Cordelia was so bone weary from worrying about Hattie and from general lack of sleep that even the tips of her fingers were deeply, profoundly enervated. She could barely type in her Web mail address as she sat at the computer in her study. Without Hattie playing in the living room, the loft felt lifeless. Cordelia had wasted an entire afternoon tap dancing as fast as she could, trying to prevent Joanna from having a complete meltdown. It had taken her mind off her own problems, so maybe it hadn’t been a complete waste of time. She’d lit incense. Chanted her own—secret—mantra. Made gallons of soothing chamomile tea.
When none of that worked, she’d run upstairs to her loft and brought back a do-it-yourself feng shui space-cleaning kit. She’d draped a healing stone necklace around Joanna’s neck, run around the loft with a lit organic juniper space-cleaning wand, especially useful for quick tune-ups. She’d used special rock salt, excellent for removing negative energy, or “sha chi” from interior space. She sprinkled it across the doorways, dumped little piles in the corners of rooms, thus preventing the “sha chi” from escaping into the atmosphere. And finally, she’d held a singing bowl next to Joanna’s ear and banged it over and over again with a rosewood wand. When Joanna screamed, “Feng shui is shit!” Cordelia decided to try something else.
She got out her tarot cards and did a special reading, lying through her teeth, telling Joanna all would be well when, in reality, the cards spoke of nothing but doom!
“That woman is cursed,” muttered Cordelia, finally bringing up her Web mail. Dropping her chin on her hand, she looked down at Blanche, the matriarch of her cat colony, who was sitting next to the computer. “You know, maybe I should have tried my Tibetan tingsha bells.” Thinking about it a moment more, she said, “Nah.”
Checking through her e-mail, she found a bunch of messages for enlarging her penis, pharmacy addresses where she could get cheap Viagra. A woman named “Hot Mamma” offered to perform wild illegal acts on her if she’d just click on her site.
“And all this wonderful news,” muttered Cordelia, “even with my spam blocker set on ‘stun.’”
But there, in the midst of all this junk, was a note from RCun-ningham. Cordelia clicked on the words, “From Cecily.” Up came the e-mail.
Cordelia, it’s me. I’m using Radley’s computer. He and your sister are downstairs with Hattie, but they should be back any minute. I feel like I’m in prison!
I wanted you to know that Hattie is okay. Well, she was actually really having fun for the first few days, but today she seems kind of sullen. Keeps saying she misses you. Keeps asking why she can’t talk to you. I’m not sure what Octavia is up to, but I want you to know that the only reason I’m here is to provide Hattie with some continuity.
Octavia needs to leave for L.A. on Friday so I assume she’ll drop us back at the loft before that. I think she really enjoys making you sweat. So nasty! I can tell she’s already sick of having
Hattie around all the time. But she’s putting up a good show for Radley’s sake. He seems like a nice enuf guy and I feel sorry for him, getting mixed up with a piece of work like Octavia.
Boy, am sick to death of her big, fake innocent eyes. Oh, somehow or other, I’ve managed to lose my cell phone. Can’t imagine what I did with it because I’m always so careful to put it back in my purse. Octavia checks the hotel bill every morning. She told me if I called you that she’d not only fire me, but she’d take me to court. I’m not sure what that means, but she’s not somebody I want to mess with. So that’s why I haven’t called.
Oh, Jeez, here they come. Later.
As sick as the note made Cordelia feel, it also gave her hope for the first time in days that she’d see Hattie again soon. If all Octavia wanted was to stick it to her, fine. Stick away. As long as Hattie came home at the end of Octavia’s martial arts event.
The ring of Cordelia’s phone startled her. As soon as she picked up, she heard, “I can’t stay in this loft another minute! If I don’t get out, I’ll lose my mind completely!”
“Hi, Joanna. Long time no see.”
“And since Nolan tells me I still can’t go outside without risking my life, Freddy and I are coming up to your loft for dinner. We don’t care what we eat. Anything you prepare is fine.”
“Prepare?” said Cordelia.
“Don’t go to any trouble. We’re just folks.”
Just folks. Right.
The last thing Cordelia wanted was to spend even one more minute with those two. But, of course, she would. Because she was nothing if not a stellar friend. However. Cooking was another matter entirely. “I have about twenty-five take-out menus I’d be happy to
share with you. Unless you’d like PediaSure and Toaster Strudel for dinner. That’s what I’ve got to eat.”
“Takeout sounds fine,” said Joanna. “We’ll be up in a sec.”
Cordelia took that second to change into something more comfortable. A bright pink-and-yellow caftan. She stabbed chopsticks through her hair to get it off her neck, then met the happy couple at the door.
“It’s really nice of you to invite us up,” said Freddy.
Like she had a choice.
Freddy had changed into jeans with a crease down the front of the legs and a red flannel cowboy shirt. Hiho, Silver. Joanna was still in her blue gown, but she’d redone her makeup, so she no longer looked like Vampira.
They settled on an extra-large Pizza Margarita, which the restaurant said would arrive within the hour.
Cordelia brought out three diet Pepsis.
“Cordelia,” said Joanna, crossing her legs and clearing her throat. “There was another reason I wanted to come up here. I have some bad news, I’m afraid, but I hope you’ll take it like the friend you’ve always been.”
Cordelia couldn’t take any more news—good or bad. She sank down on the ottoman.
“I simply can’t go on with the play. Freddy and I are leaving, flying to South America on Saturday.”
“What!” Cordelia felt as if an anvil had dropped out of the sky and landed on her head. “Are you serious? You’re backing out!”
“She has to,” said Freddy. “Surely you see why she can’t stay here. There’s a wack job out there breathing down her neck.”
“But—”
“I’ve found a replacement for you, if you’ll give me a chance to explain,” said Freddy.
“Replacement?”
“Eugenia Benet. I know she’s not in Joanna’s league—”
Cordelia sniffed the air. “Really? Eugenia!”
“Don’t sound so eager, dear,” said Joanna, sipping her Pepsi. “I can always change my mind.”
“No. I mean, yes! That works for me.”
“Good,” said Freddy. “I’ll call her in the morning. She’ll be here by next Monday. Same deal as Joanna’s. Oh, and by the way, if I were you, I’d find her a different place to live while she’s in town.”
“Sure. Anything. I mean, I’ll be sorry to see you go,” said Cordelia, trying to project sadness with just the right amount of nostalgic regret.
“Cut the crap,” said Joanna. “You’ll be happy to see me go. I’ve been nothing but trouble.”
“Not you,” said Cordelia. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The pizza arrived early. They talked companionably for another hour or so while they ate, and then Joanna and Freddy bid Cordelia a good night.
Cordelia felt sure she would be sad to see them go. At least a little.
As soon as Freddy and Joanna were back in their loft, Joanna went to open a bottle of wine. “Someone’s been in here,” she said, turning to Freddy, a frightened look on her face.
“How could you possibly know that?”
Diving behind a chair, she whispered, “Look around.”
“Maybe we should call the police?”
“Please! Just check it out.”
Freddy seemed flustered. His face turned crimson and he appeared to dither as he stood next to the chain-saw bear sculpture. Finally, picking up an empty champagne bottle by the neck, he crouched. “I’ll take care of it. If I don’t find anything, I’ll call an all clear.”
Joanna watched him enter the kitchen, then disappear into the back of the loft, where the bedrooms were located. She could hear him opening and closing closet doors. Next, one of the shower doors. The seconds ticked by.
“Oh, Christ,” he said after nearly a minute. “What the hell?”
“What is it?” called Joanna.
“You better come look.”
She found him in the bathroom standing in front of the mirror.
Cracks spread out from a central impact point like a spiderweb. Underneath, someone had written in lipstick:
You don’t play fair!
I demand respect.
And don’t forget,
I OWN YOU! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !