“Simon’s family has lived in Mumberton Castle since the year 1205. But now Mumberton Castle is owned by Black Bear Partners, LLC.”
“A shell company,” said Cleo.
“One of many,” said Isaac. “A bank account made of castle stones.”
Cleo sighed and shook her head. Isaac’s home was dim and cozy, crammed with castoffs from his parents’ apartment, located across Eighty-eighth Street. Every time Isaac’s mother redecorated, Isaac was blessed with another piece of furniture, most of it overstuffed and printed with flowers and/or jungle animals. When the apartment above his rented office went on the market, Isaac’s parents bought it for him. Completely focused on work, he’d let his mother fill that apartment with hand-me-downs as well. Isaac still used the TV he’d watched as a teenager, with a built-in VCR, though he had somehow added streaming services to the giant appliance for watching true crime shows with takeout from 88Noodle or the reopened Popover Cafe. (He kept a stack of to-go menus in a pile on his coffee table anchored by his TV remote.)
Once in a while, Isaac would date, and his girlfriends ran the gamut from rail-thin aspiring models to brilliant academics, including Rosanne, an art history professor who almost married Isaac, but eventually did not. Once in a while, there’d be a boyfriend. No one ever stuck: Work was Isaac’s great love, as it was Cleo’s.
Cleo took a long sip of her gin and set out the snacks she’d picked up on the way over: pickles, crackers, a block of sharp cheddar.
“I have a cheese board!” said Isaac.
“I’m sure you do,” murmured Cleo. Isaac rummaged for a bit and found a wooden slab with the wordsTell me you love Briecarved into it.
“Et voilà,” he said.
“Your mom!” said Cleo.
“I know,” said Isaac. “I’m lucky. How’s the toxic Donna?”
“Toxic,” said Cleo. “As usual. And I guess I’m going to have to see her at this wedding in a castle.”
“OK, let’s talk about that.”
“I want you to know I got a new therapist,” said Cleo.
“Thank God,” said Isaac, who saw his own therapist, also located on Eighty-eighth Street, twice a week.
Cleo slipped off her shoes and rubbed her big toe on the arch of her foot. “I’d rather discuss felonious Simon. Where are his accounts?”
“Cayman Islands,” said Isaac.
“Of course. So Simon Rampling is filthy rich and free and clear from his ex-wife’s family?” said Cleo.
“Very rich, seemingly filthy,” said Isaac. “Yes.”
After a few Happy Meal glasses of gin, Cleo and Isaac decided to track down Simon’s ex-wife, Thisbe Rampling, née Barber. They donned their sneakers, planning to walk across Central Park with a water bottle of gin, hoping to find hot dogs along the way. Cleo rummaged in Isaac’s hall closet for a disguise, grabbinga dark trench coat and the dingy tennis cap Isaac used for racket sports. Isaac sipped his gin daintily and watched Cleo, one ankle crossed in front of the other. “Why, may I ask, do you need a disguise?”
“She can’t knowwho we are,” said Cleo conspiratorially.
“Shedoesn’tknow who we are.”
“Right,” said Cleo, tossing a Yale sweatshirt toward Isaac. “Turn it inside out,” said Cleo. She found sunglasses and put them on. “Let’s go,” she said.
“You are way too drunk for this expedition,” said Isaac.
“I amjust the right drunkfor this expedition,” she asserted.
—
The sun was setting as they walked toward Central Park. The hot dog vendor was still open, and Cleo perched Isaac’s father’s Ray-Ban sunglasses in her hair like a headband as she savored herdinner: two hot dogs with ketchup and cheese. “I guess I don’t need the sunglasses,” she said, sheepishly.
“Yeah, and they’re prescription,” added Isaac.
“This is delicious,” said Cleo, biting into the hot dog.
“I feel like we should add Sprite to the gin,” said Isaac. “But we have a full bottle of gin and if we buy a can of Sprite, it will also be full.”
