Hit & Mrs. (7 page)

“I'm not sure which one is our car service,” Bette yelled into Augusta's ear.

“What does Linda's note say?” Augusta no sooner had words out of her mouth than the paper flew out of Bette's hand.

“Oh no.” Bette started to run after it, but Augusta put out her hand to stop her.

“Never mind, Bette. It doesn't matter.”

Bette brushed her hair out of her face. “Are you nuts? Linda will have a fit. She's already stressed about her luggage.”

“She'll be along in a second. If we don't get the one she booked, we still have lots of cabs to choose from.”

“I guess you're right. Let's wait inside.”

So they trooped back indoors.

“While we're waiting, we might as well go to the restroom,” Bette said.

“What if the girls come and can't find us? I think I'll stay right here.”

“Good idea. You always were a camel.”

“Listen, Weinberg, it's not my fault you don't do your Kegel exercises.”Bette grinned at her and walked to the nearest ladies' room, which was full of women and their luggage and coats. When she was done, she had to wait to wash her hands. A few beauty queens were doing their makeup in the mirrors, along with three elderly ladies who seemed to have all kinds of time. That's when she noticed the young mother, changing her baby's diaper on the pull-down changing table.“He's lovely,” Bette said.

“Thanks.”

“How old is he?”

“Three months.”

“What's his name?”

“Keaton.”

“Are you serious?”

The mother looked up and Bette said, “Oh, it's a lovely name. It's my best friend's last name. Isn't that funny? She's the one you hit with the stroller.”

The girl nodded.

Bette filled in the silence. “It's our first time in New York. We can't wait. We're staying at the Waldorf, if you can believe it. Linda arranged it. The one you hit with the…”

Bette trailed off because it was obvious the mother wasn't listening to her. She looked distracted, or even ill. Bette washed her hands and got ready to go, when the young mother turned to her. “Could you watch the baby? I think I'm going to throw up.”

“Sure, of course. It was probably the plane ride. It was pretty bumpy.”

The young woman lurched into a stall, and from the sounds of it she was quite sick. Those in the bathroom looked at each other sympathetically. The baby started to cry, so Bette put her carry-all down next to the mother's bags and picked up the little fellow.

“Shh, don't cry. Mommy will be right back.”

Little Keaton wasn't reassured. He was furious. He looked at Bette, screwed up his face, and let out a piercing scream. Bette jostled him up and down in her arms and made funny faces to try and get him to stop. It made things worse. She looked at herself in the mirror. “My record holds. I'm rejected by every male I meet.”

The mother finally limped out of the stall. “Sorry, I'll be right there.”

“That's okay,” Bette shouted over the baby's cries. He had turned beet red by this point, and Bette was a little frantic, as if she were to blame for this kid's hysterical reaction. The mother threw cold water on her face. Bette wished she'd do that to the baby.

“I'm sorry, but I really have to go, or I'll miss my ride.”

The mother wiped her face with a paper towel and reached over to claim her enraged child. He let her know what he thought of the whole situation. He barfed all over her.

“Oh God.”

“Oh dear.” Bette passed her some more paper towels. “He's not very happy, is he?”

“He can join the club.”

A few other women got into the act, so Bette picked up her bag. “Good luck, dear.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Bette went out the door with the wrong bag.

Two things happened then. Bette walked over to Augusta and told her about the uproar in the bathroom as Linda and Gemma showed up. And the young mother tidied herself as best she could and put her still-screaming baby in his stroller. She reached into the carry-all for Keaton's soother and just about fainted when she realized the bag wasn't hers. It was filled with someone else's stuff. It had to be the red-haired lady's.

She began to shiver almost uncontrollably, unsure whether to run after the woman or call her contact outside. In the end, she reached for her phone, because she couldn't run through the airport with a stroller without having people notice her. She took the stroller and the bags into an alcove. Her fingers were suddenly too big for the cellphone. She fumbled with the number a couple of times. “Work, goddamn you.” She tried again. It rang once.

“Yeah?”

“I've lost the bag.”

“
WHAT
?”

She started to cry. “It happened so fast. A woman grabbed it. It looked like mine, so she must have mixed them up.”

“What woman?”

“I'm not sure.”

“
What woman?
”

“She's short and has red hair. She's travelling with another woman named Keaton, who's tall and blonde, very pretty. I think there were four of them. She said they were going to the…where was it?…The Waldorf, I think. She just left. You can still catch her.”

“You better hope I do.” The phone went dead.

The young woman's teeth began to chatter. “What have I done?”

Once the four friends reunited, the rush was on to find the car company that was supposedly waiting for them. They went out the door and looked around. Just then a black car sped up to them. The driver jumped out.

“Keaton?”

Linda gave a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. We have reservations.”

“Yes. For the Waldorf?”

“That's right. Thank you.”

“Yous guys are getting soaked. Why don't you get in?” He popped the trunk and reached for their bags. He stowed them away. “I can put your carry-on bag in here too.” He reached for Bette's first.

“That's okay. I'll hold onto it.” The others felt the same, so he slammed the trunk and Linda got in the front seat with him while the others crowded together in the back.

The driver took off with unseemly haste. As they peeled out, Linda said, “Whoa. After that flight, I have no intention of being killed on my way to the hotel.”

“You're in New York, lady. This is the way we drive. If you don't like it, walk.”

Bette clapped her hands. “Oh yes, we really are in New York. You sound like a real cabby.”

The driver glanced at Linda. “Your friend's a genius.”

For some reason, the four friends found this hilarious. The realization that they were actually on their way to Manhattan hit them at the same time. They chattered away like magpies.

The drive into the city was a Formula One race. It was thrilling and scary all at the same time. The rain-spattered windows made it hard for them to see clearly, and they fogged up the glass in their attempts to see if they recognized anything, but it was mostly just traffic and whizzing along the highway in the dark. They could have been in any big city. Linda consulted her Lonely Planet New York City guidebook. She tried to get her bearings; it seemed as if the drive was taking an awfully long time.

She wasn't the only one who had that thought. Augusta leaned over across Gemma and poked Bette. “I thought it was only a half-hour drive to get to the hotel?”

Gemma patted her arm. “You worry too much.”

Linda addressed the driver. “Excuse me, are you sure this is the way to the Waldorf? If I'm correct, we seem to be heading in a northerly direction.”

“Maybe you ain't correct, lady.”

“There's no need to be rude.”

“Let's get there, already,” Bette said.

Augusta fiddled with her purse strap. “Lin, why don't you call the hotel and tell them we're running a little late? I know they guaranteed the room, but just in case.”

“That's a good idea.”

She was about to reach in her purse to grab her phone when the driver stepped on the gas and zoomed around a corner. They careened to the right.

“Slow down,” they shouted at him.

He completely ignored them, as if they weren't there—and that was the scariest thing of all.

“What on earth are you doing?” Gemma said. “Are you crazy?”

He stepped on the gas even harder.

They couldn't believe what was happening. They held onto the door handles, and Gemma grabbed her friends on either side. They drove though a maze of streets, streets that were clearly nowhere near Park Avenue. And then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. They found themselves screeching to a halt under a dark overpass. The driver threw the car into park, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a gun.

“Gimme your bags. Now.”

The poor guy never knew what hit him.

Augusta and Bette's screams alone would have alerted the authorities back in Canada. The other two did something more useful. Linda hit the gun out of his hand with her guidebook, and Gemma reached in her overnight bag, grabbed a can of pepper spray, and blasted the guy right in the face.

A cloud of noxious fumes filled the car. Then the battle was on to open the car doors, but in their rush to escape they kept re-locking them every time someone touched the control button. The windows opened and closed as if by magic.

“Leave it alone!” Linda said. “Let me do it.”

Of course no one listened to her.

It was the driver who finally freed them in his panic to escape. Coughing hard, he pressed the right button at the right time and the five of them tumbled out the doors and into the night. He rolled around on the ground wheezing and gasping for air.

“Girls,” Linda shouted. “Over here, over here.”

The other three stumbled out of the darkness. Coughing, they ran toward Linda like chicks to a mother hen. Gemma ran around and blasted short bursts with her pepper spray. “Where is he? Let me at him.” She rubbed at her eyes.

Augusta rooted through her purse for her cellphone. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, call 911. Call 911.

“I'll sit on him,” Gemma said. “Lin, you tie his hands.”

“With what?”

“Dental floss. I read that somewhere.”

Their prey lay on the ground, struggling to breathe as he clutched at his throat.

Augusta tried to grab Gemma's arm. “Let's get out of here.”

“Wait,” Linda said. “I think he's in trouble.”

“Who gives a shit? Let's kill him, the miserable bastard,” Bette said. Gemma advanced on him with her can. “You creep, you scared us half to death.”

“Gemma, stop for a second,” Linda said.

She stopped. And by then so had the guy on the ground. He just lay there. The women looked at him, and then at each other.

“I think he's fainted.”

“I think he's faking.”

“I think he's dead.”

Augusta hopped up and down. “Call 911. Call 911.”

“Is that all you can say?” Bette said. “Shut up with the 911 crap.”

Augusta shivered violently, her hair plastered to her face thanks to the driving rain. “
You
shut up! Isn't that what we're supposed to do? We've been mugged. I thought the next logical step would be to call for help.”

“Did we get in the wrong car?” Linda asked. “I don't understand it. He knew who we were and where we were going, so it must have been the right company.”

“Well, I'm calling his supervisor when we get to the hotel,” Bette said. “That's ridiculous, robbing people. They're in the taxi business. How can you make money like that? Their reputation would…”

Gemma threw her hands in the air. “Forget about taxis! We're getting soaked standing here. We'll die of pneumonia if we're not careful.” Augusta's teeth were rattling. “That guy hasn't moved. Someone has to do something. Lin?”

Linda took a few steps forward. “Why is it always me who has to do everything?”

“You married a doctor. You must have learned a few things over the years.”

“I know how to throw a dinner party, not resuscitate a guy in cardiac arrest.”

Gemma pointed at the guy. “Hurry up. If he wasn't dead before, he will be now.”

Linda advanced on the prone figure, little by little, as if he might suddenly grab her ankle. She gave him a nudge with her toe, but he stayed still. She bent down and pushed his shoulder to turn him over, causing his arms to flop beside him. She reached out and put her fingers on his neck.

“He's toast.”

“I killed him?” Gemma said.

“Apparently.”

Augusta wrung her hands. “Oh my God, what are we going to do? My poor kids. I'm going to jail.”

“Everyone stop talking for a minute and let me think,” Linda said.

They were quiet for five seconds before Gemma asked, “How can a guy die from pepper spray?”

“You're a good shot,” Bette said.

“We breathed some of it too,” Augusta said. “We didn't die, but we may go blind.” She blinked rapidly as if to make her point and her lip started to quiver. “You watch. We'll get the gas chamber. Whose stupid idea was this?”

“What idea?” Gemma asked.

“To come to New York and kill someone.”

“I didn't do it on purpose, you know,” Gemma said. “Did you want him to kill you? We're the victims here, not him.”

“She's right,” Bette nodded. “We can't help it if the guy was allergic to mace. Or maybe he had a heart attack. He's pretty beefy. We should thank Gemma for having the good sense to carry everything under the sun in that overnight bag of hers.”

“Angelo gave it to me in case I met Donald Trump.”

“Enough already.” Augusta hopped up and down. “What are we going to do?”

“Call the police,” Linda said.

“Can you believe this?” Gemma threw her hands in the air. “They'll want a statement and we'll have to go to the police station. There goes our first night in New York.”