Carnegie Hill, page 33
* * *
He found himself thinking about the guy online who had reenacted his mugging. It was a little dumb, but it wasn’t crazy, right? It seemed like something a TV psychologist might arrange. Having run out of ideas, the least he could do was try.
A quick internet search unearthed the red embossed jacket, on sale at Target for a hundred dollars. He bought a size medium for overnight delivery, along with a black knitted face mask. He decided against buying a handgun, as he didn’t want to break any laws—or get himself killed. A fake gun would be ridiculous, though.
Now he just needed someone to play the mugger, preferably a young, light-skinned black man. There was a junior analyst at work who might do it, but Rick didn’t want anyone at work to know he’d been mugged. Otherwise, he didn’t know any black men in their late teens or early twenties. After the Molly debacle, he knew better than to find one on the internet.
He’d been pondering this matter for a few days when, on his way to work, he passed Caleb in the lobby, vacuuming a rug. He knew better than to hire a building staffer for this possibly humiliating pursuit, but maybe Caleb knew someone who was hard up for cash.
“Hey, Caleb my man,” Rick said, and the porter switched off the vacuum cleaner and locked it upright. “How you been? That was great news about Sergei—my wife told me. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, sir. I mean, we’re not engaged or anything.”
“No, I just meant, congrats on finding each other. It’s hard to find love in this city. How long you been together?”
“About a year. We’re planning on moving in together, as soon as we can find a place.”
“Great! Great. Hey, listen, do you have any friends who are actors? I’m looking for a guy about your age for a little acting job.” He hoped Caleb understood that he wanted the guy to be black. “The pay’s really good. It would just take an hour, tops.”
“What kind of acting?”
“I need someone to role-play a situation. It might get a little physical, but the actor would be safe.”
“Oh,” Caleb said, widening his eyes, and Rick wondered if his request had seemed lewd.
“Like a tussle. In Central Park. It wouldn’t have to be an actor, just someone who has an hour to kill and wants to earn some cash.” It still sounded perverted.
Caleb looked down at the vacuum cleaner while another shareholder walked by. “How much is the pay, if you don’t mind my asking?” he mumbled.
“A couple hundred bucks.”
“I’d do it. I mean, could I do it?”
He hadn’t expected Caleb to volunteer; then again, that was probably a lot of money for a porter. Rick would have preferred a stranger, but the mask and jacket might be an adequate disguise. Anyway, Caleb didn’t report to him, and they barely saw each other in the building. Even if things became awkward between them, they’d get over it.
“Sure, you could do it,” Rick said, with a pat on Caleb’s shoulder.
* * *
Rather than try to find a time when Pepper wouldn’t be home—he sensed she wouldn’t approve of this experiment—Rick met Caleb in a tourist-infested café near his office that evening. Rick ordered a small coffee and a Paleo bar, Caleb, a peppermint cappuccino and cranberry biscotto, and Rick’s eyes widened when the bill came to nineteen dollars. A boss had once told him that he had become much happier when he stopped getting upset about money in amounts less than twenty dollars. Even though Rick spent thousands without blinking, he had never been able to relax about wasted money of any amount. Maybe that was one reason he’d been upset over the mugging, which only set him back a few hundred bucks but was costing him a few thousand—the therapist, the gun range, the vacation, and now this—in trying to repair it.
At a tiny round table in the back, he and Caleb attempted small talk. It wasn’t easy. Rick wasn’t great at chatting up men; with women, he could let his eyes do the work.
“Where are you and Sergei moving?” Rick asked. Everybody liked to talk about neighborhoods and real estate.
“We were looking in the Bronx on the four, five, and six lines,” Caleb said, glancing around as though worried someone would catch them sitting together. Rick didn’t think what they were doing was against building rules. A lot of the guys did odd jobs like painting or washing windows for a little extra cash.
Caleb waxed poetic about a two-bedroom in Parkchester with a big tree out the window and a dishwasher. Unfortunately, Caleb said, they were a few hundred dollars short of the six grand they needed for first month’s rent, security deposit, and broker’s fee. That surprised Rick, because they each must have cleared a few thousand from their holiday tips. Caleb said his young nephew had had some kind of seizure and needed medical testing; the boy was fine, but his brother and sister-in-law hadn’t realized the tests weren’t covered by insurance, and the bill came to almost four thousand. Caleb’s brother could barely afford living expenses for his family, so Caleb paid it. And much of Sergei’s bonus went toward some high-interest credit-card debt that had snuck up on him. Caleb said that they would probably be able to afford the new place in a few months, but he had to evacuate his parents’ apartment by March first—less than a month away. Moving in with Sergei apparently wasn’t an option.
Rick suspected all this detail was an attempt to convince him to let Caleb have the acting job. Maybe Caleb was trying to convince himself. “Sounds like you and I play the same role in our families,” Rick said. “The money man.”
Caleb poked his biscotto into his foamy drink and smiled. He was a sweet kid; Rick could see why Pepper liked him so much. “It’s hard when there isn’t enough.”
“And we’re the only ones who treat it with respect,” said Rick, trying to encourage alliance. “We know you can’t just expect money to be there when you want it. You have to work for it, and spend wisely.”
Caleb gulped his cappuccino.
“So listen, here’s what I’m looking for. Now, I know it’s going to sound a little weird, but bear with me. Basically, in a nutshell, I want you to pretend to mug me in Central Park.”
Caleb smiled quizzically. “I was under the impression … I didn’t realize … I guess I thought I’d be acting with somebody else.”
Rick supposed it would be strange to do this with a staff member. “You don’t have a friend who can do it? Maybe it’d be better if it were somebody I didn’t know.”
“I could ask. How much are you offering again?”
“Five hundred dollars,” Rick had decided. He watched as Caleb digested the figure. Everyone had a price.
“I guess I could do it.” He looked troubled.
“Great. I have a jacket and face mask for you to wear. You’ll need to bring a threatening-looking knife, like a switchblade or something. I’ll tell you when and where to wait. When I come by, you’ll order me to hand over my wallet and phone, and I won’t give it to you. I’ll probably tell you off. Maybe I’ll push you a little, but I promise I won’t hurt you. Just don’t stab me, okay?”
A man, pushing a stroller back and forth while waiting for a table, eyed their empty mugs. Rick glared at him, and he looked elsewhere.
“Sorry—I’m still confused,” Caleb said. “Is this going to be videotaped?”
“No. No one will be around.”
“So then why…? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“It’s like a therapy thing.”
“Ah.” He nodded a little too long, which made it clear how poorly he understood the concept.
“You still want to do it?” Rick asked. “I understand if you want to find someone else, but if you’re in, you gotta be in.”
“No, I can do it,” Caleb said, very seriously. “Just one thing: Can you write and sign a letter that says you asked me to do this? It’s just, if anyone sees me doing it, I don’t want to be arrested or anything like that.”
“Don’t worry, no one will see you. But if someone does, I’ll tell them it isn’t real.”
“Still, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, absolutely. Monday at nine P.M.?”
Rick stood up and shook Caleb’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
* * *
Rick hustled along the bridle path just south of the Central Park reservoir. The snowbanks on both sides glowed in the moonlight, brightening his surroundings a bit too much. Thinking that a full bladder and a light buzz would help with the verisimilitude, he’d downed a few glasses of Johnnie Black at a bar on Columbus Avenue, not far from the Museum of Natural History, before heading into the park.
He veered off the path, careful not to slip, and stopped in front of the retaining wall that separated the park from the road. All he heard was the rush of cars. He looked around. No one. Ten minutes passed. Still no one.
Now he was annoyed. Maybe Caleb had balked after seeing how close they were to the police station. At least he hadn’t paid him in advance.
Why hadn’t he tried another therapist instead of this crazy scheme? Maybe because it was so emasculating, all this therapy. He didn’t mind the couple’s therapist, but if Pepper had her way, he’d have an analyst and a trauma counselor and probably a guru and a life coach. How had people dealt with their shit before Freud? They sucked it up and went on with life.
He angled himself away from the road and unzipped in front of a sad excuse for a tree, more like a sapling with big ambitions. He soaked the tree, then signed his initials in the snow. He was actually relieved that he didn’t have to go through with it, though he couldn’t help thinking of the parallels with his coitus interruptus with Molly. He’d been glad to ditch her at the time—and his marriage was better for it—but now he felt like someone who didn’t follow through on his plans, at least those that he’d arranged for his mental health.
As he shook himself off, he felt something sharp in the small of his back. Someone was behind him. His body lurched with the memory of the smooth round nose of the pistol.
“Don’t move until I tell you,” came an unrecognizable growl. It didn’t sound like Caleb at all. He must have found a friend to step in. “You’re going to lie facedown real slow.”
Rick moved his hands to zip his pants, but the mugger hissed, “Hands above your head or I stab you.”
He lifted his arms and knelt down. His thoughts swarmed, and he fought to steady his mind. He knew he should spin around and grab the knife, but he wanted a cleaner opportunity. He didn’t want to risk being stabbed, even if the mugger was trying not to. He didn’t know what Caleb had or had not told this guy. “Can I move a little away so I don’t have to lie in my piss?”
“Down!” A foot on his lower back, and Rick was facedown, piss and melted snow soaking into his wool coat and jeans.
The mugger’s knee was pushing down on his mid-spine, and his hands were rifling through Rick’s pockets. Through his fear, Rick was impressed—this guy was good.
The mugger snatched Rick’s wallet from his coat pocket and his phone from his pants. Rick was running out of time: if he didn’t do something, he would miss his opportunity.
With all his strength, he jerked up to all fours, knocking the guy off him, then jumped up and spun around. Fighting a momentary dizziness, he grasped that his wallet and phone were in the snow, and the mugger, wearing the red jacket and the face mask, was pointing the knife at him. A serrated knife. Rick nearly laughed. He was being mugged with a bread knife.
But otherwise, this felt right. This felt real. Headlights from the road blinded him as they passed, and the underbrush scratched at his benumbed hands. The mugger looked taller than him, but Rick was very strong. Blazing with adrenaline, feeling the throb of hot blood in his limbs, he leaped forward and grabbed the mugger’s arm, then wrenched the knife out of his hand and threw it aside. Rick pushed him onto the ground and, ceding his willpower to his animal brain, pinned him. His knees were on the kid’s thighs, his hands gripping his upper arms. He was in control.
He’d thought it might be enough to disarm the mugger and reclaim his valuables, but now he felt compelled to speak. The mugger had threatened his life and taken his dignity; Rick finally had the chance to take it back.
“You stole from me,” Rick said, staring into the mugger’s fearful eyes, able to speak as if it weren’t a reenactment. “You humiliated me. You think it’s a game to ruin other people’s lives, you selfish piece of shit? You thought you could take from me, but you failed. You’re nothing. It’s my money and I make the rules. You do what I say now. You don’t get a say. You do what I say.” The mugger had stopped squirming; he was wide-eyed and unblinking. Rick closed his eyes, letting the sense of triumph cleanse him. This was exactly what he needed.
Finally, Rick hopped up, zipped his pants, and brushed the snow off his arms and legs. He paced in the snow, trying to calm down. He was still flooded with vitality; he wanted to use his body again. He was going to give Pepper the night of her life.
The mugger was still lying supine in the snow. When Rick’s heartbeat had slowed and the cold burn in his throat subsided, he extended a hand to help him up. “That was perfect,” he gasped, in between breaths. “You were so convincing. I can’t thank you enough.”
Instead of taking Rick’s hand, the mugger scooted back through the snow and grabbed a tree to pull himself up. He peeled off his mask. It was Caleb after all. He stared into space, his lips parted. He looked hollowed out.
“Caleb!” Rick exclaimed. “My hero! Are you okay, man?” What he could remember of his tirade must have been terrible to hear. “I’m sorry if I scared you—I didn’t really know what I was going to do. It was just role-playing—it wasn’t about you at all. See, I was mugged in this spot in December, and I had this hunch that if I could just, you know, gain some mastery over the incident, I could finally feel like myself again.” He grabbed his wallet and phone off the ground, counted out five hundred-dollar bills, and gave them to Caleb, who seemed too stunned to put them in his pocket.
Rick put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. It was unfortunate how much he’d scared Caleb; if he only could understand how helpful he’d been, maybe he could forgive Rick. “Was that worse than you were expecting? I didn’t realize I was going to need to say all that. Here, let me give you a little more.” He pinched a thick stack of twenties from his wallet and handed them over. Once Caleb got over the shock of their little encounter, the seven or eight hundred dollars in his pocket would surely bring him back to life. He’d get to move in with his lover, all for a few minutes of work. It seemed like a good deal. When Rick was first in New York, sneaking a flask into bars and buying the cheap toilet paper, he would have taken this gig and been glad for it. “Let’s get you in a cab.”
Caleb nodded. He put all the money in his pants pocket. He wouldn’t look at Rick.
“You’re okay, bud. Everything’s okay.” Rick took Caleb’s limp arm, then thought better of it. Maybe he didn’t want to be touched.
17
THE TRUTH
Pepper had lined up printouts of the building’s finances over the past five years on the coffee table, in hopes of understanding what line items had changed and what expenses might come back to surprise her. Ardith knew the basics of communicating with the managing agent and creating an agenda for the board meetings but was a little fuzzy on all the different ways money was spent. As treasurer, Dougie could answer her questions in this realm, but, preferring not to be mentally undressed more than necessary, she decided to figure it out on her own.
Someone knocked on the door. Maybe it was Birdie, who had promised Pepper a stack of Gourmet magazine back issues as part of a purge that she would not admit had anything to do with the possibility of moving out. Had Ardith not told everyone about Birdie’s plans at the last board meeting, she wouldn’t have known; she assumed the Montreal move she’d overheard through the hole had been a dashed fantasy. Pepper looked through the door viewer out to the landing, wondering why her neighbor hadn’t simply rung the doorbell, when she realized that the knock had come from the staff entrance off the cramped bedroom that had once been a maid’s room.
Indeed, Caleb was standing by the freight elevator, looking nervous and fidgeting with a stuffed letter-size envelope as if it were too hot to hold. It was a little after four; his shift had just ended.
“Hi, there,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“I’m very sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hunter, but is Mr. Hunter home?” he asked, staring at the envelope.
“I’m sorry, he’s at work.”
“Do you know when he’ll be home? I can come back.”
Oddly, Rick hadn’t texted or called once that day. He’d come home late the previous night. Usually, he was a meticulous lover, making sure she was fully cared for at each rung in the ladder of her arousal, but that night, the second she gave her consent, he threw her on the bed, unzipped, pulled her underwear to the side, and started thrusting, fully dressed. At first she’d been a little afraid, and then she caught whatever had gotten him fired up, and twenty minutes later, she climaxed so powerfully she feared her organs might burst. She’d never undressed after sex before.
“I honestly don’t know,” she said. “He doesn’t get home until seven at the earliest. Tonight it could be later. Can I help?”
Caleb seemed disappointed. He studied the envelope in his hand and, after some consideration, gave it to her. “Would you make sure he gets this?”
She shouldn’t have looked inside, but it wasn’t sealed, nor was it addressed to him. It was cash, a lot of it. Though she dared not guess the specifics, Rick must have misbehaved. “I’m sorry, but where did this come from? Why are you giving it to him?”
