That was true. After she and Griff moved in, she’d expected a couple of the neighbors to stop in and say hello. But none did, and even if she ran into one or two waiting for the elevator, they weren’t very enthusiastic. “It’s one of the older ladies who’s lived there forever, since it was a women’s hotel. I’m doing a piece on her and the other women for work.”
“Do you really want to stay in a stranger’s apartment? It’d be fine to bring the dog with you. The kids would love it.”
“I’m not sure how much the dog would love the children, to tell you the truth. He’s a feisty old guy.” As she spoke, the decision to stay in Darby’s apartment, at least for the short term, solidified. It provided privacy, access to the women, and peace and quiet. She’d be out before Darby came back and no one would be the wiser. “Don’t worry, his owner returns in two weeks, at which point I’ll be moaning with self-pity on your couch.”
“Something to look forward to. So how’s your dad?”
Rose pressed her knuckles into her forehead. A couple of the other reporters had arrived and she lowered her voice. “He was moved yesterday. I stopped by; he seems like he’s adapting.”
Indeed, her father hadn’t made a fuss. His eyes had been blank, his jaw working back and forth with nervous energy. The dementia ward had lavender-colored walls and locked doors. A large black carpet had been placed in front of the elevator. One of the nurses explained that most patients in the ward were reluctant to step on it, thinking it was a dark hole, and that kept them from trying to escape.
How awful, to have a pit placed between you and freedom, or the world as you remembered it. She was sure her father remembered snippets of their old life. Before she’d left, he’d asked if she’d done her homework and called her Rosie, as he used to when she was a teenager. Then he’d burst into tears, mucus running down his nose and chin. No matter what she’d said, he wouldn’t be calmed, until the nurse kindly suggested she leave.
Maddy let out a sympathetic sigh. “You’re really getting spanked, aren’t you? What can I do to help?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Do you think Griff would’ve gone back to his wife anyway, even if Miranda was okay?”
“Maybe.” Connie was a powerhouse of energy, well matched to Griff’s temperament. Together they could run a small country. “I don’t know what to think anymore. How’s the soap business?”
“Trashy. The other day, I had to do a postcoital scene with Robert Hanes-Sterling. He tried to play footsie under the sheet, until I scraped his shin with my toenails. I think I made him bleed.”
“That’s truly disgusting.”
“And that’s why they pay me the big bucks. Tell me more about the story you’re working on.”
“There’s a group of elderly ladies who live in rent-controlled apartments, who’ve been there for years and years. One goes back as far as 1952.”
Maddy whistled. “The Sylvia Plath era.”
Plath again. “Sylvia Plath was only there for a month. These other women are the heart and soul of the place. They’ve seen the Barbizon change drastically, and seen New York City change drastically, too. Their stories should matter to us.”
“I like the way this has you all worked up. Surprised it got approved, though.”
“Barely squeaked by, and only because Tyler wants to sensationalize it. One of the ladies has a pretty tragic history. That’s why I’m dog-sitting for her, to find out more.”
“Is that kosher? I mean, in terms of journalistic integrity and all that?”
She preferred not to answer the question. “Coming from someone who gouges the legs of her coworkers.”
“Right. I think he went to get a tetanus shot once we wrapped.”
“As well he should.”
“Are you sure this isn’t some weird kind of masochism, staying at the Barbizon when Griff and Connie are there together?” Typical Maddy, like a dog with a bone. “Why put yourself through that kind of torture?”
“It’s only temporary.”
“So you’re not using it as an excuse to stick around, hoping he’ll want you to come back to him?”
She hated to admit it to herself, and she sure wasn’t going to admit it to Maddy. “Of course not. This is a combo of helping out a neighbor and getting some work done.” Time to change the subject. “It’s all going to be fine, especially if I can find a way to deal with the video producer I’m working with.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s a tough guy, shot documentaries in the Middle East, that kind of thing. Probably feels this job is beneath him.”
“Then tell him to go back to Afghanistan or wherever.”
“His mother fell ill and passed away, so I guess he’s biding his time for now. I understand that concept.”
“Is he cute?”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Please. He’s not my type. I feel like Snow White with her dwarf Smirky.”
Maddy laughed. “Well, hang in there. And we’re ready for you anytime. There’s a bottle of Pinot in the fridge with your name on it.”
The sound of throat clearing made her look up. Jason stood on the other side of her cubicle, one arm draped over the partition.
From the expression on his face, he had heard every word.
Rose studied Jason’s face, trying to figure out her next move. One side of his mouth curled upward and he looked amused, entertained even. But when their eyes met, he blinked once, and she knew he was covering his dismay, putting up a front.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him; she’d been joking with Maddy, trying to get her off her back about the Griff ordeal. But her joke was nasty.
“You hungry?” Jason asked. “Because I have an apple back at my desk.”
She leaned forward in her chair, hands gripping the edge of the seat. “I’m sorry, that was awful. It’s my friend Maddy. I didn’t mean . . .” She trailed off, hoping he’d say something to stop her from groveling. But he just stood there.
“Just checking in to see if you need me today. I finished another piece early and have the rest of the morning free.”
She had to find a way to make this up to him, to smooth things over. Especially if they were going to work together for the next few weeks. “I was going to head downtown, check out the location of that old jazz club, the one with the menu tucked into the book of spices.”
“The Flatted Fifth?”
“Yes, exactly. It shut down in the seventies. But I wanted to see the building it was in. You could film it and we could use before and after footage.” The idea was lame, but she hoped he’d say yes.
“Not very dynamic.”
“No. But it’s all I have for now. Will you come?”
He nodded. “I’ll get my equipment and meet you in the lobby.”
They took a taxi down. The cabbie drove like mad, braking suddenly and accelerating aggressively, which didn’t allow for much conversation. Rose gripped the hand strap above the window to avoid careening into Jason, all while filling him in on her visit to the button shop.
“This young girl might be Darby’s only real friend, from what I can tell. I’d love to find her.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “Well, we know her name begins with an A. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
The taxi pulled up to a stop at a five-story building on Second Avenue. The gray stone facade was filthy, as if it had been rubbed with a giant piece of charcoal, and graffiti marred the front door. At ground level stood a French bistro.
She pointed to the restaurant, which had a CLOSED sign in the window. “That’s where the club used to be.”
Jason shot some exteriors, then knocked on the glass door.
A young woman appeared, looking harried and tired. “We’re not open until five tonight.”
Rose explained who they were, adding that they were researching the location of an old jazz club from the fifties. The minute she said WordMerge, the woman’s face lit up. “Of course, I love WordMerge. If you want, come on in and look around. The shell of the place is the same, but everything else has been renovated.”