“And what did you say?”
“I told him no.”
“Well, then,” Enid said. “What’s the problem?”
“This,” Mindy said. She opened her hand and held up a tiny green plastic toy soldier thrusting a bayonet.
“I don’t understand,” Enid said.
“This morning, when I opened my door to get the newspaper, I found a whole troop of them arranged on the mat.”
“And you think Paul Rice did it,” Enid said skeptically.
“I don’t think he did it. I know he did it,” Mindy said. “He told me if I didn’t approve his air conditioners, it was war. If this isn’t a sign,” she continued, shaking the little green army man in Enid’s face, “I don’t know what is.”
“You must confront him,” Enid said.
“I can’t do it alone,” Mindy said. “I need your help.”
“I don’t see how I can help you,” Enid said calmly. “Dealing with unpleasant residents is your job. After all, you are the president of the board.”
“You were the president of the board for fifteen years,” Mindy said. “There must be something we can do. Some way to get them out.”
Enid smiled. “They’ve only just moved in.”
“Look, Enid,” Mindy said, beginning to lose patience. “We were friendly once.”
“Yes, we were.” Enid nodded. “We were friendly for a long time. We were even friendly after you conspired to have me removed as president.”
“I thought you didn’t want the job anymore,” Mindy protested.
“I didn’t, and that’s why I forgave you. I thought, If she wants the job that much, why not let her have it?”
Mindy looked away. “What if the approval was a mistake?” she asked tentatively.
Enid sighed. “There’s nothing we can do. The only way we can force them out is if they don’t pay their maintenance. And given the circumstances, I’d say that’s highly unlikely.”
“I’m not sure I can live in the same building with this man,” Mindy said.
“Then perhaps you’ll have to move,” Enid said. She held open her door. “So sorry I can’t help you, dear. Have a good day.”
Lola put down the novel Atonement and, opening the door to the terrace, stepped out onto the icy surface in her high-heeled Chloé boots. She peered over the edge and, still seeing no sign of Philip, went back inside. She closed the book and glared at the cover. It was a gift from Philip, although “gift” probably wasn’t the right word. “Suggestion” was more like it. He had given her the book after they’d had a disastrous dinner with one of his old friends. “This is a great book,” he’d said. “I thought you might enjoy it.”
“Thank you,” she’d said gratefully, although she knew exactly what he was up to. He was trying to educate her, and while she thought it was sweet of him, she couldn’t understand why he found it necessary. As far as she was concerned, it was Philip who needed educating. Every time she mentioned a hot new actor or some YouTube video everyone was talking about, or even when she played music for him off her iPod, he claimed never to have heard of any of it. This was frustrating, but she always refrained from criticizing him. She at least had the decency not to hurt his feelings and make him feel old.
In adopting this attitude, she’d found she could pretty much get Philip to do whatever she wanted. Today, for instance, they were going to visit the set of Schiffer Diamond’s new TV show. Everyone was talking about the show, and knowing Philip was, as he put it, “old friends” with Schiffer, Lola had wondered why he hadn’t gone to see her. Philip seemed to wonder, too, and, with her urging, went down to her apartment and left her a note. One evening, Schiffer called, and Philip went into his office and talked to her on the phone for an hour with his door closed while Lola waited impatiently outside. When he came out, he said he was going to see Schiffer on the set, but Lola shouldn’t bother coming with him, as it would be dull and she would be bored. This after it was her idea to go in the first place! Then she’d given him a foot massage and, while she was rubbing his feet, pointed out that a set visit would be good for her education. As his researcher and girlfriend, naturally, she wanted to understand everything about his work. “You know what I do,” he’d protested, but only mildly. “I sit at a computer all day.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “You’re going to Los Angeles for two weeks in January. And I’ll probably come out for a week. I’ll have to go to the set with you then—you can’t expect me to sit in a hotel room all day.”
“I thought we discussed L.A.,” he said, tensing his foot. “It’s going to be a nightmare. The first two weeks of production always are. I’ll be working sixteen-hour days. It won’t be fun for you at all.”
“You mean I won’t see you for two weeks?” she’d exclaimed. He must have felt guilty, because almost immediately, he agreed to take her with him to the set of Lady Superior after all. She was so pleased, she didn’t even mind about him not going to her parents’ house for Thanksgiving; she told herself it was too soon in their relationship to be spending holidays with each other’s families. She wouldn’t have wanted to spend Thanksgiving with Enid, which was what Philip had done, taking his aunt to a boring lunch at the Century Club. Philip had dragged Lola there once, and she’d vowed never to return. Everyone was over eighty. So Lola happily went back to Windsor Pines and met up with her girlfriends and stayed up until two A.M. on Friday night and showed off pictures of her and Philip and Philip’s apartment. One of her friends was engaged and planning a wedding; the others were trying to get their boyfriends to marry them. They looked at the photographs of Philip and his apartment and sighed in envy.
That was three weeks ago, and now it was nearly Christmas, and Philip had finally come up with a day for the set visit. Lola spent two days getting ready. She’d had a massage and a spray tan, her dark hair was highlighted with strands of gold, and she’d bought a dress at Marc Jacobs. After the purchase, her mother called, wondering if she had indeed just spent twenty-three hundred dollars. Lola accused her mother of using her credit card to spy on her. They had had a rare fight, and Lola hung up, felt terrible, then called her mother back. Beetelle was nearly in tears. “Mommy, what’s wrong?” Lola demanded. When her mother didn’t respond, Lola asked in a panic, “Are you and Daddy getting a divorce?” “Your father and I are fine.” “So what’s the problem?” “Oh, Lola,” her mother said, sighing. “We’ll talk about it when you come home for Christmas. In the meantime, try to be careful with money.”
This was very strange, and Lola hung up, perplexed. But then she decided it wasn’t important. Her mother got upset about money every now and again, but she always got over it and, feeling guilty, usually bought Lola a trinket like Chanel sunglasses.
Philip, meanwhile, was around the corner, getting his hair cut. He’d frequented this particular salon, located on Ninth Street off Fifth, for thirty years. His mother started coming to the salon in the seventies, when the clients and stylists would play music on a boom box and snort cocaine. Naturally, the proprietor was a dear friend of his mother’s. Everyone was a dear friend of his mother’s. She’d had that charming neediness that made people want to take care of her. She’d been a trust fund girl and considered a great beauty, but there was an air of tragedy about her that only increased her fascination. No one was surprised when she killed herself in 1983.