“For the love of... !”
The burst of siren was louder now and longer. “Lady in Red! Pull over!”
Clearly, the cop had a case of agita, and I wasn’t helping. But I couldn’t pull over if Madame was carrying marijuana. I had no idea how much she had, or how much was enough to land her in Rikers Island Correctional Facility for the night.
“Look, the Town Car!” Madame cried.
I’d sped up enough to catch sight of it near the end of Court Street. We were also out of Carroll Gardens by now and entering Red Hook, a neck of land that jutted out into Upper New York Bay. Years ago, Red Hook had been a bustling working class enclave for dock workers, then it fell on hard times.
A little over a decade ago it was discovered by artists, who were inspired by (as a visual artist put it to me one day in the Blend) “stunning harbor views clashing with urban decay.” And now, the same old song was playing again: the area was on its way to gentrification, with waterfront development plans that included the largest Ikea in the world replacing a nineteenth-century dry dock.
The police siren wailed again, and I noticed in my mirror that cherry red SUV, driven by that lady who had stranded me back at the traffic light. She started pulling over, clearly misunderstanding that the cop was after me.
I took the opportunity to push the envelope—along with the gas pedal.
The cherry SUV moved between me and the police car to get to the side of the street, and I punched forward, just making the end of a yellow light at the bottom of Court. I didn’t know where the black SUV was, but I saw Ellie’s Town Car. It had swerved right, and was now heading for Hamilton Avenue and the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel Plaza.
“Of course! They’re taking the tunnel!”
I always took one of the three bridges to and from Brooklyn, so I hadn’t recognized this route to the tunnel.
“Looks like Ellie’s going to Manhattan, after all,” Madame noted, turning in her seat. “And it also looks like you shook that traffic cop.”
“Yes, it seems I did,” I said, checking my rear view, as well.
Thank goodness, I thought with relief. For once, it appeared I’d dodged the bullet. It also appeared I was wrong about the Asian man in the silver-blue track suit. He and his black SUV were now nowhere in sight.
Fourteen
“She’s still sitting in that Town Car,” said Madame.
I nodded. “I think she’s paying the driver.”
We’d tailed Ellie’s car from Brooklyn, racing through the Battery Tunnel, and up Manhattan’s West Side Highway. After exiting on Canal, we drove north, snaked around some cross streets and came down Varick (the name for Seventh Avenue just south of the Village). Now we were sitting in my Honda, idling next to a curb in Soho. Ellie’s hired car had parked in front of a hotel half a block away.
“There she goes,” Madame said.
Showing a substantial amount of white leg, Ellie exited the parked Town Car. Her high-heeled sandals clicked their way into V. This chic Soho hotel was one my ex-husband had favored before his mother had offered him the rent free use of the duplex above the Blend.
“V’s a lot like W on Union Square,” Matt used to say, “only it’s a different letter.”
The V Hotel’s front lobby was on the ground floor. Its enormous plate glass windows easily allowed us to watch Ellie’s movements. After striding to the front desk, she began a conversation with one of the clerks.
“Is she checking in, do you think?” Madame asked.
“I doubt it. She has no luggage with her, and why would she change clothes in her van before coming here?”
Ellie tossed her head of layered strawberry blond hair. Then she turned from the hotel counter, and moved into the large lobby. She settled herself into one of the many plush couches and crossed her long, bare legs. Her pink skirt was short enough to turn a passing gentleman’s head.
“She must be waiting for someone,” I said.
“I hear the V’s Mediterranean Grill is quite good. I’ll bet she’s meeting someone for lunch.”
“But she already ate an entire Cornish hen with me, back at the Garden’s cafe.”
Madame waved her hand. “Then she’ll just order salad, or coffee and dessert. Eating two lunches for business reasons is not uncommon.”
I glanced in my rear view mirror. Taxis were pulling up behind me, and a sign nearby warned that this lane was for V Hotel drop off and pick up only.
“If I stand here much longer, I could get a ticket,” I said.
“Then you’d better park.”
“But we don’t want to lose sight of Ellie. You’d better get out and keep an eye on her.”
“Yes, of course.” With glee, Madame popped the door. “I’m on it!”
“Wait!” I cried.
“What?”
“Ellie hasn’t seen you in years, but she might remember you, so be careful. Sneak in and hide behind something.”
“Sneak in?” Madame frowned. “How?”
“I don’t know.... Maybe—”
Madame patted my arm. “Don’t worry, dear. Just park and join me—and be careful coming in yourself.” She exited the car, then bent down. “Come to think of it, your friend will recognize you if she spots you coming in, so you’d better watch what I do...”
Madame shut the car door and walked behind the car toward the corner. She dug into the pocket of her burgundy wrap coat and fed coins to a New York Times vending machine. After retrieving a paper, she pretended to read it, keeping it to the side of her face as she passed V’s picture windows.
At the hotel’s front doors, she stopped and loitered for about a minute. When a group of trendy looking office workers ventured inside, Madame inserted herself among them. Holding the paper up again, to shield her face, she slipped into the front door, then quickly darted off to a far corner of the lobby and sat.
I shook my head, astonished. “Who needs Mike Hammer when you’ve got a nosey mother-in-law?”
I revved my Honda, pulled away from the curb, and circled the block twice. There was legal parking on the side streets, but all of the spots were taken—of course! I was just about to bite the bullet and start searching for an underground parking garage when I noticed an SUV (yes, another one, this time blue), pulling out of a legal space.
“Bingo!”
I parallel parked, cut the engine, locked the doors, then jogged to the corner. Mimicking Madame, I bought another Times, and snuck into V amid a newly arriving group of Yupsters. Shielding my face, I slunk across the lobby.
The large, high-ceilinged space was done in muted tones of buff and clay. Glass tables, slender black gooseneck floor lamps, and exotic, somewhat frightening-looking plants gave the entire decor a sleek, modern, rather disturbing feel.
“Did I miss anything?” I whispered, sinking into the corner couch’s goose down cushions.
“No,” Madame replied beside me. “She’s just been reading magazines and checking her watch.”
I didn’t want to take any chances, so I kept the newspaper in front of my face. Peeking around the headlines, I could see that Ellie was sitting far away, with her Pretty in Pink back to us.
“Has she talked to anyone else besides the front desk clerk?” I asked.
“No,” said Madame. “She tried to make a cell call, but it was so quick that I suspect she just left the other party a message.”
We sat for a few more minutes, and I started glancing around the entire lobby. We weren’t far from the Village, and I was a little worried about someone recognizing me.
I saw two young women talking in a corner, and an African-American man typing on his laptop. I didn’t recognize any of them. One other man was sitting at the far end of the room in a large leather armchair. But he was holding his magazine so high, I couldn’t see his face.