Alligators in the Trees (47 page)

Tobias opened his front door, relieved to find Monique hadn’t changed the locks. As far as he could see, all the lights were on, but other than that, there was no sign anyone was about. He checked the kitchen: no sign of Lilliana there, or in the dining room. Strange, it wasn’t her day off.

He moved down the hallway, horrified once again by what Monique and her cheeky accomplice had done to his home. No one in the living room, which was understandable. A person had to be blind to withstand décor that atrocious. He proceeded toward the master suite expectantly, the nagging suspicion he would find his wife and her decorator
en flagrante
growing with every step.

He crept up to the doorway and peered in. Nothing. In fact, aside from the unmade bed, there was no evidence that the room had ever been occupied. Sensing the worst, Tobias charged through the room, into the dressing room and the adjoining bathroom. Everything was gone.

“That horrible bitch,” he spat, exasperated by her treachery. Quickly, he ran through the rest of the apartment, noting on his way that all the artwork of any value had been replaced by hideously ugly pieces, the sight of which almost made him sick.

Room after room, it was the same. The good stuff was gone, substituted by utter crap, things that could have come out of the bad art department of a secondhand store. He was further galled to realize
his
money had been spent to make this insulting gesture. It was an outrage.

His first inclination was to call the police. Monique had absconded with three million dollars and who knew how much in valuable works of art. So what if she was his wife? That didn’t give her the right to rob him blind.

Tobias sunk down on the foot of a guest bed, completely defeated. He couldn’t call the authorities. Monique had legal access to everything she had run off with, access he had given her to make his life easier. Like his life had been so tough. No, he couldn’t call anyone. He had no recourse, so why expose himself to public censure. Oh, Christ—what the hell was happening to his life?

As he sat there, the whole picture became clear. As divorcing Monique was the second course of action that came to mind, it didn’t take long for him to follow this line of thinking to its inevitable conclusion. And this is where Monique had trumped him. Even in his defeated state, he had to appreciate the cunningness of her plan.

Had he divorced her prior to launching her scheme, she would have been given a fraction of the three-plus million she had managed to siphon off, per their prenuptial agreement. By stealing the money and possessions right from under his nose—legally—she had not only made out like a bandit, but she also gotten him back for all the ways he had done her wrong, a list that was undoubtedly limitless.

Making his apartment unlivable and unsalable had been her
coup de grace
, the crowning “fuck you.” Now he would have to spend
more
money to undo the damage she had joyfully inflicted on one of his prime assets.

Tobias threw himself backwards on the bed and stared up at the freshly painted orange ceiling. Did he even want to live in this place again? He had always loved this apartment, but seeing it nightmarishly altered had dampened his feelings for it. It was like seeing a previously gorgeous woman violently disfigured; it just didn’t inspire a sense of desire anymore.

While he was on that train of thought, he had to ask himself if he even wanted to stay in New York any longer. What was here for him now? His sham of a marriage had ended, his affair with Simone had gone the way of all his affairs, and Brody—he shuddered at the thought of having to face him again.

He was a shit, there were no two ways about it. He’d be lucky if he only got what he deserved. The kind of crimes against human decency he had committed should, by nature, call for triple retribution. If he had any sense, he’d put this place on the market, as is, take his losses and get the hell out of town while the getting was good.

In the midst of his loathsome self-discovery, one bright spot shone through. Priscilla. There was one good thing he could hang his hat on, one relationship where he had actually conducted himself like a gentleman. With her he had been generous, thoughtful, even inspired. He didn’t know what it was, but she was the one woman who could coax the good out of him.

And here was another bright spot: now that Monique was out of the picture, he was free to be with Priscilla any way he chose. Maybe he could have this place completely remodeled, erasing all traces of Monique, and they could make it their home.

That thought cheered him enough to get up and survey the full extent of what needed to be done in order to make the place livable. He could change Monique’s office into a sanctuary for Priscilla, a place she could sit and write her lyrics to her heart’s content. And he’d be right down the hall, in his studio, working on material they had collaborated on. It could be exactly the fresh start he needed to recharge his creativity.

Working with Brody had been counter-productive; all he gained out of their false starts was a sense of trying to go backwards in time. That kind of wishful thinking never produces good results. He was a forward-thinking man, always had been. Their reunion had been a farce, spurred on by Monique, probably just to distract him from his home life and his finances long enough to plot his undoing.

She may have taken his money and his art and stripped him of a decent place to live, but she hadn’t taken the things that meant the most to him, not by a long shot. He still had his talent—wandering and temperamental as it was, but ultimately accessible. And he had Priscilla. With assets like those, he couldn’t lose.

He made his way to the enormous living room windows, careful to avoid looking at the room itself, and stood looking out at his expansive views. This was the real reason he had bought the place. The prestigious address and the spacious floor plan paled when compared to the feeling he got when he gazed out over the park and the city beyond.

Oddly enough, as he stood there he found the view did not stir him the way it used to. Maybe he was over this phase of his life. Maybe it would be better to make a clean break from everything in his past. As he gazed at the sea of treetops, he imagined gliding through the Everglades, Priscilla at his side.

Florida really did have a lot to offer: year-round sunshine, beautiful and secluded beaches, easy lifestyle. He could sell this place and buy a compound down there where they could live like royalty.

Just thinking about it filled him with hope as fresh as an ocean breeze. A melody drifted in on that breeze, and words were close behind. He flew to his studio, anxious to catch the song before it drifted back out.

You asked me about love

There’s so little that I know

Hadn’t ever caught the feeling

Hadn’t ever felt it grow

You asked me why I never sang of it

I wouldn’t have had a clue

Didn’t know the face of love

Till I caught sight of you

Funny to find out now

It was in me all along

So here it is

Here’s your love song.

Priscilla was reluctant to use her key, though knocking on the door would have seemed more foolish. She called out Tobias’s name, with no response. She checked his room and all the rest with no sign of him anywhere. The place was tidy; obviously the maid had been there already. Maybe Tobias had gone out to let her do her job. Chances were he hadn’t gone far, phobic as he was of being in public.

She sat down on one of the sofas to think. Had he been there, she didn’t know what she would’ve said to him. She hated to think she would’ve fallen right in step with him again, throwing her own plans straight out the window, but chances are that’s exactly what would’ve happened. It was much better it worked out this way. Now she’d have time to marshal her convictions and give it to him straight without wavering.

“Tobias, I’ve had a great time with you these past few days, but it’s time for me to get moving. I want get down to Florida and start my new life…no, that’s sounds stupid. Okay—Tobias, hanging out with you has been amazing, but I’ve got to get out of this town…lame.” Priscilla threw her head back against the sofa, at a loss for what to say.
Maybe something will come to me while I get my stuff together,
she decided.

Though packing was a sound idea, confronting the objects in her room came with their own dilemmas. The clothes she had in her bag when first shanghaied by Tobias where now too dirty to wear, and there was nothing appealing about dragging unclean clothing across the country.

On the other hand, the outfits Tobias had bought weren’t really her. They were far too fancy and formal for the lifestyle she envisioned down in Key West. What opportunities would she have for wearing a skimpy designer dress? None.

Besides, taking all that loot just didn’t seem right, especially after what he must’ve paid for it. She laid it all out on the bed where he could find it. Maybe he could return everything and get his money back, or pass it on to another size six, though that wasn’t his usual type.

Now that she had eliminated virtually all her clothes, except the denim skirt and white shirt she was wearing, packing didn’t take a whole lot of time. It also didn’t leave her with many options. Was she really going to wear the same tired outfit all the way to Florida? She was feeling far too muddled to answer practical questions like that.

The truth was she didn’t exactly feel up to making any decisions, large or small. As she stood blindly staring at her few toiletries, notebooks and other odds and ends, she was suddenly seized with the desire to flee. She stuffed everything into her bag and made a beeline for the door.

She was within inches of it when she came to an abrupt halt. She couldn’t stand the thought of leaving without saying goodbye. Yet, if she waited for him to return, she might as well surrender to the idea of staying. But she couldn’t bear the thought of that, either. Making a clean getaway was her only hope. She’d at least have to leave him a note.

She dragged herself back into the living room and sat down at the piano. She pulled out a notebook, ripped out a sheet and just looked at it, unable to put pen to paper. She made a couple ineffectual attempts at saying goodbye, both of which she balled up and tossed out of sight. She so wanted to get up and run out of there, but she owed him some sort of farewell. She tried another approach.

There’s a place I’ve longed to go

That never sees sleet, let alone snow

A place so warm and clean and bright

I’d ride a train all day and night

But everyone who knows where I’m bound

Is quick to point out pitfalls profound

It’s as if they believe Florida the gates of hell

Not even one soul has wished me well

And all the people say…

Don’t you know it’s crazy down there

Illegal drugs and corruption in the air

There are Haitians on rafts, hurricanes by the dozens

Cockroaches with wings and mosquitoes always buzzin’

Me, I think they’re all just jealous

Else why are they all so overzealous

To keep me here, where I don’t want to be

I’ll hop that train, I’ll set myself free

And all the people say…

Look out girl, the criminals run loose

It’s not all beaches and fresh orange juice

Every manner of reptile runs free as they please

I’ve heard they’ve even got gators in the trees

I don’t care, let them all say…

Look out girl, there’re gators in the trees

Look out girl, there’re gators in the trees

Priscilla put the pen down on top of the page and slid off the piano bench. It was not a standard goodbye, but she thought Tobias would appreciate it. She laid her plastic key card next to the song and left his suite as quick as a thief.

Priscilla took her ticket from the clerk and collected her change. She had almost an hour to kill before boarding. Butterflies were ballroom dancing in her stomach, making the thought of food impossible. She purchased the latest edition of
The New York Post
and a couple magazines, but she was too restless for reading.

Her mind was going in fifty different directions, all of which gave her acute apprehension. She imagined herself as an escaped criminal dragging a ball and chain, literally yards from freedom. The closer she got, the more desperate she felt.

She tried to soothe her anxiety with thoughts of balmy breezes and low-key attitudes, sunshine and bright blue skies, but the more she attempted to visualize Florida, the more counterfeit and cartoon-like it became. The negative hype she had received from both Phil and Tobias rang in her ears.

But worse than that were her own doubts concerning this drastic relocation plan. What did she really think she was going to do down there? Take up surfing, become a deckhand, lay on the beach all day until her money ran out? No, she would get nervous the second she stepped off the train and run to the nearest bar, restaurant, or diner in search of employment.

The only thing about her life that she’d be changing was the venue. All the quirks, phobias and myths that had plagued her all her life would remain intact. No doubt she would add a few bad habits to her list, like laziness and sloth.

What
was
there for her to do in the Sunshine State? She couldn’t sightsee indefinitely. She’d have to come up with some sort of plan for her future. But she’d be doing it in a place that couldn’t possibly offer her more inspiration than New York City—what did Philip call it, the Capital of the World.

Someone had accused her of running away—either Phil or Tobias, she couldn’t remember which. As different as these two men were, they were brothers under the skin where the subject of her moving to Florida was concerned. It made her smile to think how vehemently opposed they both were to her going.

Being independent and cocky, she had been urged onward by their appeals for her to stay. What did either of them know about being Priscilla Vanderpool, loser extraordinaire?

Her throat constricted painfully as an innocent truth hit home. This exodus to Florida was nothing more than a futile attempt to outrun her bad luck. From the age of ten, she had been cursed, doomed to be ungrounded forever.

This feeling only grew as she got older. Now it was her sole religion, the solitary principle that steered her life: she was destined to lose anything she attached her heart to. She had lost her parents, her cat Otis, her Uncle Bob. After that, she learned to not invest her heart and aim too high—keep her sights on those who would never mean anything to her. And what had she gotten? Losers, just like she imagined herself to be.

She glanced nervously about as she discretely wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.
Why did this have to come up now? Couldn’t it have waited until I got on the train?
she asked herself angrily, embarrassed by this moment of insight.

If what she was thinking was true, she had been solely responsible for the course her life had taken—not the underachieving boyfriends, not the mean-spirited bosses or the dead-end jobs. It was her own view of herself that had dictated her path.

As confirmation of this theory, she remembered Tobias questioning why she didn’t learn music. She had spent twenty-plus years penning lyrics, yet she wouldn’t give herself the chance to possess a whole talent. She preferred, consciously or not, to remain in a state of frustration, doubting her self-worth, keeping herself tied to failure.

Her bottom lip trembled and she bolted off the bench, practically running to the restroom. She found an empty stall and let the dam burst. She cried hard for about a minute until the absurdity of bawling her head off in another bathroom struck her as hilariously funny. Maybe it
was
time for a change of scenery; she was starting to become tiresome in her habits.

She had a good, wet laugh, blew her nose and made her exit, refreshed and rejuvenated by her purge. Now that she understood what motivated her, surely she would be ready to make a fresh start anywhere she landed.

An announcement went out over the P.A. system that her train was ready for boarding. She moved along with the crush of fellow travelers she had managed to overlook while she killed time. The sight of the Florida-bound folks would’ve given her further ammunition against her choice in destination, if she had paid them any mind.

There was nothing wrong with them as people; they just weren’t her kind of people, that’s all. She had nothing in common with her countrymen at heart, and that was precisely why she made such a good New Yorker. She was semi-maladjusted, semi-malcontent, a little arrogant and snobbish, and thoroughly bullish about her adopted hometown.

She stepped out of line, letting the colorful backpacks and tropical prints slowly ebb past her. Florida was not the answer. But God help her, she didn’t know what was.

She stood on the platform watching as the train pulled out of the station. She felt as empty and directionless as a corked bottle at sea. She could end up on any shore, yet she felt almost rooted to the ground where she stood.

If she had truly abandoned everything in her life—possessions as well as beliefs—then she was a blank slate. All she had to do was make the first mark. It would all grow from there of its own accord.

But how to make that first mark? She was too frightened to even think about it. Taking action would require answering a question she had never faced before, namely, what did she want from her life?

In a blinding moment of clarity, she saw what her next move should be. Funny how long it had taken her to reach the conclusion that was right in front of her face all along.

Scarcely able to breathe, with knees wobbling, she walked zombie-like to the nearest phone booth. She fished the business card out of her bag, and with shaking hands, she pounded out Philip’s cell phone number. She held her finger above the hook, ready to disconnect if she lost her nerve.

“Philip Glessner,” he said. Priscilla held her breath, her throat closed tight in fear, while she summoned every ounce of strength in her body and soul. “This is Philip Glessner,” he repeated.

“Is this the same Philip Glessner who had a job opening this afternoon?” Priscilla asked. She could hear Philip’s breathing over the din of station traffic.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” he replied.

“Good. I think I might have just the person for you.”