Island Girl (23 page)

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Authors: Lynda Simmons

BOOK: Island Girl
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I stood in the doorway, watching in horror as she picked up the coffeepot and filled those two ill-fated cups. “Because none of the food in this kitchen is mine.”
“None of it?”
“Just the overripe banana in the garbage pail.” She raised a brow and I shrugged. “What can I say? I hate to shop. The point is that everything here is the legal property of my roommate. And she will kill me if she finds out we so much as looked at her stuff.”
“Don’t be silly.” Brenda went to the fridge and swung back the door, blocking my view. “Nadia’s not like that.”
I could only stare as she rummaged through the cartons and plastic containers. “You know her name?”
“It happens when you spend an hour talking to someone.”
“You spent that long talking to Nadia?” Brenda nodded and set something on the counter. Sweet Jesus, not the cream. “I hope she paid you,” I said, putting the cream back where it belonged and hoping I got the positioning right.
“There was no need. I found her charming.” Brenda snatched the container out again before I could close the fridge. “But rest assured she doesn’t have anything good to say about you either.”
“And here I thought we had nothing in common.” I closed the door, figuring I’d water the Russian’s cream later. Seemed to work fine the last time. And the bitch could use less fat.
Nadia had moved into the room next to mine three months ago, the only other adult in a house full of students. She was older than me, which was comforting, and much taller with broad shoulders and a permanent scowl. I figured she used to be a judge at the Olympics. Figure skating, no doubt.
Since we were the only tenants on the second floor, I’d tried to be friendly, even asked her to come to the Duck for a drink. But in all the time she’d been here, she’d spoken exactly four words to me in heavily accented English: “Nevair touch my stuff.”
I had no idea what kind of work she did or if she ever had any fun. All I knew was that she thumped around in her room a lot, locked up before she went down the hall to the bathroom, and kept a chart on the fridge, accounting for every scrap of food in the kitchen including a tea bag count, the weight of the rice, and the ounces of milk, cream, and juice. If the landlord had allowed padlocks on the cupboards, I’m sure she would have installed them immediately.
I’d used a lot of words to describe her to my buddies at the Duck over the last few months, but
charming
was never one of them.
“Have some coffee,” Brenda said. “And tell me how the petition works.”
“It pushes the company that owes you money into bankruptcy,” I said, my eyes moving from the cups on the table to the chart on the fridge. Nadia would have weighed the coffee tin that morning. Now it would be fourteen ounces less two scoops. Perhaps I could add a little sand.
“Is that what we’ll be doing?” Brenda asked. “Bankrupting the other company?”
I turned away from the chart. “That’s not the goal. All you want to do is get them to write you a check. But they won’t know that.” I motioned to the door. “We should go get breakfast somewhere.”
“You mean lunch?” Brenda pulled out two chairs. “We’ll go later, okay? My treat. But I want to hear the rest of this in private.”
She sat down, letting me know the matter was settled as she dragged a cup toward her. That was when I noticed the slight shaking of her hand, the dark circles under her eyes, the way her freckles stood out against the ghostly white of her skin. I sat down across from her. “Jesus, Brenda, you look like shit. Are you all right?”
“Are you kidding? Of course I’m not all right. Did you hear what I said about Hal?”
“Of course I heard. But not all of it stuck.”
“Nadia was right. Talking to you
is
like talking to a wall.”
“How would she know? She’s never tried.”
Fuck you very much, Nadia
, I thought, and picked up the cream, tipped it over my cup. Kept pouring until the coffee reached the brim and slopped over onto the table. I shook the container and smiled. Should be down enough to be noticeable. I set the carton in the center of the table. Screw watering anything down anymore. I was done hiding. Let the bitch do her worst.
“Okay, let’s talk about Hal,” I said and went to the pantry. Reached my hand deep into forbidden territory and came out with a sugar bowl. “Tell me what happened.”
“He was sitting outside the house when I got up this morning. I don’t know how long he’d been there, but he had the nerve to wave to me when I went out to get the paper. Like he expected me to bring him coffee or something.”
I sat down and passed her the cream. “Did you call the police?”
“He was gone by the time they arrived, of course. But he’s not smart enough to be scared off by the police forever. Hal is a man on a mission.” She picked up a spoon. Stirred her coffee without adding anything to it. “The guy’s an idiot, but he’s got Mitch spooked. He wants to sell the house to pay him off. He even called a real estate agent to come and give us a price.”
“He doesn’t need to do that.”
“He doesn’t know that, does he?” She kept her eyes on the spoon, watching it go round and round. “I told him to hold off. At least wait until I talked to you.”
“Good. And as weird as it was, I’m glad Nadia let you in.”
Brenda glanced up at me. “I didn’t think she was going to when she answered the door. I’d never seen anything like her. A giant in bicycle shorts and a wifebeater T-shirt. She scared the crap out of me, if you want the truth.” She went back to stirring her coffee. “But she was polite enough while I explained that I needed to talk to you. Then she said you were passed out and wouldn’t come to for hours. ‘You come back later,’ she said, and went to close the door.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“Only because I started to cry.”
“Oh, Brenda—”
“Save the sympathy. It was my own fault. I’ve seen you on enough Friday nights to know that Saturday mornings probably don’t exist for you.” She laughed and dropped the spoon. “I don’t know why, but I had this foolish idea you might have given the Duck a miss last night. Stupid really, when you think about it.”
I winced, feeling like a traitor. “I probably should have done that, but if it’s any consolation, I missed you.”
“Too bad, because I didn’t miss you at all.” She picked up her cup but didn’t drink the coffee. Just held the mug between her hands, as though needing the warmth. “In fact, it was nice to be home for a change, to put the kids to bed myself and watch a movie with Mitch. Would have been a perfect evening all around if goddamn Hal hadn’t kept calling the house every half hour. Two o’clock in the morning, he finally stopped. But come six A.M. there he was outside, smiling and waving, letting me know he is never going to stop until he gets his money. It’s enough to make you crazy.”
“I can imagine.”
“Then you can also imagine how grateful I was when Nadia opened the door and invited me in. Brought me upstairs and showed me which room was yours. Proved to me that your door is never locked and then put a huge hand on my arm and asked why I thought you could help me with anything. ‘She is alcoholic,’ she told me. ‘Very unreliable.’ ”
“She doesn’t even know me.”
“Are you kidding? She lives in the next room. Apparently you rarely close your door, and everybody knows you drink too much.”
I rolled my eyes. “Define ‘too much.’ No, don’t. Just tell me why you sat there so long. Why you didn’t just wake me up?”
“You think we didn’t try? We rolled you over, we shook you, we even shouted in your ear, but you wouldn’t wake up. Nadia suggested a hose, but I said no, out of courtesy to the boys downstairs. So we went back to the kitchen and again she put one of those huge hands on my arm and asked what was so bad that I needed advice from a drunk.”
“She had no right.”
“No right to what? Be concerned? Understanding? Compassionate?” Brenda rose again, went to the pantry, and took out a tin. “We sat here for over an hour, talking while we waited for you to wake up. We went through two pots of coffee and she served me these.” She banged the tin down in front of me and opened the lid. “Her own homemade chocolate chip cookies, which are probably delicious, but I don’t know for sure because once I opened my mouth, I couldn’t stop talking long enough to eat one.”
She stood with her chin thrust out and her shoulders tense, every part of her holding fast, staying strong. Refusing to give in to the tears that were making her eyes shine. “I told her everything, Liz. All about Mitch, the business, the guy who won’t pay, and stupid Hal with his baseball bat.”
She sucked in a long breath and sank into the chair as though all the energy had suddenly left her body. “I can’t believe I told my life story to a stranger in bicycle shorts and a wifebeater.” She picked up her cup again. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“I know that feeling. I spilled my guts to a bartender at the park yesterday. I’m still not over that one.” I opened the tin and took out a cookie. “I thought I might never have to see her again, but no such luck.” She glanced over and I risked a smile. “I thought maybe I could thank her for listening by explaining what a petition to bankruptcy is.”
Brenda smiled a little. “Sounds a bit dry, but she might be interested.”
I laughed and got up. “Then she might also want to take notes.”
I went down the hall to my room. Took my time searching for a pen and a piece of paper under the newspapers, final notices, and clean underwear that covered my desk because I had no clear idea of what I was going to say to Brenda. I’d spent the last two years purposely avoiding anything to do with courts and legal issues. Using Car Bombs to destroy the files in my head and tequila shooters to pick off the stragglers, only to be standing here hoping for a few survivors.
“Petition to bankruptcy,” I whispered as I searched. “Petition to bankruptcy,” over and over, as though it was an incantation capable of bringing my training back from the dead. I guess being a lawyer is a little like riding a bicycle because it wasn’t long before a few of those files started to open. Words and bits of information floating slowly, haphazardly to the surface. Trustee, court, Application for Assignment . . . and then nothing.
No matter. That was enough to get her started. My fingers closed on a pen first, a pad of paper next. I hauled both out from under the rubble, ripped off the first three sheets of drunken doodling, and headed back to the kitchen to deliver a little free legal advice—the only kind I was capable of giving anymore.
Still, as I handed her the pen and paper, my heart started to beat a little faster and my body grew restless, just as it always had whenever I was making a presentation to a client.
“First things first,” I said, leaning back against the counter, not yet ready to sit down. “What’s the name of the company that owes you money?”
“Champlain Aerospace. They make parts for jet engines.”
“Has your lawyer already made a formal demand for the money?”
“A couple of times.” She scribbled
petition
at the top of the page. “Last time he signed off with ‘govern yourselves accordingly, ’ and they stopped taking Mitch’s calls.”
“Trust me. Once the petition is served, they will be on the phone to Mitch within a matter of hours, guaranteed. And since they’ve already had a formal demand, all we need now is two things: a lawyer to draw up the application and a name to deliver it to.”
She put the pen down. “That’s all?”
“That’s all. Then we pray that the delivery of the petition results in a check, because your guy was right. Unless Champlain really is in financial trouble, you can’t see this through.”
Brenda looked at me blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“Okay, let me ask you this. Do you think Champlain Aerospace is in danger of going bankrupt? Could that be why they’re not paying you?”
“I don’t know. They’re pretty big, but everybody’s feeling the pinch right now, so Mitch figures they’re using our money to pay the suppliers they still need.”
“If they’re doing that, then it means they’re tight for cash and this will work. If they’re not tight for cash, however, then they could fight the petition, the court would throw it out, and they’d probably sue you.”
Her eyes opened very wide. “But you want me to do it anyway?”
“No, I want you to
act
as though you’re going to do it. Like when you’re playing poker and all you have is a pair of threes, but you keep a straight face and keep on bidding, hoping the other guy blinks first.”
She tapped the pen on the page. “You’re saying this is a bluff?”
“A bluff that will work.” I hadn’t done a presentation in so long I had to remind myself to slow down. Speak clearly. Take a breath now and then. “The moment your lawyer puts the papers into their hands, the directors of Champlain will shit themselves. The petition will be accompanied by a letter from your lawyer stating that a copy of the petition will also be delivered to their bank, and that they have one week to pay you out in full, or you will see them in court. Of course, their lawyers will call your lawyer and tell them you’re nuts, you can’t do this, and they’ll threaten to sue, blah, blah, blah. But your lawyer will say, Who cares? If Champlain doesn’t pay you, Mitch’s company will be gone soon anyway. That is the case isn’t it?

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