Jude frowned. “Jealousy isn’t a good look.”
“Me? Jealous? Of Mason Reiner?” Pryce sputtered. “Are you kidding me? I just don’t want to have to hold his hand while preparing for a major pitch. That’s all.”
“I don’t recall anyone asking you to hold his hand. He has some good ideas I want you to incorporate into your presentation. Why is that a problem? Is it because you didn’t think of them yourself?” Tired and annoyed—not only with Pryce for all the whining, but from having watched a laughing Mason walk out earlier with Russell Saville, obviously going somewhere together—Jude rose from his desk. “I’m done with this conversation. You have a meeting with Mason at ten tomorrow. See that you make it a productive one.”
He folded his arms and cocked his head, waiting. Pryce got to his feet, mumbled, “Fine, see you tomorrow,” and raced out of the door.
Jude made sure he closed everything down, then walked through the now silent office. Most of the staff left between five thirty and six, and without fail, he was always the last to leave.
Anticipating the heavy summer heat as he walked outside, Jude wasn’t disappointed. Summer in the city was akin to having a hot, wet washcloth draped over his face, yet Jude had never contemplated living anywhere else.
He stopped at the liquor store, picked up a bottle of Glenlivet, and carefully avoiding the tequila aisle, another of pink gin. He paid, and entered the market next door, making his usual purchases of fruits, vegetables, and cold cuts, along with a cooked chicken and a roast-beef sandwich. Laden with parcels, he walked around the corner and into his building, greeting his doorman.
“Roland, how’s it going?” He stopped by the front desk and leaned on the black granite slab. The lobby of his apartment building was decorated in soothing tones of white, black, and gray, with touches of pale yellow. Having grown up surrounded by poverty and ugliness, Jude had chosen this building not only because of its proximity to work, but for the clean, modern lines of its architecture.
“Good, Jude. Hot as the dickens out there, huh? I wouldn’t mind a nice rainstorm to cool things down.”
“You know it.” He pulled out the sandwich and the bag of chips that came with it and placed them both on the counter. “Here you go. Roast beef tonight.”
“Ah, Jude, you don’t have to do this.”
Actually, he did.
“We’ve had this talk before, Rollie,” Jude said quietly.
They locked gazes for a moment, and then Roland dipped his head. “Thank you.” He took the food and placed it behind the counter.
Jude had met Roland the previous year, at the men’s shelter in the Bowery. Roland had no home, no clothes—only an innate sense of pride. Every week when Jude came to volunteer, they’d chatted about their lives. Jude had learned that Roland was a Vietnam veteran who’d lost his house in Hurricane Katrina and left New Orleans for New York City, where he got a job in a bakery. When his wife died in a car accident, he’d started drinking and ended up on the street. It took almost dying from overexposure during a brutal winter to sober him up and get him into AA. When an opening came up in the building for a full-time doorman, Jude had recommended Roland to the condominium, and they’d hired him.
Jude smiled and patted the top of the desk. “Have a good evening.”
“Next stop the grand dame?” Roland pushed his gold-braided cap to the back of his head.
“Yes. I think I have everything.”
“Well, I’m guessing she’ll talk your ear off. Might be a late night for you.”
“I don’t mind,” Jude said a bit sadly. He was missing Ilana today. “I’m hoping to hear from Ilana. They’re in Paris now, and she’s wanted to go there since she was a child.” He hefted the bags. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will. I’m gonna have some of the bread I made. It finally turned out like I wanted. I’ll bring you some.”
“Looking forward to it.” With a final smile, Jude crossed the spacious lobby to the elevators. On his ride up, he checked his phone, but finding no more pictures from Ilana, he shoved it into his pocket. He shouldn’t feel so frustrated. She was on her honeymoon, after all. He couldn’t expect her to think about him.
He rang the bell and waited, hearing the slow footsteps approach. The door opened to an elderly lady holding on to a walker. A fluffy little dog ran around in circles next to her, yapping its fool head off, until she said, “Foxy, be quiet.”
“Hi, Edith. I brought you a few things.”
In a red silk dress with improbably large pearls around her neck, as if she were about to sit down to a formal tea, Edith Reynolds rewarded him with a bright smile. “Jude, you sweetheart, come in. I told you a million times you don’t have to buy me groceries. I can do it myself.”
They played this game at least once a week, even though he came by almost every day. And each knew their part, as Edith was well aware she couldn’t leave the building alone anymore, while Jude let her think he was simply doing her a favor when in fact he enjoyed the friendship of his eccentric neighbor. Edith liked to think she was still a “tough old broad,” as she called herself, but the fall she’d taken on the ice this past winter had taken its toll, and to Jude, she looked way too frail. Refusing all his offers of a full-time nurse, she reluctantly allowed a housekeeper to clean and do her laundry once a week, and an aide came in daily for a few hours to assist with her personal needs. Jude helped her with everything else.
“I know, but I was passing by and remembered my fridge was empty, so I figured, what the hell.” He set the parcels on the dining table. Edith had a one-bedroom apartment where every surface was covered with photographs and memorabilia from her career as a dresser on Broadway, and she liked to eat in the tiny yet formal dining room, surrounded by her memories.
She leaned on her walker and smacked him on the shoulder. “You’re not a very good liar.” Her eyes twinkled behind the huge purple frames of her glasses. “But since I see a bottle of my favorite pink gin in there, I won’t complain too much. Sit down, sit.”
Jude pulled out a chair and waited as she lowered herself onto the cushioned seat. The bright-eyed puffball of a dog sat by her side. “I wouldn’t want you to run low.” He removed the groceries from the bag. “What would you like? I think the chicken is still hot.”
She didn’t answer, and for a moment Jude wondered if she’d fallen asleep until she wiped her eyes. “You’re too nice.”
