Twelve Rooms With A View Part 11

"How come-"

"That's all you have to worry about. Okay? Okay?"

"Okay."

She smiled grimly, as if she found it satisfactory to hear me say "okay," but she didn't look satisfied. She looked like her suit was too tight and she wasn't eating enough red meat and her shoes hurt. She had little gray smudges under her eyes, and her hair was pulled back in a bun, which was an extremely bad look for her, and usually she knew better than to try it. Her mouth was pinched together, bitter and worried, and for the first time I saw what Vince had seen instantly under the skin of my smart, ferocious sister: an old schoolmarm in a rage because the world had overlooked her.

"Hey, Lucy," I said, feeling completely awful all of a sudden. "No kidding, Lucy. Maybe we should just offer to split it with them. Even split five ways, we'd all end up with a ton of money. Has anyone offered to split it?"

"I don't believe that's been discussed, no," she said, with a kind of infantile brightness that had yet another sneer behind it.

"Yeah, I guess that's pretty stupid," I said. "Sorry. 'Compromise.' What a boneheaded idea."

"You said it, not me," she murmured under her breath.

She left. And I decided to stop asking questions n.o.body had any answers for anyway and just let things happen.

10.

THREE DAYS LATER, WHEN LEN CAME BY TO CHECK IN ON CURRENT events, he was not particularly happy with the state of his mossery. He was thoroughly appalled that someone had been messing with his trays, knocking over bags of mulch, and tossing shards of gla.s.s all over the floor. During our abortive but completely memorable makeout session, Vince and I had also, it seems, damaged a display containing a delicate species of hornwort, several large sections of which had turned a distressing shade of mottled brown. The picture of the tree was so far askew it looked like it was about to fall off the wall.

"For seven hundred dollars a month, I think it's understood that the mossery is protected s.p.a.ce," he informed me, straightening the picture with annoyed precision. "Your mother took great care with it; you, I see, do not have her touch. I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from even entering my room unless I am here to supervise you."

"It's not your room, Len," I reminded him, a tad defensive, since I knew he was right. "You're just renting it."

"Renting it from whom, that's the question," he said with a sharp little nod of contempt. He leaned past me to open the tiniest sliver of a closet door that was squashed between the refrigerator and the wall. He retrieved a whisk broom and a dustpan, which had been hung just inside the door at eye level. I watched as he swept the shards of gla.s.s together and disposed of them in the plastic dustbin next to the sink. Then he swept the floor again, and then he did it a third time, each time picking up ever more delicate pieces of broken gla.s.s. Then he reached up, pulled a roll of paper towels out of the cabinet above the moss, and dabbed carefully at every corner of the linoleum, finding little sparkles of gla.s.s dust everywhere. He folded the paper towel, put it to one side, and considered the dirty red wine stain that had spilled in ugly blotches everywhere. Honestly, when Vince knocked his winegla.s.s over, it hadn't seemed like there was much in it. But there was more than I thought and now those little spots of wine had set. Len glanced up at me, his face a mask of disappointed annoyance. "How long has this been here?" he asked, exhausted by my incompetence.

"Just a day. I was going to clean it up. I forgot," I said, trying a little too hard not to sound like a ten-year-old.

"And how did it happen?" he asked.

"I, um, I met that guy, Vince Masterson? He lives on the fifth floor?"

"Yes, I'm aware of where he lives," Len said, even more coolly disinterested, if that was possible.

"He wanted to see the apartment. So I invited him up. And I was showing him around and he dropped, he had a gla.s.s of wine and he dropped it, so-anyway I met the Whites too, I might be doing some babysitting for them." Len considered this possibility as he ran a paper towel under the faucet and started working on the wine spots.

"Babysitting?" he said, raising his eyebrows, as if he'd like to see that one.

"Yes," I said. "I'm good with kids. And, you'll be stunned to hear, I could use the money."

"Your mother never had any money," Len observed, glancing up. "Bill didn't either. I used to ask them about it. They were both eligible for Social Security. But Bill wouldn't cash the checks. There was some sort of pension out there, but Bill wrote to them and told them he had moved. So those stopped coming too. Neither one of them had any money, really, at all."

"They didn't cash the checks?"

"Bill wanted to live off the grid."

"He lived in New York City!"

"Yes, that's true. Nevertheless. His need for privacy went beyond any other concern in his life. Except, perhaps, his love for your mother. If you had any real interest in the details of their life here together-"

"Of course I'm interested!"

"You might have put two and two together and realized that for Bill privacy was everything. Everything."

"Why are you so mad at me?"

"Why are you letting people parade in and out of your home?"

"Well, the Drinans parade in and out because they think it's their home-"

"Which you are determined to dissuade them of, even though they were both raised here."

"The only other people parading in and out are my sisters."

"And?"

"And, okay, the real estate people, but what am I supposed to do about that?"

"And?"

"And you, you're the only other person 'parading' in and out. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop acting like a child."

"What is the big deal! It was one person!"

"A trustworthy person, I'm sure. Someone with una.s.sailable character. Who will treat this apartment and its history with the respect it deserves."

"You were the one, you told me to make friends-"

"Whatever you say."

"Oh, for crying out loud. You're a guy who talks to plants!"

"Then why do you care what I think?"

He turned back to check on his hornwort. He was right; I did care. I so did not want him to be mad at me.

"I'm sorry," I finally said. "I mean it. I won't let it happen again. I didn't know. I mean, I knew that privacy was important to Bill, but how was I supposed to ... I mean, people knew they were in here! Didn't they? They went out and stuff."

"They did not."

"But they-they weren't really off the grid, were they? In the middle of the city? You can't live off the grid in New York City. They had heat and water and telephones, and television."

"Bill set up a trust that his lawyer took care of. The rest was absorbed by the building."

"Absorbed by the building?"

"Honestly, Tina, I don't have time to explain everything to you. Just do me a favor: next time you have friends in to take a look at this wonderful and very private old place, please do not let them in the mossery. It is officially off-limits to you now, is that understood?" He actually tried to shoo me out of the room so he could continue cleaning up in peace.

"They want you to get it out of here. Lucy says you have to take it out by next week."

"Quite frankly, I don't believe you'll be here that long," he said icily.

"I wouldn't bet on it if I were you." I leaned against the refrigerator and watched him work. The place was almost back to normal. The floor was spic-and-span, the cedar boxes were restacked, and the half-spilled bag of plant food was tidied and tucked back into its corner. Now that Len had bent his attention to the tray of hornwort, his anger had cooled, and he was murmuring comfort to the things.

"You're okay. Oh, no no, this isn't a tragedy. We'll fix you right up," he cooed. Seriously. The guy was talking to moss.

"I'm not kidding, Len, Lucy is dead set on you getting this stuff out of here p.r.o.nto." He looked over at me, annoyed again. "Look, I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation with the hornworts," I said, "but you can't just boss me around and expect this problem to go away. I'm going to need a little more help than that."

"How about two hundred," he said suddenly. "Will that help?"

That wasn't what I had been going for, but given the life I lead, I am never averse to taking money. "Yes, I think that will help me figure out how to solve this. I really do."

"Why don't you let me finish up here," he said, turning his gaze back to his wounded moss. "Maybe twenty minutes?"

"Great," I said. "I'll go take a shower."

After Len had finished tending his moss, and I had dried my hair with the thirty-year-old blow-dryer I found underneath a sink, we took the elevator up to the greenhouse, where Len apparently kept piles of hundred-dollar bills hidden in corners.

"Seriously, you have that kind of money lying around?" I asked him, impressed.

"You live in New York City, you have to expect that someone will come along and try to extort you at any time of the day or night. As you seem to have managed to do today, Tina."

"Come on, Len, you offered," I started lamely.

"Are you saying you don't want the money?"

"We have a court date, I need some decent clothes," I protested.

"And of course I would be responsible for that," he replied, not impressed with my logic. When the elevator dinged, he slid the grille back, pushed the outer door open, and stepped onto the landing. I stepped out behind him and slammed right into him because he had stopped. Literally, he just stood there, holding the elevator door open.

"Hey, Len, is there a problem?" I asked, trying to look over his shoulder.

"No, no problem." His voice had fallen back from the bossy exasperation he had come to use as his regular tone with me, into a kind of effortless chill that I had come to recognize as bad news.

"What is it?" I said. He still hadn't moved. I had a feeling he might shove me back into the elevator and send me off, so I turned and nudged him with my shoulder, just enough to get the right side of my body past him and onto the landing. He looked back at me, annoyed.

"That hurt," he announced.

"Well, why are you just standing there?"

"h.e.l.lo, Dad," said the person leaning against the door to the penthouse. Len smiled at me, tight and unamused, and waved his hand with his little elfin flourish toward the person at the door.

"h.e.l.lo, Charlie," he said. "This is my friend Tina."

"h.e.l.lo, Tina," said Charlie. She was tall, much taller than Len, but she had his air of earthy capability. She also had his strange blue eyes. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and despite her height she looked even more like an elf than he did. Unlike Len, though, she behaved like an actual human being. She reached out, smiled, and shook my hand, as if she believed that we might soon be friends.

"h.e.l.lo," I said, smiling back at her. Beside me, Len bristled. "Are you okay, Len?" I asked.

"I'm just surprised. I'm surprised to see you, Charlie, very surprised, and I think you know I don't particularly like surprises. I'm busy now. I think you can see that I have a guest and we're very busy."

"It won't take long, Dad," she said, completely ignoring his rudeness. "I have something I need you to look at. Benny, this is my dad, whom I told you about." She turned back to the doorway, where another person was hidden-a boy, maybe ten years old, in jeans and an old dark-red T-s.h.i.+rt with an insurance company ad on it. His skin was so black you could barely see him in the shadows, and he was so shy you could barely see him in the light. He looked up at Charlie with complete bewilderment and trust.

"Show it to him," she said.

Benny looked down at something in his hands. And then he dutifully held it up so we could see what it was. It was a plant, a small plant in a small white plastic cup with some dirt. I hadn't noticed it at first because I was trying so hard to make out the kid, who struck me as being the most nearly invisible person I had ever seen. But Len saw the plant. He took a step forward and reached his hand out. The boy lifted the plant to hand it to him, and I saw Len's fingers curl and shake for a moment. I swear they went all bony with greed. I think I may have gasped, because he turned to me sharply, as if to tell me to shut up, when in fact I hadn't said anything. But Charlie wasn't going to let him grab the thing and scare the kid like that; she stepped forward and folded her arms across her chest like a soldier. Which, I discovered later, she was.

"Let's go inside," she said. "There's not enough light here."

Inside the greenhouse there was plenty of light. Len pushed into the kitchen, impatient to get a look at the plant, leaving Charlie to hold the door for me and the kid, who stopped in the doorway and gasped, completely and instantly overwhelmed at the sight of all those plants. Charlie glanced back at him, then up and around with the same wonder; she smiled at all those plants like they were old and dear friends.

"I told you," she said, as if she was hearing the thoughts in his head. Then she took the cup out of the boy's hands and ushered him into the kitchen, which was still relatively tidy from the cleaning I had given it over a week ago. "Place looks good, Dad," she noted, letting her eyes brush over me. I don't know what she thought was going on between us, but she didn't much care. What she cared about was the kid and the plant in the cup.

"Why don't you tell me what we have here?" Len prompted her. He was staring at the plant in the cup too.

"Okay. Benny grew this on his window ledge, didn't you, Ben?" She smiled at the kid, who smiled back shyly; growing this plant on a window ledge was some great achievement, apparently. "And then he looked through all his books, and he couldn't figure out what it was, so he got on a bus and rode all the way in from Crown Heights to find me in the Botanic Garden and see if I knew what it was. And I wasn't sure. But I told him I knew someone who would definitely know. So I brought him here, Dad. Do your stuff." She was sensational, this woman. She kept her hand on the kid's shoulder and let him know that he was safe and she was taking care of him and his plant, and even though her own father was being so rude he could barely look at her, she didn't seem to notice.

"Where did he get it?" Len asked, completely focused on the plant now. Charlie made sure there was enough s.p.a.ce at one end of the counter so we could get a good look at it from all sides.

"Tell him where you got it, Benny."

Benny looked at her, not at all sure that would be a good idea.

"He won't tell anybody, I promise," she said, and then she laughed. "Trust me. My dad is not going to want anybody anywhere to know about this."

"So you do know what it is," Len murmured, half to himself.

"I think I do, but I didn't think it was possible," she admitted. "You think that's what it is?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said, wiping his palms on his gardener's ap.r.o.n before he finally allowed himself to reach out and touch the plant.

Charlie took the boy's hand and led him one step aside so Len would have a little room. There was a hanging fern right beside the refrigerator, which she reached up to touch, as if she were saying h.e.l.lo. Len kept staring at the tiny plant in his hands. These people really were their own tribe.

"Where did he find it?" Len asked suddenly. He turned his eyes on Benny and considered him with more interest. "Where did you find it, young man? What's your name-Benny?"

"Yes," the kid whispered. He was overwhelmed, and who could blame him? I was overwhelmed, and it wasn't even my plant.

"Did someone give you the seeds for this or did they bring you a cutting from another plant?"

"It was some seeds," he said.