“I’ll explain when you get here. Ask for me at the desk. We have all new security staff, so they won’t recognize you. Use a fake name. Hurry.”
I rushed to shower and dress. While lacing up my boots, I heard the doorbell ring. “Bomb threat!” Marlowe shouted from downstairs. I was ready to go. I’d folded the paper bag into a firm rectangular parcel, which I now stuffed under the waistband of my oatmeal skirt, where it stayed pressed against my belly. I put on a loose jacket and draped a scarf around my neck to hide the extra bulk.
“Bomb threat!” Sana yelled, leaving three rapid knocks on my door. A bomb was the least of my worries. I was more concerned about being mugged.
I followed the women out the front door, careful to avoid eye contact with the policewoman who was shepherding us out. If something went wrong, it was possible I wouldn’t be returning to Calliope House. I looked at it over my shoulder on my way to Sixth Avenue, its plain brown exterior belying the beating red heart inside.
The other women took their places on the benches, but I hailed a taxi. “Just where do you think you’re going, Sugar Plum?” Sana said. “Bomb threats are a group activity.”
“She’s abandoning us,” Verena said.
“You’re going to miss out on ice cream,” Marlowe added.
I slipped into the back seat of a waiting taxi. “I’m not abandoning you,” I said before closing the door. “I have errands to do and then I’ll come home. I promise.” Driving away, I watched them through the back window: Verena and Rubí, Marlowe and Huck, Sana—the usual gang, my friends. For them it was an ordinary day.
In Times Square, crowds on the sidewalks stood still, gazing up at Soledad’s face on the jumbo screen, as if toward some celestial event. It was too soon to know whether Jennifer—Soledad’s all-American girl who had morphed into something else—was an out-of-control blaze leaving only destruction or a controlled burn intended to purify. I patted my stomach as I weaved through the people, feeling the money under my clothes, as well as my thumping pulse. I entered the Austen Tower and went through the metal detector. I gave the guard a name, not my real name, and waited for Julia. When she arrived, I saw that her fa?ade was already crumbling. A bit of flab hung over the waistband of her pants; her straightened hair was beginning to frizz and coil; her makeup had faded, leaving nothing but a faint outline of her features, her face that of an old china doll that had been bleached in the sun.
She didn’t speak until we were in the elevator. “Can you believe they offered to throw me a goodbye party this afternoon?” Julia snorted.
On the outside of the door to the Beauty Closet was a sign that read INVENTORY IN PROGRESS. ENTRY FORBIDDEN! Once we were inside, Julia locked the door and disarmed the keypad. The Beauty Closet matched Julia in its disarray. Hundreds of tubes of lipstick and mascara had crashed to the floor, as well as bottles of a perfume called Hussy, which had shattered, leaving liquid and glass everywhere. There was a stench, the sweat of a thousand hussies, which made it painful to breathe.
“How much money did you bring?”
“Twenty thousand,” I said, gazing at the door, longing to open it and flee.
“What did you tell Verena?” Julia was stuffing files from her desk into her bag.
“I didn’t tell Verena anything. This is my money.”
Julia opened her mouth as if to speak, then reconsidered. Her lips, in Muted Rose, turned into a half-smile, and she nodded. “I’m sorry I’ve lied to you, but I didn’t want to involve you unless it was absolutely necessary. When she came to me, I had to help her. You understand, don’t you?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Julia attempted to tame her wild hair, smoothing it with her hands, but it made no difference; each flattened curl sprang back up. She was serious and fearful. She didn’t even flirt with me. Crushed cakes of purple and blue eye shadow bruised the white floor around her. “Come with me,” she said.
I followed her down the Lips aisle, left at Mascara, right at Concealer, to the end of the Blush corridor. Julia wasn’t wearing her heels, just simple brown flats, and I had never seen her move so quickly. I struggled to keep up.
At the end of the corridor was a pile of boxes sitting in front of a blank space of white wall. Julia pushed the boxes aside, grunting and puffing. Once the boxes were cleared away, I saw a cutout line in the drywall. Julia wrenched it open with a crowbar, revealing a hidden space.
The space was glowing with yellow light coming from two lamps balanced on a steel beam; beyond the lamps it was black. Julia bent over and stepped inside. She motioned for me to follow, but my limbs were heavy. I couldn’t move.
“You wanted the truth,” she said. “It’s in here.”