She mirrors my tight smile, pins it on, and blinks. Several times. But the newspaper, she holds steady beneath her elbow, cradled like a cartridge. She narrows her eyes until her scrutiny sears me – a million accusations poised, unspoken, right there between us in the stairwell.
I know I’m a privileged old white male. I could spare a newspaper, but if I’m not poor and I’m not popular, I can live with that.
The fact is, Lucy is stealing my newspaper. It’s always a risk when you live in an apartment – Jamison and Dee insisted I move here when I was still too weak from grief to fight the idea – and here I am, hard up against outright theft, and here’s the thief – far too beautiful, if dishevelled, and she probably knows it.
Lucy. What kind of woman wears lipstick at this hour of the morning? Millie would have disapproved. Millie isn’t here.
I’ve already heard the day’s headlines on the radio news during my workout, but if I back down now, she’ll steal my paper every morning. And do I really want her at my door every second day, inventing excuses to borrow milk or sugar, or beg an egg?
I hold out my hand for my paper, face blank, expectant, insistent.
Far too slowly she releases her hand from the railing. Theatrically, she touches the end of the roll, tenderly encircled it with those elegant fingers, withdraws it from under her elbow and holds it out to me, like a reluctant peace pipe.
I catch my breath. She reveals the tops of her fingers, encrusted with that telltale flash, the unmistakable sparkle of too many diamonds.
My friend Walt is a top divorce lawyer, the subject of fortune hunters never far from his conversation, and this Lucy exhibits all the warning signs he loves to discuss. Jill was right. My new neighbor is a gold digger if ever I’ve seen one; a merry widow or a serial divorcee out on the chase again for someone just like me. Well, I may not be habitually wise to women like this, but I will be fully on my guard.
As if she’s read my mind and the challenge is on, Lucy flashes me the most dazzling of smiles. “I’m at number Forty One if you’d care to drop the paper at my door when you’re done with it. Reuse, recycle, share and care, all of that.”
She chortles, as if life is some sort of fun game, as if we’re naughty children. And she is up and around me and gone in a swishy puff of silk and velvet and fruity perfume and sparkles, like a genie – fruity and exotic and far too feminine for comfort. A vision of one pale, slim ankle in a silver slipper stays with me.
The paper, still warm from her body, is motionless in my hand like a baton in a running race halted mid-flight. I stare at it, gaze down the stairs, and up them past the number on her door, then slowly mount the steps beyond Forty One, and retreat into my apartment.
Chapter 10
Lucy
Living here at BrightonCourt, I will need to buy myself a little old lady shopping cart for sure. I’ve only bought a few small things, for my parties, but the bags are so heavy I worry my arms have stretched by two inches and my knees have compacted like a telescope.
There’s a dull “thunk” as I deposit my groceries at the front door of Brighton Court and contemplate the lack of an elevator. So much for the olde worlde charm. I should have forked out more for a place in a newer building where I could just push a button.
For a moment I consider opening the bourbon and taking a little swig, for strength, but it’s not a good look, and Silver Fox could turn up at any moment. The fact I saw him out walking yesterday at about this time might have had something to do with my choice of time to go shopping. People who exercise tend to have routines, and yes, I’d love to run into him again.
I contemplate whether to leave the bourbon and coke and mineral water at the mercy of passersby; or the beer, cider and champagne. The caviar must go in the refrigerator soon, even on such a perfect day, but, along with the corn chips, their weight is neither here nor there.
I settle on carting up the champagne – essential for my home-warming. Back downstairs again and facing the other bags, I’m thrilled to see Dirk emerge from the front door in dark gray exercise gear. He attempts to stride past, but I give him a cheery wave; one he can’t possibly ignore.
