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CHAPTER SIX
Susie
Surprisingly, the drive took about two minutes. We literally went around the corner before pulling up in front of a no-name Midtown apartment block.
“This is it?” I asked skeptically, eyeing the gray building. It was completely non-descript. Not fancy, not shabby, just … not anything. You could walk past it on any given day and never notice what you’d just gone by.
Harry nodded.
“Yes ma’am,” he said respectfully. “Just go straight to the concierge and they’ll direct you.”
I opened the door, cinching my coat tighter while looking around. It was the same Manhattan scene that populated most of the town. Gray sidewalks, gray buildings, and even people who looked slightly gray with their sallow skin tone and inoffensive business suits.
But there was something different about the building. As I went through the revolving door, inside was a rectangle metal detector, the kind that buzzes if you’re carrying anything suspicious on your body.
“Really?” I asked the security guard, puzzled. “Don’t they usually reserve these for airports?”
The elderly man laughed.
“In fact, we got this-a-one from JFK,” he chortled. “They’re putting in those new-fangled body scanners at the airport, so their cast-offs came to us.”
But still, why? This was a residential building, and not a high profile target like the Federal Reserve or Department of Justice. Nor were we in a heavily trafficked area like Times Square or Madison Park. So why did this faceless skyscraper deserve its own metal detector?
But sometimes, it’s easier just to give in. And within seconds, I was through. Not surprising, given that I only had lingerie underneath my coat. Nor did my bra have an underwire, which would have triggered the alarm.
“You’re good to go!” the elderly security guard said cheerily. “Right up thataways,” he said, gesturing to the front desk. I sidled up to the woman behind a huge slab of marble.
“Um, I’m Pearl,” I managed on a murmur. “Or Susie?”
She didn’t even blink.
“Yes, Mr. Pattinson is expecting you,” came her smooth reply. “Elevator all the way to the left, and then up to the top floor.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled wanly before striding through the marble lobby. And fortunately, the elevator was right there, the doors swooshing open in anticipation.
But when I looked inside, another surprise greeted me. Because there was an actual attendant waiting inside, perched on a wooden stool and dressed in a natty bellhop suit. It seemed like a throwback to the sixties when every elevator had an operator, but who knew? At this point, there’d been so many unexpected events that I didn’t know what to think anymore.
“Hello,” the young man greeted cheerfully. “Up to the top floor?”
“Um, why yes,” I stammered, getting in. “How did you know?”
“We only go to the top floor,” he said in a bright voice. “How’s your day going, ma’am?”
I didn’t answer, merely looking at him curiously. Because why was there an attendant for an elevator that only served the penthouse? Why did the penthouse have its own elevator anyways? Did the owner not like to share?
My mind was churning because clearly, my client had to be rich. The building he lived in was nothing to behold from the outside, but the lobby had been fancy with marble floors and modern chandeliers. And now, the elevator was pure luxury itself, what with the wood-paneled walls and personal service. What was going on? It seemed like the closer and closer you got to my mysterious customer, the more elaborate things became.
But I took a deep breath. This is just a two-hour jaunt, the voice in my head came. You’re making your two thousand and then beating the hell outta Dodge, it said firmly. Don’t lose your head.
So when the bell dinged, I nodded politely at the attendant before stepping outside into a long, carpeted hallway. Hmm, you could almost smell the luxury now, from the gold-scrolled carpet to the elegant damask wallpaper. I made my way down the hall to the one door at the end, which was huge and oaken with a lion’s head knocker. How weird. Who would have a lion’s head knocker on their apartment door? This was an apartment, wasn’t it? Not a house?
But immediately, a low voice rang out.
“Come,” it said. And somehow, I knew who would be in there before I actually saw him. It had to be the mysterious man from last week, the one who’d watched me dance while half-hidden in the shadows. A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped into the foyer.
“Hi, it’s me, Susie,” I said. “Or Pearl,” was my quick stammer. Drat, why did I keep making that mistake? My heels clack-clacked on the marble floors, and I felt nervous yet excited at once. Because the man had been ruling my dreams for the past weeks, and it was frankly embarrassing how I’d been at work thinking about him non-stop. For example, just today at lunch, my friend Lizzie had noticed the dreamy look in my eyes.
“Hello, hello,” she’d said, waving her hand in front of my eyes. “Geez Louise, Suse, what’s wrong with you?”
