“Doctor Oliver can’t see you,” comes the zombie voice from within. “Please go away.”
All I want to do is hand over the ring, but the bitch won’t open up. I buzz nicely, I bang loudly, I plead with all kinds of crazy stories, but nothing works. Several minutes into my campaign, two security guards show up and escort me out of the building.
Chapter Twenty-Three
RALPH IS GLARING AT ME.
“Don’t look at me that way,” I say, sipping my chai.
“I told you I wasn’t going to do anything like that again.”
“Come on,” I plead, “just this one time.”
“You already got your one time.” He crumples up his paper coffee cup and tosses it in the trash bin we’re walking by on the way to work. I managed to accost him when he went out for lunch and got myself a muffin out of the deal when I refused to leave his side at Starbucks.
“Pleeease, Ralph, I promise, I won’t ask again. It’s just that this guy is nuts, and I’m not sure if I accidentally took the ring back or he put it back in my purse, and I really don’t want it.”
He stops and faces me. “Why not? It’s worth a lot of money. If he told you to keep it you should keep it.”
“Hell no. Do you have any idea the bad karma that’ll follow me around for the rest of my life? I’m not falling into that trap.” I finish my chai and toss the cup into the trash behind Ralph. Two points!
“You’re crazy. There’s no such thing as karma. There’s just you and me and the rest of the world, everyone trying to get a nut.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. Anyway, I’m not pretending to be your manager or whatever. It’s done. Over. Sayonara.”
“No, see? That’s the beauty of this thing. You don’t need to do that. No more manager, no more Shay Dee, whoever she was.”
He’s walking so fast now, I think he’s trying to ditch me. Good thing I wore my sneaks today. I could run a marathon in these puppies.
“I don’t want to know.” He’s refusing to look at me, but I don’t let that dissuade me either.
“I have two plans. Plan A is you pretend to be a delivery guy and deliver it to him.”
“After hearing Plan A, I’m absolutely sure I don’t want to hear Plan B.”
“Plan B is you call up from Cartier and say that I left the ring there with you.”
He stops and points in my face, his cheeks growing two bright pink spots on them. “No. Absolutely not. You leave Cartier out of this.”
I back up a half-step. “Fine. No need to get your perfectly starched undies in a bunch.”
“Just mail it to him.”
“No way! It’s worth a half-million bucks! I’m not putting it in a box and mailing it. It’ll get stolen.”
“So? Then it’s not your problem anymore.”
I snort. “You have no idea how karma works, do you?”
“Whatever. I’m not helping.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Not even if I tell you that I have a dreadful illness that’s going to end my life any day?”
He snorts. “Talk about bad karma. Pretending you have cancer? I’m pretty sure that’s tempting fate.”
“Who said cancer?”
He stops and stares me down. “What are you talking about? Do you really have something wrong with you?” He pauses. “Other than the obvious, I mean.”
“Hey!” I hit him in the arm. “Not funny.”
He smiles. “Yes it was.”
I smile back. “Fine. It was a good one.”
He’s not smiling anymore. “Seriously, do you have something going on?”
I get very serious. “Yes. I’m dying.”
“Of what?” He lifts a brow.
I try to look pitiful but I can’t help it. He looks so stupid with that hard-candy-shell hair. “Of life! I’m dying every day. Every single day I’m one day closer to dying. It’s terminal. Incurable.”
He rolls his eyes and takes off, leaving me on the sidewalk.
“Please?!” I shout out at his back.
“No! Go away! Never talk to me again!”
I laugh because we both know that’s never going to happen. He’s way too good a fake-rapper manager for that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I GO TO VISIT MEL in the hospital later that day and he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Hey, Mel, what’s new?” I walk over and put my hand on his arm, hoping he isn’t dead. He looks kind of zombie-ish; his skin is very gray.
“Nothing much,” he says in a gravelly voice. “Just learned I’m about to have surgery is all.”
I cringe, not really wanting the details but knowing I have to ask anyway. “What kind of surgery?”
“You don’t want to know.” He turns his head and looks at me with tears in his eyes.
I feel terrible, instantly. Time to lie. “No, I do want to know. Tell me.” Reaching behind me, I grab the closest chair and pull it over to the bed. I take his hand after sitting.
“My diabetes caught up with me. Can’t get that foot to heal. I guess I let it go too long.”
I nod. There’s nothing to say to that, is there? I sure can’t think of anything. Sorry about your foot. I’m going to miss it. Probably not as much as you are, though. No, that would be insensitive. I opt for silence.
“Should’ve taken better care of myself, they said.”
“Kind of hard to do when you’re homeless,” I say in a soft voice.
“Oh, there’re services out there. But I never liked being a charity case. Being inside makes me feel cooped up.”
Mentioning that he begs for change on street corners at this point would be very counter-productive, so I tuck that factoid away for another conversation, the one where I tell him he has to let me help him after he gets out of here.
“So what’s your plan for after?” I ask. “Rehab, probably?”
“Rehab, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t really care, to be honest.” He looks at the window.
“You should care.” I shake his hand a little.
“Why?”
“Because. You have friends. Like me, for one. I’d be sad if I didn’t see you around, share a coffee with you once in a while.”
A ghost of a smile floats across his face before it fades away again. “You’re a good girl.” He looks at me and reaches over to pat my hand. “Life’ll be good to you. Just keep doing what you do, and it’ll all pay off.”
I roll my eyes. “If you say so.”
He frowns. “Aren’t you happy? Is there something wrong?”
The irony that a guy with his feet rotting off him is worried about my wellbeing is not lost on me. I work up the biggest smile I can find in my repertoire. “I’m totally great, Mel, you don’t need to worry about me. Seriously, I have a great job, I have great friends … I have a boyfriend.”
Yeah, I said that. And why Doctor Oliver’s face popped up in my mind when I said it is an even bigger WTF moment. But now I’d said it and there was no going back.
“You do? Oh, that’s wonderful news. What’s his name?”
I panic. “Doctor. Oliver. Doctor Oliver is his name.”
Mel is confused. “That’s not his first name is it? Doctor?”
I fake-laugh, trying to play off the fact that I just realized I don’t know his first name. Had I ever seen it? I can’t remember.
“No, don’t be silly. That’s what the rest of the world calls him. But I call him … Boo.”
“Boo.” Mel frowns and shrugs his acceptance. “I guess that’s what all the kids are doing these days.”
“We’re hardly kids, Mel. I’m a grown woman. Twenty-nine this month, in fact.”
“How’s your brother?”
I have to think for a few seconds so I can process that totally weird and out-of-nowhere question.
“Brother? I don’t have a brother.”
“You don’t?”
Mel looks as
confused as I do.
“Iii’m pretty sure.” I grin, worried his medication is making him weird. I don’t want him to feel bad about it. “Last time I checked, anyway.”
Mel blinks a few times and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry … I thought you told me once that you had a brother.”
“Nope.” I keep grinning, hoping the awkward moment will pass soon. “Not me. I’m an only child.”
“And your birthday is this month, right?”
“Yep. June twenty-fifth.”
“Nineteen eighty …” Mel waits for me to finish.
“Eighty-five. I was born in eighty-five.”
He nods, staring at me. “That’s what I thought.”
He stares at me for so long, I get nervous. “Soooo… can I get you any jello? Pudding? Salisbury steak?”
He smiles and looks at the window again. “No, I think I’ll just take a nap.” He closes his eyes and makes me feel like I’ve been dismissed.
“When is your surgery?” I ask.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers. And then he starts to snore.
I leave the room wondering what the heck is going to happen to my homeless fake-father-in-law. I almost think it’s the ring that’s brought this bad luck into his life, and that renews my desire to get rid of the damn thing as soon as possible.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I LET you talk me into this,” Ralph says, smoothing down the front of his brown shirt.
“You so rock the UPS look, Ralph. You should wear this thing more often.”
“If you ever tell anyone that I wore a UPS uniform, I’ll never speak to you again.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You realize you threaten to never speak to me again every time you see me, right?”
He sighs, adjusting the large box at his waist under his arm. “I have zero willpower. Plus, you’re pushy.” He pulls at the collar of his shirt. “This thing is giving me a rash.”
“That’s just your nerves,” I say, pulling open the door to Doctor Oliver’s building. “As soon as you’re out of here, it’ll go away.”
“How do you know?” he asks, turning to look at me as we walk through the lobby.
“Because, it happens to me all the time. Panic-hives. It’s totally normal.”
He shakes his head as he steps into the elevator without me. “Now you’re really scaring me.”
The doors slide shut before I can respond.
It takes him just five minutes to come back down.
As soon as I see him, I’m elated, but then a split second later, I’m pissed. He still has the frigging package under his arm.
“Why are you still carrying that?” I ask, hands on hips.
He’s walking so fast I have to run to keep up. He answers at the doors leading to the street. “They made me.”
“They made you? They made you? What does that even mean?”
“It means, my cover was blown, that’s what it means.”
“How?” I’m running out of breath, jogging next to his long strides. “Did you get nervous?”
“No, it wasn’t me, it was you. I was totally rocking this uniform but then you had to go screw everything up.”
“How could it have been me? I wasn’t even there.”
“No, but you were in the lobby, weren’t you?” He glares at me.
“So?” I put my hand on his arm to make him stop. “I’m having a heart attack, slow down.”
We stand face-to-face on the sidewalk. “As soon as they came over the intercom, they asked me who was delivering the package. When I told them I didn’t know, they called the lobby and described you, asking if you were hanging around.”
“No they did not!” I shout in his face.
“Yes, they most certainly did!” He starts walking fast again. “And if they recognized me from the store, I’m done. I’m totally done. If that happens I’ll never forgive you. I’m not kidding. I can’t lose my job.”
My heart kind of seizes up at that. “Don’t be mad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. You won’t lose your job, will you?”
He shoves the package at me in mid-stride. “Just keep that thing away from me. It’s bad luck.”
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to flow around me. “But that’s what I’ve been saying!” I wail. “That’s why we have to get rid of it!”
“There is no we!” he shouts back. His brown uniform disappears into the crowd. “It’s just you and that ring! Good luck! And don’t call me anymore!”
His voice follows me into my dreams that night and I wake up in a cold sweat. The ring still in the box is staring at me from across the room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’M NOT A VERY CHURCHY person, so I suffer under the delusion that there are nunneries all over the city just waiting for people to ring their bell and offer them money for all the good causes they’re spearheading. But a few phone calls and misdirected trips out into the boroughs gets my head straight in a hurry. Charity work is tough business.
I finally find myself at a desk, sitting across from a very round woman in black polyester. I’ve brought the ring in my tissues — it’s much easier to carry around that way than in a cardboard box — and I’ve set it down on her blotter.
“I’d like to donate this to your cause.”
She blinks at me several times. “You’re giving me tissues for my cause. Thank you.”
“No, not tissues.” I’m so tired of dealing with stupid people, I’m very low on patience. Leaning forward, I open up the layers. “It’s a ring.”
The woman leans in and looks at it. Using a pencil, she picks it up and dangles it between us. “It’s a diamond ring.”
“Yes.” I clap, excited that she’s got at least half a brain. “And I’d like to donate it to you and your cause, whatever it is.”
“This is Catholic Charities.”
“Whatever. Give it to the Catholics if that’s what you want to do. It’s out of my hands.” I stand to leave. Maybe Larry will give me a month’s free rent for supporting his religion like this. I’ll have to ask him.
“Wait! Don’t you leave this here with me.” She sounds offended.
“Why not?”
“Because … I have questions you have to answer first.”
“Oh.” I calm down and take my seat again. “That’s not a problem. I can answer questions.”
She folds her hands on the desk in front of her. “Is it your ring?”
I bite my lip. And I thought this was going to be easy. “Yeeesss…?”
“That doesn’t sound like a yes.”
“It is a yes.” I nod emphatically. “It’s my ring. But I want you to have it. It’s your ring now.”
“Can you prove ownership?”
I try to bitch-intimidate her. Frowning, I scoff. “I gave it to you, didn’t I?”
“I need proof of purchase.”
“It’s a diamond ring. You think I buy diamond rings for myself?”
“Your boyfriend, then, or your husband. Do they have proof of purchase? A receipt maybe? A diamond certificate?”
I roll my eyes. “Why does this have to be so difficult? I want to give you a half a million bucks and you’re arguing with me?”
She gives me a polite smile. “We can’t take stolen merchandise as charitable gifts. Robin Hood is a myth.”
I stand and snatch the ring off her desk. “I’m no thief!”
She stands too. “I don’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry if that sounded offensive.”
She looks like she genuinely feels bad, so I try to calm down. “It was offensive. But I accept your apology.” Sitting back down, I place the ring on her desk again. It’s propped up on the top of the tissues, making me realize that I really need to find some new ones. These look like they’ve seen a kindergartener’s nose more than once.
She smiles politely. “If you give me your boyfriend’s contact information, I’m sure we can work something out.”
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I think about it for a few seconds and decide to take the chance. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
“Fine. He’s not my boyfriend, but his name is Doctor Oliver. He’s over in Lenox Hill on East Seventy-Sixth Street. You can look up his number online.” I point at her computer.
She gives me a funny look but starts typing away. After a few moments, she hits the speaker button on her phone and dials a number.
I really hate that she’s letting me listen in, but I don’t want to blow this, so I wait for the response. There’s a tiny hope living in my heart that the words Catholic and Charity used together in the same sentence will make a difference.
“Oliver Cosmetic and Reconstructive Surgery Center, how may I help you?”
I wish I could reach through the phone and slap the face of that woman speaking. I can literally feel her attitude on my skin and it’s making me break out again.
“Hello, this is Melba from Catholic Charities…I have someone here in my office who’d like to donate to our organization in the doctor’s name. Is he there to verify the gift?”
There’s a pause and then, “Could you please hold?”
I’m freaking out, thinking I’m almost to the finish line. My armpits are itching now.
“Yes, sure.”
Two very long minutes later, the phone clicks. “Hello?”
It’s him. I feel like peeing my pants, and I can’t sit still. My leg starts itching like crazy, so I bend down and scratch like a madwoman.
“This is Doctor Oliver,” the speaker says. “I understand one of my patients is donating in my name. May I ask which one?”
He sounds so pleased with himself I want to vomit. Don’t say it, Catholic Charities Lady! Don’t tell him who I am!
“Actually, I didn’t say she was a patient. I believe she’s your girlfriend. Or maybe an ex?” The woman has the decency to cringe at that last part.
I glare at her. She’s totally going to ruin this, and I was so close!
“Don’t tell me … let me guess. The donation is a ring?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” She sits up really straight with a huge grin on her face.