with everyone else. The answer, she decided, was exercise. She would jog every night until her vacation, and even during her vacation she would spend at least an hour each day in the hotel's gym.

Florence laughed. “I need sunglasses to look at you in that! I didn't even know you owned it.”

Jane shrugged, growing irritated. “I've had it for a year, bought it at Sports Authority.” She left out that the running suit had fit much more loosely when she'd bought it—and that this was the first time she'd ever worn it.

“Oh my!” came Stephanie's voice behind her.

With a little roll of her eyes, Jane turned, forcing a smile. “I'm going jogging.” She headed for the front door.

“Ooh, can I come?”

Jane stopped, surprised.

“I jogged a lot in Boston. If you'll wait a second, I'll put on my sweats.”

“Okay,” Jane said, deeply disappointed that she wouldn't have this time alone, away from Stephanie, after all.

Stephanie ran upstairs. A moment later Nick wandered into the foyer, Winky in his arms, and looked at Jane as if she were from another planet. “Mom, you look like a carrot.”

“Now, that is not a nice way to speak to your mother,” Florence said, suppressing a smile. “And what have you two been up to?”

“Winky and I were doing homework. Now Winky wants to go outside.”

Lately they had been allowing Winky to go outside from time to time. At first Jane had resisted this idea, but for some time Winky had made it clear by scratching at the doors and windows that she wanted to go out. Jane had spoken to Dr. Singh, Winky's veterinarian, about the idea, and Dr. Singh had said it was fine to let Winky out because she had her claws. Another point in Winky's favor was that Lilac Way was a quiet street, heavily wooded, with only a few houses on it.

Nick opened the front door and Winky shot out.

“Ready!” Stephanie announced, descending the stairs. She wore a gray sweat suit that fit her snugly. Jane had to admit she had a nice figure—shapely but not fat, just right.

“All right, ladies,” Florence said, sounding like a gym teacher, “I want you to work up a good sweat.”

“You got it, coach,” Jane said, running in place, and led the way outside.

It was a mild evening, more like late September than November. Jane took a deep breath of the sweet air. “Lovely.”

“Mm,” Stephanie agreed, hopping in place beside her.

Jane went through the space in the holly hedge and to the left, down the street toward Grange Road. Stephanie jogged alongside her.

“Well,” Jane said, feeling as if she should make conversation, “how did the rest of your first day go?”

“Fine.” Stephanie sounded thoughtful. Then she turned to Jane with a bright expression. “I've already been put in charge of a special project. It's that cat book I mentioned to you.”

“That's terrific. Congratulations.”

“Yes, I'm very pleased. It's called
Mew's Who's Who.”

Jane turned to her with a frown. “It's called what?”

“Mew's Who's Who.”
Stephanie's tone was quite serious. “It's a biographical directory of cats. You've heard of
Who's Who
for people. Well, this one's for cats!”

“But how—” Jane began, not understanding.

“Here's how it works. It's very clever, really.” Stephanie slipped a stiff lock of black hair behind her right ear. “The company buys lists of cat owners—you know, from cat magazines, cat organizations, that kind of thing. Then they mail out about a zillion questionnaires. It's a riot,” she said with a chuckle. “People fill out the questionnaire so their cats can be
considered
for the directory. Of course, every cat gets in. And most important, practically every cat
owner
buys a directory.”

Jane found this kind of vanity directory publishing offensive but smiled politely. “And you're in charge of this project?”

“That's right,” Stephanie said proudly. Then her mouth opened and she looked at Jane. “I just thought of something! Kate says she needs a cat to pose for the jacket. How about Winky?”