Chapter Nineteen
Annie
Annie took a few deep breaths of cold air to steady herself as she exited the museum. The guards had searched her handbag on the way out even though the act was futile; the man with the Cerulean Queen was somewhere far away by now. It hurt to think of the empty pedestal, and she knew that Charlotte Cross was one of only a few people in the world who felt the loss as much as she did. Maybe that was why they’d both taken off after the man, fueled by their mutual outrage.
Charlotte had tried to stand up for Annie, but in the end, Mr. Fantoni refused to back down. “The thief got away unharmed, dagger or no dagger. Depending on where we go from here, the NYPD or the FBI may want to question you,” he’d said to Annie before finally dismissing her. “You are not to set foot in the museum in the meantime, and trust me, I’m keeping my eye on you.”
Annie was in big trouble. Until they caught the thief, she would be under suspicion. She began to make her way down the steps but stopped when she noticed Charlotte huddled in conversation with a man about halfway down. Their heads were almost touching, and the man’s arm was around her shoulders. Whatever was going on was intimate and she didn’t want to encroach. Instead, she stayed to the far left side, concentrating on each step so she didn’t fall.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
In the darkness, she’d almost run right into someone else sitting on the stairway. With a start, she recognized Billy, his blazer carefully folded across his lap, his slicked-back hair shining in the dim lamplight. She imagined him carefully combing it back earlier that day, knowing that it would be a big night, wanting to look his best, and her heart broke for him. For both of them.
“Annie. Hey.” He looked up and gave her cheerless smile.
“Not in any rush to get home?” she asked.
“Nah.” He stared out at the taxis surfing down Fifth Avenue. “I don’t really want to have to tell my parents and my uncle that I’ll be losing my job any day now.”
She turned to him. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. If only I’d understood what Mrs. Vreeland meant in the first place. Or didn’t mean. I’m an idiot.”
“Hey, I didn’t get half of what she was talking about up there. It was like listening to another language. Maybe I’m too stupid for this job.”
“No, you’re not. You were only helping me out. And keep in mind the real villain is whoever switched my request from butterflies to moths. Someone was out to get me. You got caught in the cross fire, and I’m sorry for that.”
“The guard’s job is to inspect all packages going in and out. I screwed up.”
“Because I distracted you.”
When he turned to look at her, she expected his eyes to be filled with anger and blame, but he just looked tired. “Yeah. Because you looked so pretty.”
Her insides melted. No one had ever said that to her before. That kind of compliment was usually reserved for her mother, not Annie. They looked at each other for a moment; then Annie broke the silence. “Will they definitely fire you for this? It seems drastic.”
“The security guards are part of a union, so I do have some protection. It will take them a few weeks to sort it all out. Or not.”
“What would you do instead?”
“Well, I’m not going to apply to get my bachelor’s degree anymore. What’s the point?”
“You mean you won’t try to be a technician?”
“Who would hire me, after this?”
“Maybe the union will help you explain everything and you’ll be able to stay on at the Met.”
“That would be great. I guess we’ll see.”
Annie wondered what would happen next for her. She imagined herself locked in a jail cell, barraged with questions from the FBI that she couldn’t answer.
On top of that, she wasn’t allowed back in the museum, and the thought devastated her. To no longer be able to wander the halls and revel in its history lessons would be a bitter loss. None of the other New York museums, grand as they were, even came close. But then again, having to pass by the empty pedestal for the Cerulean Queen and be reminded of her part in its theft, even if it was unintentional, would be awful enough.
She said goodbye to Billy, looked up at the glorious facade one last time, and headed out into the dark night.
Annie steeled herself before opening the front door to the apartment. The lights inside were blazing, which was odd. She’d expected it to be pitch dark, the only sound her mother’s sobs from the bedroom. What a pair they made: Annie, unable to keep a job for more than a week, and Joyce, unable to keep a man for more than a month. How did other people in the world manage to keep up the momentum? They got jobs, got promoted, met someone, got married. She and her mother were stuck in some loop where they would never be free from each other. In twenty years, nothing would have changed. Joyce would be making the rounds of the local bars like some washed-out Tennessee Williams heroine, and Annie would be making ends meet by cleaning the townhouse upstairs for whoever bought it after Mrs. H died. It was pathetic.
She’d been given the chance of a lifetime and blown it. Not only for herself, but she’d brought Billy down with her, which made it so much worse. She should’ve known a job like that of assistant to Diana Vreeland was beyond her capabilities. Her education was lackluster, her knowledge of the wider world even worse. It was amazing she’d lasted a day. Still, she hadn’t imagined the fact that she’d been able to do well, for a time. Maybe if she’d gone to one of the fancy private schools on the Upper East Side, she’d have known right away that the butterflies were a metaphor, and not done such a stupid thing as letting loose fabric-eating insects in a clothing exhibition. She flushed in embarrassment, just as she had when Mrs. Vreeland rebuked her in the security office.
Inside the apartment, the radio softly played classical music and there was a strange aroma in the air. She found Joyce in the kitchen wearing an apron over her dress, removing something from the oven.
“Mom?”
“Ah, Annie. Move the kettle, will you?”
Annie lifted it off the stove and Joyce carefully set down a baking pan. Annie leaned in and sniffed. Joyce had made banana bread. The very idea left her speechless. Her mother hadn’t done anything like that in ages.
“When I got home, I noticed there were some bananas that had turned, so I threw this together,” said Joyce with a wink. “I figured you might want a bite after running around all evening after Diana Vreeland. Are you hungry?”
She was. Starving, in fact. She hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast.
She sat down at the counter and watched her mother as she peeled off the oven mitts and carefully cut a slice. The bread hadn’t had enough time to cool and fell apart on the plate. Normally, that would have sent Joyce into a sea of tears at her incompetence, but she only laughed as she passed the clumpy mess over to Annie. “It’s too hot, wait a minute for it to cool down. How was the gala?”
“Um, fine.” Annie didn’t trust this version of Joyce one bit. There was a chance she was overplaying the mother role, holding herself together in the face of another breakup as long as she could before the mask disintegrated and she either threw the entire tin of banana bread across the room or crumpled to the floor in sobs.
“Tell me, who was there I would know?”
“Diana Ross. The mayor.” Annie’s mind went blank. Not that it mattered, as her mother was barely listening to her, instead softly humming along with the music. “How was your night?”
“Oh, grand.”
Joyce reached around the back of her apron and untied it, then folded it carefully into a square. She laid it on the countertop, one hand lingering on top of it. Only then did Annie understand what was going on.
A large opal sat atop her mother’s ring finger, the milky white stone glinting with hints of iridescence.
“What is this?” she asked, looking from the ring to her mother’s face and back to the ring.
“Brad proposed!” Joyce jumped up and down like a child and held out her arms. Annie slid from behind the counter and gave her a hug, jumping a little bit with her, as that was what Joyce seemed to want them to do. “We had dinner, and I was waiting for him to tell me the bad news—that his mother was sick and he had to fly home, or his job was sending him to Timbuktu—all the kinds of things I’ve heard before. But he just kept talking about how he’d never met anyone like me before. How much he loved New York and that he was going to quit his job and come live here. And then he got on one knee and the waiters brought over champagne. You should have seen it, it was glorious! Everyone clapped and congratulated us, and they even gave us a free dessert!”
“Wow.”
“Brad gets me like no one else does. We just understand each other, it’s hard to explain.”
“Wait, you said that he’s moving here?”
“That’s the best part. He’s flying to Nashville tomorrow, getting his things, and driving back. He’ll be here by the weekend.”
“What about his job?”
Joyce waved her ringed hand in the air. “He said he can get a job anywhere. He’s in sales, it’s no big deal.”
“Where will he live?”
Joyce turned to the sink and began running the water. “Oh, you know, wherever makes the most sense.” She put on a pair of plastic gloves and poured dish soap into the mixing bowl.
“What does that mean?” Annie didn’t mean to be firing off so many questions, but none of this sat right.
Joyce scrubbed the bowl with a sponge, a dreamy smile on her face. “Here, I figured. I mean, why not? He said he doesn’t have many things, so it’ll be an easy transition.”
Annie squeezed into the tight corner of the kitchen near the sink so her mother couldn’t avoid her eyes. “How are the three of us going to live here? The two of us barely fit as it is. Am I supposed to sleep on the couch? And what about his clothes? We don’t have enough closet space. I can’t believe you’ve done this without talking to me beforehand.”
Joyce tossed the sponge in the bowl and yanked off the gloves. “I knew you couldn’t be happy for me. Now that I finally have what I wanted, you’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Of the fact that some stranger is going to quit his job and move in with us? How much do you really know about him? He sounds like a freeloader if you ask me.” She glanced down at the ring. “An opal? Aren’t you worth more than that?”
“I love opals, and he knew it. That’s why he chose it.”
Annie had never heard her mother profess a love of opals. She was so desperate to have a husband that she was willing to twist herself into whatever version of herself he wanted her to be. “I can’t believe you’re okay with him moving in with us.”
“Well, he’s not, not really.”
“You just said he was. By next weekend, no less.”
“Not with us . With me.”
Annie was too shocked to speak at first. “What about me?”
Joyce sucked in her cheeks. “You’re a big girl now. You’ve got a job, you’re making a decent salary. I figured you’d want to be like other girls your age and find some roommates, share a place downtown. That’s what I did when I first started modeling, and it was great fun. You’ve been taking care of me for ages, now’s the time for you to stretch your wings. You’re free, finally. I thought you’d be excited.”
“Excited to be tossed out of my home with less than a week’s notice?”
“Sure.” She didn’t meet Annie’s eyes.
All the resentments that Annie had kept shoved down so that she didn’t set her mother off on one of her moods began to rumble to the surface. The way Joyce twisted around the reality of the past stung. “For years I’ve been making sure we had enough to eat, taking care of you through your moods and your men. I thought the plan was for your boyfriend to buy an apartment where we could all live together?”
“Things change. Please, Annie, I have to make this work.”
“Why? Why can’t we stay the way we are? He can move here, get his own place, and you can take it slow. Why trust a guy who’s willing to quit his job so fast? Makes me wonder if he had one in the first place.”
“I don’t know how you can say that since you’ve never even met him.”
All the signs pointed to a disastrous end. No doubt this Brad was a deadbeat who wanted a free place to stay in New York while he figured out his next move. Little did he know what he was getting into. The two of them would sink into an abyss that would leave Joyce helpless and vulnerable, and Annie wouldn’t be around to save her. “I’ve never met him because you refused to introduce me. Because you didn’t want him to know that you had a grown daughter.”
“A grown daughter who should be out of the house by now, living on her own.”
“If I’d left, how would you have been able to manage?”
“That’s not the point,” Joyce dodged. “You have a job, there must be coworkers from your fancy museum job that you can reach out to for a place to crash, even if it’s temporary. Or friends from school. You really should be with people your own age.”
“I don’t have any friends, and you know why? Because I was working two jobs to keep us afloat.”
“I did my best—”
Annie cut her off. “And let’s be honest, the real reason you don’t want me here is I’m a reminder of how old you really are.”
She wasn’t expecting the slap across the face. Her mother had never hit her before, not even when she was a young girl. Joyce recoiled in horror as soon as her hand left Annie’s cheek. “I’m sorry, darling.”
Annie should’ve known this day would come, when her mother would toss her out on the streets all in the name of setting her free. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t even have the fancy museum job anymore. But there was no way she was going to confess that to Joyce and watch her try to conjure up the appropriately sympathetic expression when underneath she’d be panicking at the thought of Brad arriving to find Annie planted on the couch.
Annie had nowhere to go, and no landlord would take her in if she was jobless.
For years she’d thought she was being a good daughter by propping up Joyce on her down days, when in fact she’d lost valuable time, thrown it away, by being her caretaker.
In the bedroom, she filled a suitcase with clothes and toiletries. If her mother wanted her out, she’d go, and let Joyce live with the consequences.
Annie quietly let herself in to Mrs. H’s front door using her key. What she needed to do would only take a few minutes. A lamp burned on the narrow table in the front hallway, the one Mrs. H always left on to deter burglars.
But as soon as Annie closed the front door behind her, footsteps sounded on the creaky second-floor landing.
“Mrs. H, it’s just me, Annie,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry to wake you.”
From the top of the stairs, Mrs. H pulled her glasses down her nose. She wore a high-necked Victorian nightgown, and her gray hair was tied up in a ribbon.
“What are you doing here? What time is it?”
“I’m sorry. I need to get the money I saved up. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t an emergency.”
Mrs. H slowly made her way down the stairs, clutching the banister. “What could you possibly need it for this late?”
“I need a hotel room, I guess. And then I need money for food and stuff.”
“You and your mother had another row?”
“Something like that. I’m on my own, now.”
After Annie had stormed out of the basement apartment, she’d waited for a moment on the sidewalk, hoping in vain her mother would follow and usher her back inside, apologize for the squabble. But she was no longer her mother’s focus. Not that she ever was.
“At least wait until morning,” said Mrs. H. “Your mother will come around.”
Annie’s skin prickled with shame. “Please. I need the money now, or I wouldn’t be here.”
Mrs. H ushered her inside and waved her into the kitchen, where Annie settled into the same chair she had last time. Mrs. H put on the kettle. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
“There was a mix-up at the Met Gala tonight. I won’t be working there anymore.”
“Well, I’m sorry about the job. I can only imagine what it’s like being at Diana’s beck and call.”
No matter how much of a mess it turned out to be, Annie didn’t regret that she’d taken the job. The joy of rushing around town, doing errands and being part of a team, was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. “It was wonderful, for a time. But on top of that, my mother got engaged and so I have to find a new place to live.”
“How about this? You stay here for a bit. You can take the spare room on the third floor.”
“I couldn’t impose on you.”
“I’m not letting you out this late, it’s not safe, and you’re dressed in a way that will garner the wrong kind of attention.”
Annie looked down at her dress, the one that she’d put on not five hours ago with such hope. The hem was dirty and her feet hurt and her mother had just chosen a man over her own daughter. Tears streamed down her face at her predicament, as well as the unexpected kindness that Mrs. H had shown her.
“Now, don’t cry. Think of it this way: You’re free.”
She wiped her eyes. “Free to do what?”
Mrs. H waved her hand in the air. “Anything. You’re healthy and young, go out there and make some noise.”
“But I don’t know what to do, or how to go about it.”
“Excuses. Tonight, you’ll take the spare room and get some rest. Tomorrow, you can make me breakfast and start fresh. Think about what you want to do next.”
“I want to fix what I screwed up. I screwed up badly. And not just my life, other people’s lives as well.”
“Now, now. Stop being dramatic. You’re just a kid. You’re supposed to screw up at your age. You still have plenty of time to make things right. When you’re my age, it’s too late. Too late to apologize because the people you screwed over are dead.”
Annie had never heard Mrs. H speak so bluntly, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Oops. Sorry.”
Mrs. H let out a giggle. “That’s terrible of me, isn’t it? Well, it’s true. Then, and only then, is it really over. So stop grousing about how tough you have it. When you’re eighty, you can grouse.”
She rose, picked up the cookie jar filled with Annie’s money that sat on the counter, and planted it on the table. “Until then, get the hell on with it.”