Cosmo's Deli (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Renny hauls herself up the subway stairs, weighed down by a backpack full of tchotchokes and arms grappling with two boxes overflowing with files. She wishes she'd taken a cab. You're unemployed, her thoughts snap. No job, no income, definitely no cabs. A ringing from her backpack forces Renny to plop the boxes down, providing brief relief from her exhaustion. She fishes her phone out from the bottom of her bag. “Hello.”

“I've been trying to reach you all day,” Lucy says. “What's wrong with your cell phone? It kept saying you were unavailable.”

“I don't know. I tried to make a call earlier and I couldn't get a signal. I was at the office clearing out my stuff.”

“I've got news.”

“Great,” Renny's cracks. “What now? No, let me guess. Georgie and Tawney are doing it live on the Internet? Gee, where can I hook up and watch?”

“This is good news. Remember Mr. Giggles?”

“Yeah.” Renny sits on a box, which sags under the weight.

“After a few drinks last night we went back to his place. As it turns out, he's a buyer at Bratton Media and he just happened to have two tickets to the Q92.7 bash at the Meltdown. They were laid out on his dresser.”

“I'm thrilled for you. Have a good time.” Renny tucks the phone between her ear and shoulder and hoists her boxes back up.

“You don't get it. I have his tickets. Do you want to go with me tonight?”

“You didn't steal his tickets, did you?”

“Don't get all high and mighty on me. The shit is married. His wife is out of town for the weekend and he thought he'd have a little fun. Well, I am no guy's Other!”

“Other?”

“Hello! Other as in Oth-er wo-man. Never have been, never gonna be. So let's just say I acquired the tickets. Big F'in deal! I figure he owes me a good party. It starts at five. I can swing by in a cab at six. We'll be fashionably late.”

That's Lucy, Renny thinks. No one messes with her and gets away without payment. A night out at an A-list party certainly sounds like more fun than sitting around her apartment waiting for her mother to end the silent treatment. Renny called her parents three times that morning, but her mother wouldn't get on the phone. “Make it six-thirty. I need time to run up to my apartment and shower.”

***

The microwave clock reads six twenty-five as Renny grabs her keys off the counter. That afternoon when she opened the Mu Mu garment bag to get dressed, she found the red mini dress with the diamond cut-outs instead of the black one she assumed Francine gave her. Gaby must have told Francine to switch them.

At first Renny wasn't going to wear it, but then she slipped it on, just to see how it looked. She checked her reflection in the mirror and all she could think of was Tawney's comment,
Great dress…but not you.
It was a dress that screamed daring, bold and sexy. That's when Renny decided, “Fuck it. Tonight I am this red dress.”

Renny leaves the kitchen and puts her lipstick on facing the small mirror in her foyer. Her hair cascades around her shoulders in loose curls completely devoid of kink, thanks to about a gallon of Bed Head Defrizz. She smiles to make sure nothing is in her teeth and perches on tippy-toes to get as much body view as possible. Glancing down at the Princepessas Renny can't help clicking her heels together, the red rhinestone bows reflecting against the wall like ruby stardust. The phone rings and Renny grabs it, “Lucy, I'll be right down.”

An unfamiliar woman's voice tells her, “This isn't Lucy.”

“I'm sorry. Who is this?” Renny asks.

“Do you know a Herman Mendelbaum?”

Renny can't believe the question. “Who is this?”

“I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. My name's Laura Shacker. I'm Herman Mendelbaum's daughter.”

So that's who Laura is, she thinks. “Oh my god.” Call waiting beeps in. “Can you hang on a minute?”

“Sure.”

Renny clicks over. “Hello.”

Lucy shouts, “I'm downstairs and the meter's running.”

“Give me a minute and I'll be right down.” Renny clicks back. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.” The woman answers.

“I do know your father. Only I didn't know his name was Herman. He's been calling me for the last few months. Wait, how did you get my number?”

“The nursing home just gave us all his phone records. Do you mind my asking why he's been calling you?” she asks, suspicion peeking through her words.

Renny understands. There are so many con artists that prey on the elderly; she probably thinks I'm one of them. “You're father started calling me out of the blue about four months ago. At first I would hang up on him, because I thought he was a crank. I guess I got used to him though, because after a while I started listening. And I think he did too. But he thinks my apartment, or my number, belongs to a place called Cosmo's Deli. I found out it used to, but obviously not anymore. I tried to tell him that, but it didn't exactly sink in.” She asks, “Can you tell me where or what is Cosmo's Deli?”

Laura Shacker fills in the Mendelbaum blanks for Renny. “My parents lived in the city their whole lives together. Fifty-two years. Around the corner from their apartment was Cosmo's Deli. Whenever my mother didn't feel like cooking we'd go there. Even when I was a kid we did that. That place was there forever. My mother passed away about eight years ago and my Dad still had all his meals from Cosmo's Deli. My mother wouldn't let him lift a finger in the kitchen, so he'd never learned to cook for himself. Different generation.”

“My father's the same way. I don't think he's ever cooked a meal in his life,” Renny remarks.

“The waitresses knew my father was lonely and that he missed my mother terribly. So when he'd call or come in they'd make conversation with him. He went into an assisted living home about five years ago. Coincidentally, Cosmo's closed a few months after that. My brothers and I used to joke that they had to close because they lost their best customer.”

Renny realizes she moved into her apartment about that time, inheriting the old deli's phone number. But it didn't add up. “Your father didn't start calling me until about four months ago.”

“That's when we moved him into the nursing home. He's got Alzheimer's. I don't think he liked it there very much.”

Renny can't believe she's finally found Mendelbaum. “Would it be okay if I visit him there? We've kind of become friends.” The question is met by silence. “I know I'm a complete stranger to you,” Renny stammers. “And I don't want anything from him. I just would like to meet him.”

Laura Shacker sighs. “My father passed away yesterday.”

Renny's breathe catches in her throat. “I'm so sorry,” she murmurs into the phone.

“Thank you,” she says. “I hope my father didn't cause you any trouble or inconvenience. If he did I'm very sorry. I didn't know he was calling you.”

“No, not at all.” Renny remembers her hysteria the other night and how Mendelbaum's call soothed her. “I want you to know his calls made a real difference for me. It was a pleasure talking to him. He must have been a good man.”

Her voice breaks, “Thank you, he was.”

As they say good-bye, a tear streams down Renny's cheek. She hangs up the phone and is reminded of the old proverb—bad things happen in threes. First Gaby's mother, then Mendelbaum. Her mind resists the leap to—.

Lucy pounds on the door. “Hello,” Lucy shouts. “You're paying for this cab, ‘cause the meter's still running.”

“I'll be right out.” Renny sniffles, wiping the sadness from her eyes but not the dread from her heart.

***

Renny's Princepessas touch down in the Promised Land as Lucy tugs her by the arm over the threshold of Meltdown. Loud techno-music pulses all around and Renny's eyes struggle to adjust to the club's dim lighting. She shouts over the music, “How am I going to find him in here? It's packed.”

“I'm sure he's not down here. Mr. Giggles told me there's a VIP room upstairs.”

“Can we get in there?”

“No problem. We'll wave a green invitation.”

“But you gave the guy at the door our passes.”

“I'm talking about money.” Lucy rubs her fingers together. “How much cash do you have?”

Renny opens her small black purse, which holds the single girl's equivalent of name, rank and serial number: ATM card, cab fare, apartment key, Bobbi Brown Ruby Shimmer Lipstick and a driver's license, solely for picture ID purposes since keeping a car in the city is an unaffordable luxury. Renny pulls out three twenties, realizing the bus tickets her father gave her last week are stuck between the bills.

Lucy points to the tickets, “I don't think round-trip to Jersey is going to get us into the VIP room.” She grabs the cash, “That should do it.”

Renny takes it back. “I don't think so. What about you?”

“I never carry cash.”

“How do you go out to a club without any money?”

“Because I have these.” Lucy opens her wallet and an accordion cardholder with over thirty credit cards cascades to the floor. “Everyone takes plastic and besides, the guys are the ones payin' for the booze.” With a flip of her wrist, the whole thing is back in her bag.

Renny hands her a twenty. “Here.”

“That's it?” Lucy balks.

“I need money for cab fare after this fails.”

“A little confidence, please.” Lucy struts through the crowd toward a staircase in the back, cordoned off by a velvet rope and guarded by a large, steroid-enhanced bouncer in the obligatory black tee-shirt. He comes accessorized with a stud earring and a lightening bolt sheared out of his crewcut.

He holds up his hand to stop Lucy. “This is a private area.”

She sidles up like an eager dog on a leg and presses her hand in his, passing him the money. “I think they're expecting us up there,” she announces, shoving her décolleté under his nose.

He checks his hand. “I'll see what I can do.” He motions to another bouncer, this one with a shaved dome and a small hoop dangling from one ear.

Lucy smiles at the new bouncer, while the Lightening Bolt disappears upstairs. He ignores her, instead opening the rope to let an approaching group pass, fist knocking with them as they go.

Renny and Lucy wait as several more groups pass beyond the rope and head up the stairs.

“I think he took off with our money,” Lucy gripes.

“You mean my money,” Renny says.

The bouncer removes the rope for a group of three transvestites. “That's it!” Lucy charges at him, shouting to be heard over the music. “Where's your friend? Is he coming back?”

The bouncer motions to his ear and turns away as though he didn't hear her, which is impossible, because Renny is sure they heard Lucy's shrill all the way in Queens.

Renny tugs at her arm. “Maybe we should forget it and go have a drink at the bar.”

“No, we're going to get you up there. There is no way I will be stopped by some steroid-muscled shithead who thinks he's the secret service because they let him watch a goddamn stairway.”

Sheila, the station promotion director, throws her face in Renny's, scrutinizing her through black cat eyeglasses. The word SUCK is written across her fuchsia tube top, matching the hot pink highlights in her brown hair, which outline her face like a neon frame. A clunky black camera hangs around her neck, looking as though it could pull her to the ground at any moment. “Are you Marcy Flanders?” she asks in a high nasal voice, tugging with one hand at the bottom of her black plastic micro-mini skirt.

Renny returns her question with a puzzled look.

Sheila props her clipboard against her hip. “Am I talking in tongues here? Are you Marcy Flanders?”

She is about to walk away, convinced that Renny is deaf, very dumb and mute, when Lucy pipes in. “Yup, this is her, Marcy Flanders.” Lucy gives Renny a shove toward Sheila.

Renny opens her mouth to speak, but Lucy cuts in, “We've been waiting here for half an hour. Where the hell have you been? Roid-rage here won't let us up.”

“Who are you?” she asks, using her finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I'm Marcy's friend, Lucy.”

She waves, “I'm afraid you'll have to wait down here. Only Marcy can go upstairs.”

Renny holds her hand up. “Could you excuse us a second?”

“I guess.” She checks her watch and adjusts her tube top.

Renny drags Lucy away. “Who is Marcy Flanders?”

Lucy bubbles up with excitement. “That's who bought Rockin' Ron at the auction. Georgie's sidekick. I heard it on the radio when I was getting ready. They must not know what she looks like because it was a call-in bid. It's genius, we should have told them you were her right away.”

“I can't pretend to be that Marcy girl,” Renny says.

“Do you want to see Georgie?”

Renny is gripped with indecisiveness.

Sheila calls over. “Is there a problem? Because the night is ticking away.”

Lucy lifts her eyes.

Renny sucks in a fortifying breath and plants a smile on her face. “No problem, let's go.” Walking away, she mouths a “thank you” to Lucy over her shoulder.

***

Renny scans the crowd as she enters the VIP room. Waiters in hot orange wife beater tees circulate with trays of hor d'oeuvres and champagne through the mass of mostly black-clad bodies.

Sheila walks briskly through the crowd. “This place is packed; it's a good thing I found you. My name is Sheila by the way.”

Another clipboard girl pounces on them. “Thank god you found her!” This one is tall, her tanning bed bronze body poured into tight black leather pants and topped with a midriff baring black sweater, with red feather trim at the neck and cuffs. She tells Renny, “We were starting to think you were a no show. The station would have gone ballistic. They hate a lost photo-op.” Then to Sheila, “Rockin's being an asshole. You'll need to talk to him.”