Lost and Found (9 page)

He stares at me, saying nothing.

“I can’t wait for him anymore. I have to go.”

“He’s not back yet. He’s getting information for you.”

“Yeah, well, I have other things I have to do today, so I can’t wait around forever.” This is a lie. I have nothing else planned, but staying here is making my armpits itch too much. Just thinking of it makes me need to scratch again.

The door at the end of the hall opens up and Joshua comes through it. “Sorry it took me so long,” he says, sounding a little off. “Someone was on the computer before me and I had to wait.” His fingers go up and flick his neck, like he’s itchy there. It makes my armpits feel like they’re on fire. I rub my arms against my ribs trying to ease the sensation.

“No big deal,” I say, pretending like I wasn’t just all freaked out over nothing. “What did you find out?”

He stops in front of me, his face kind of twisted up. He looks uncomfortable. “I did find the actual purchase order and we do know the identity of the buyer.”

“Great!” This is the best news I’ve had all week. “Who is it?”

“I can’t say.”

My face falls. “What do you mean you can’t say?”

“I mean, we keep our clients’ identities private. We can’t give the information out to the public.”

I’m about to unload a huge load of anger on his head when his hand comes up like a stop sign.

“However … I would be happy to contact this client on your behalf and deliver a message for you.” He smiles. “I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do.”

I chew on my lip for a second as I consider his proposal. “Okay, fine. Do it.”

Joshua looks very relieved. He scratches liberally at his neck, as if he’s forgotten how perfect he normally is. It leaves a red welt there. “Great. I’ll just need your contact information.”

“Hmm …” I have no cell phone anymore, and I never did have a phone at my apartment. “I guess you could call me at work. I’m at 555-5309.”

“Two-one-two area code?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Great.” He holds out a hand. “I’ll be in touch very soon.”

I take his hand and shake it. “I appreciate your help, Joshua.”

“Why is she calling you Joshua?” David the security guard asks.

Joshua says nothing. He stands there like a statue, his arms dropping to his sides.

I put my hands on my hips, once more irritated. “What should I be calling him?”

“Ralph. His name is Ralph.”

Joshua or
Ralph
has the courtesy to blush.

“You are a seriously fucked-up individual, you know that?” I shake my head at him and walk down the hallway, leaving him in my dust.

I follow David out of the offices and leave the store, my head kind of spinning from the lunacy I just experienced. I have no idea if this guy’s even going to call me now.

Chapter Fifteen

I’M WALKING DOWN THE HALLWAY at the hospital with my badge on — I’ve taken a page out of Joshua-Ralph’s book and named myself Betty today — when I see that fancy hot guy again. He’s all the way at the other end of the corridor, so at least this time I’m not being flattened or thrown to the ground.

I keep my eyes on him just in case he decides to change course.

He looks up just as he’s about to pass me. He pauses and holds out a finger. “Watch where you’re going …,” he narrows his eyes at my chest, “Betty?”

I snort. “Watch yourself, Helen.”

He stops, but I keep going.

“Helen?” he shouts out after me.

“Helen Keller!” I shout back. “The blind chick.”

I step into the elevator smiling. I probably shouldn’t be, having thrown out that totally non-politically-correct insult, but still, I am. As the doors slide shut I sigh with satisfaction. After waiting all day at the shop for that guy to call me and getting nowhere with it, a little bit of satisfaction goes a long way.

Mel is asleep when I enter his room, but when I touch his arm he wakes up.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks in a slurred voice.

“Visiting my father.” I lean in and whisper, “Don’t tell them the truth. They won’t let me in if we’re not related.”

“You’re my daughter.” He says it like a statement. He looks confused.

I shake my head. “No. I’m
pretending
to be your daughter-in-law so I can visit. Is that okay?”

He stares at me for another few seconds before he nods and then turns his head to look up at the blank television. “Sure. You can visit me anytime.”

I pull a chair over and sit down next to him. “Mel, you never told me you had diabetes.”

He closes his eyes for a couple seconds and opens them again. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

“Well, it does. I could have helped you get medication or better care or something.”

He looks over and smiles. “You did all right by me, darlin’. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“How do you have a southern accent when you have a Michigan driver’s license?”

“Raised in the south. Followed a girl to Detroit.” He looks back at the TV. “Anything good on?” He gestures up towards the screen.

I take the remote from his bedside and turn the TV on. “What do you like to watch?”

“Anything. Just not the news.”

“Too depressing?”

“I left all that garbage behind me. Now I just want to be entertained.”

“What garbage? The war?”

He looks at me. “What war?”

“You’re a veteran. They told me.”

He shrugs and goes back to blanking out at the screen. “Past history.”

We watch in companionable silence for a while, one of those Housewives of Someplace shows, before I speak again.

“What’d they say about your feet?”

“Nothin’ much.”

How does a person ask another person who could be about to lose his toes or his foot how he’s going to get along as a homeless person? I have no idea, so even though I’m curious and worried, I say nothing.

“Visiting hours are over,” says a voice from the door several minutes later.

I stand. “Can I come see you tomorrow?”

He glances at me for a second before going back to his show. “If you like.”

I lean over and kiss his cheek before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Just as I’m at the door, his voice stops me.

“You okay?”

I turn and look at him, holding onto the edge of the door. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve got some stress in your life.”

I gesture at his bed. “Well, what do you expect? My fake father-in-law is sick, and I don’t know how he’s going to get along in the big bad world after they kick him outta here.”

“Don’t worry about me, Kitten, I’ll be fine. Always am, always will be.”

I leave with a tear in my eye. I always wanted a dad who’d call me Kitten. Mine was always too drunk to bother.

Chapter Sixteen

I COME INTO WORK SATURDAY just after ten and find a note on the counter from Belinda.

Some guy called you yesterday. Said to give you his number.

I pick up the shop phone and dial the number she left on the paper, my hands trembling just a little when a voice picks up and says, “Cartier, Fifth Avenue.”

“Uhhmm, can I speak with Josh… I mean Ralph, please?”

“Hold on a moment.” I listen to some elevator music before he gets on the line.

“Ralph Chadwick here.”

“Chadwick? You didn’t even give me your real last name either?” I snort at how whack-a-doodle this guy is.

 
“Who is this?”

“Duh, who do you think this is? It’s Leah. The girl you called about that ring? Did you call the buyer for me and tell him I want to give the ring back?”

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling as I wait for his answer.

“I did call him, and his secretary called me back.”

I wait but that seems to be the end of his sentence.

“And?”

“And, she really didn’t have any information for me.”

“What’s that even mean? What did she say? What did
you
say? Maybe you screwed the message up.”

His voice goes lower. “I didn’t screw anything up. I told him via his secretary that you have a ring we sold to him several weeks ago and that you want to give it back. Did you steal it?”

I almost drop the phone. “Of course I didn’t steal it! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, if you’re not his fiancée, why do you have it?”

Inspiration strikes. “Truth is, Ralph — or should I call you Joshua — I
am
his fiancée.” My face starts to burn. I have no idea how I’m going to talk myself out of this corner.

“What?”

I decide a ballsy statement needs to be followed up with a ballsy attitude and tone. “You heard me. I’m his fiancée. And that lousy asshole cheated on me and I want him to call me back and apologize or he’s not getting his ring back.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m completely lost right now.” Ralph sounds genuinely confused, so I take that as a good sign. My smoke screen is working. I’m awesome. I could so work in Hollywood.

I adopt a sob-like, miserable tone. “He hasn’t returned my calls or allowed me in to see him. And I get it that we’re through, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to give you the ring and walk away.”

“Give
me
the ring?”

“Yes. That’s what he suggested, that I walk into Cartier and hand the ring over. But I don’t think that’s fair, do you?”

“I don’t know…”

I talk over whatever he was going to say. “It’s not. It’s completely unfair. You spend years with a guy, investing in the relationship, giving it everything you have, and then one day you find out he’s cheating on you with a girl barely eighteen and giving her jewelry that should be rightfully yours, just because you won’t do anal. I mean, is that fair? No, of course it’s not. He probably bought her those pearls from your store, the cheating bastard. And then what … I’m just out in the cold? With nothing but my gypsy skirt and a ring that’s so big it’s ridiculous? No. I don’t accept that. I want an apology. Not every girl in the world does anal. Some girls just aren’t ever going to do it, and I don’t think they should be punished for that.”

Ralph clears his throat. I think he’s uncomfortable. “He didn’t buy any pearls from our store.”

“So, he’s cheating on you too, then. How does it feel? Terrible, right?”

I let that sink in a little before I continue.

“That’s the kind of person he is, Ralph. He charms you with his smile and then when he has you hooked, he starts messing with your mind.”

“Doctor Oliver never gave me the impression he was that kind of guy.”

My heart nearly barfs right out of my chest, I’m so thrilled to hear that name. “Well, he is. Believe me, he is. He’s a total dirtbag who uses people and then throws them in the trash. I used to be hot, you know. Before he got his hands on me. Before he wore me down. One cell at a time, he wore me down with his little insults and comments about my weight or my hair or my clothes…” Clearly, I’ve added up all the terrible boyfriends I’ve ever had and put them into this Doctor Oliver character I’ve created. It’s almost cleansing in a way, sharing this with Ralph.

“You’re still pretty…”

“No, don’t lie. I’m old now. I used to be young and vibrant and healthy. Now I’m just a used up old hag at twenty-eight.”

There’s nothing but silence on the end of the phone.

“Ralph, are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m not sure what you want me to do. I’m sorry about all of this stuff that happened to you, but … I think you need a therapist.”

“A therapist? A
therapist?!”
I don’t know why that makes me mad, but it does. “I think a person who totally lies about his name is in need of a little therapy if you really want to know what I think.”

“Sorry. I lie when I panic. It’s a character flaw.”

I open my mouth to speak but then can’t. He lies when he panics? Or is he messing with me right now, calling my bluff? This guy is seriously twisted. Either that or wicked smart.

“That’s too bad,” I say experimentally.

He sighs. “Well, anyway, that’s my personal problem I probably shouldn’t be sharing with a client. Is there anything else I can do for you?” He sounds very tired.

“No. I’m good.” I suddenly feel really bad for him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? We’re cool.”

“We are?”

“Yes,” I assure him.

“Are you going to call the manager and tell him that I got involved? Because they frown on that around here.”

“No, I’d never do that to you. I’m not the bad guy in this situation, Ralph. Dr. Oliver is. Oh, and could you just, before you hang up, tell me what his secretary said?”

“She said that he isn’t interested.”

I throw my hand up. “You see! Not interested. After all the years we had together…”

“Sorry. Sounds like he’s a real douchebag. You’re probably better off without him.”

I cannot stop smiling for the life of me. “You’re right. I am better off without him. Have a nice day.”

“You too. Bye.”

I hang up and do an Irish jig all around the store. Then I grab the phone book and start cursing when I realize there are at least five Doctor Olivers in Manhattan alone.

Chapter Seventeen

I HAVE ELIMINATED ALL BUT the last Doctor Oliver. The first one was way too old. The second one was already married. The third one was gay if his public Facebook pictures are any clue, and the fourth one was out of the country. That leaves only one guy remaining: Doctor Oliver, plastic surgeon to the rich, wealthy, powerful, famous, or all of the above.

He works in Lenox Hill on East 76
th
Street. I see his name on an engraved plate affixed to the wall in the lobby.
Oliver Cosmetic and Reconstructive Surgery Center.
Sounds really fancy. I nod briefly at the doorman, pretending like I have the right to be here. He probably thinks I’m coming for a boob job if his glance at my chest is any indicator. As if I need one of those. Please. B cups is where it’s at, yo.

Riding the elevator up, I’m nervous. My hands are sweating and my back starts to itch, so I lean on the wall and slide up and down a little trying to ease the pain.

I have no plan whatsoever. The only thing I want to do is get rid of this frigging ring. The cops have no idea who took my bag, and every time I walk down the street, I imagine I’m being followed. It’s time to unload this bad luck rock,
today
.