The Finishing School

22

THOUGH IT WAS WELL past rush hour, the number-six train was packed to the gills with commuters. Everybody was weighted down with parcels, having come straight from the Christmas shopping Melanie still hadn’t found time for. She fought her way into the subway car just as the doors closed, ending up pressed against the glass with the sharp corner of someone’s lavender Bergdorf’s bag poking into her. Mmmm, Bergdorf’s. Last year for Christmas, Steve had gone there and bought her an assortment of the most lavish Jo Malone perfumes and lotions. They came in gorgeous cream-colored boxes tied together with black ribbons and cost a pretty penny. Too bad she’d used them all, because Santa would not be visiting Melanie Vargas this year. At least until the settlement was finalized and she got a handle on her finances, her dollars were going to buy goodies for Maya. And she doubted anybody planned to buy Christmas presents for her.

The steep stairs of the Eighty-sixth Street station were slick with black water, the trampled remains of last night’s snow. Melanie picked her way carefully up and emerged into a blast of cold air. Crossing Park Avenue, she looked at the row of Christmas trees stretching downtown as far as the eye could see, their white lights glittering like diamonds, and tried to muster some Christmas spirit. But she felt too alone on the elegant boulevard, watching her fellow New Yorkers bustle by laden with their expensive haul. Here she was, almost divorced, half crazy for some gorgeous, moody guy she barely knew and had to work with, who might or might not feel the same. Trying to be a mother to her daughter while working this insane case. Hardly a recipe for Christmas cheer.

The sight of Hector, her portly, balding doorman, cheered her. His Puerto Rican accent always reminded her of her father. What didn’t was that he actually behaved in a fatherly manner.

“Hey, mi’ja, how you doing tonight?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

She sighed, not even trying to hide her feelings. “All right, I guess.”

“Why so down? And don’t deny it. I can tell.”

Melanie glanced around the small lobby, dominated by an artificial Christmas tree and a partly lit electric Hanukkah menorah. Hector she trusted, but she didn’t need the whole building knowing her business. Her first baby-sitter had quit after learning that Melanie and Steve were splitting up, and she’d been nervous ever since that the co-op board would have a cow, too, and get all nervous about Melanie’s ability to make monthly maintenance payments. Luckily, none of her fellow tenants were around to eavesdrop at the moment.

“Just the usual, I guess. It’s lonely facing the holidays being separated. I’m a little worried about money. That sort of thing.”

“No te preocupes, mi’ja. I got the answer for your problems.”

“You do?”

“Heck, yeah. You bring the little one over to my house on Christmas Day. My Manny’s gonna be there. He’s doing real good with his accounting business. Time he settled down. Nice girl like you, so pretty, who knows?”

Melanie had met Hector’s Manny, and he wasn’t for her. He might be making money as an accountant, but the boy’s heart was still in the block. Which in his case meant he was a little too into girls with fake boobs and tattoos, who’d cook and clean for him. No thanks.

“Aw, Hector, that’s sweet, but you know I’m not ready. Besides, Manny wouldn’t be interested in somebody with a kid.”

“Naw, he’s fine with that.”

“Well, listen, I’ll think about it. Maybe after some more time goes by,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

She got her mail and leafed through it on the elevator. A pile of bills and a couple of Christmas cards. One of the cards had a San Juan postmark. Melanie ignored her father’s handwriting, and opened the other one instead. It was from Amy Robards, a law-school classmate whom she hadn’t seen in years. Amy had worked briefly at the same law firm as Melanie after graduation. Around the time Melanie went to the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Amy married a senior partner, had three kids in rapid succession, put on forty pounds, and retired to Bedford to chair bake sales. Looking at Amy smiling out from the glossy photo card, ensconced among towheaded toddlers and a dull but steady-looking husband, Melanie was overwhelmed by a bitter wave of jealousy. Not that she wanted to turn back the clock in her own life. She hadn’t liked being married to a two-timer, and Steve was in the process of proving he’d never change. But she couldn’t help envying what this woman had. The contrast was just too stark: Amy so happily settled and Melanie without a clue where her own life was going.

AN HOUR LATER Melanie struggled out of a cab, juggling Maya and a shopping bag in one arm and a briefcase and folded stroller in the other. She pressed the buzzer to her sister’s building with her elbow. It was nine-thirty, ten degrees, with a bitter wind blowing. The door buzzed, and she pushed it, stumbling toward the enormous, graffiti-covered freight elevator. Lofts! Linda was nuts to live down here. Melanie would take uptown any day.

“Gaaa, Mama,” Maya said with a huge, wet smile, all gums and tiny front teeth, as they waited for the elevator. Her pudgy cheeks sparkled pink with cold. Melanie nibbled her daughter’s ear where it poked out from a fleecy hat, eliciting giggles.

“You keep me going, you know that?” she whispered.

Upstairs, Linda opened the door, telephone pressed to her head, and motioned them inside. The bracelets on her manicured hand jingled like chimes. The foyer smelled of sandalwood perfume and scented candles.

“I know, but you owe me, Fab D,” Linda was whining into the phone. “Okay, okay, fine.”

Melanie studied her sister’s outfit with dismay as she struggled after her. Linda had eventually agreed to baby-sit while Melanie went to Screen to supervise the buy. Granted, Linda was a fashion and entertainment reporter on a local cable channel. Given her position, she hardly stinted on the Puerto Rican glam. But even she wouldn’t wear skintight gold lamé pants, a one-shouldered white top, and gold stilettos for dinner with baby. Would she?

“Lin, why are you dressed like that? You said you’d give me the location and then baby-sit!”

Linda waved her hand in annoyance.

“Fab D? I lost you for a minute, hon… What, again? You attention ho! How many times can I plug your damn demo? All right, but only because I love your swishy black patootie to death. Okay, baby. Ciao.”

Linda put down the phone.

“Would you take Maya before I drop her, please?” Melanie said.

“Is she clean?”

“Of course she’s clean! You think I don’t wash my daughter?”

Linda took Maya from Melanie’s arms gingerly. “Don’t get so offended. She got strawberry jam all over my white Michael Kors sweater last week, you know. Thank God I suck up to the guy at the dry cleaners.”

“What were you doing wearing white to baby-sit anyway? And why are you so dressed up now? You said you’d watch her so I could check out this nightclub. I told you, it’s work.”

Melanie stuck the stroller in a corner and dropped her shopping bag on the dramatic chaise longue that was the only place to sit in Linda’s apartment. Linda’s loft had once been separated into living and sleeping spaces, but she’d recently converted the sleeping area to a huge closet. The living area was now dominated by a canopy bed draped with fringed mosquito netting courtesy of one of Linda’s decorator friends. The walls were painted in exotic stripes of lipstick red and gold. The once sleeping alcove, now closet, was divided off with elaborate gold draperies tied back with silk cords, continuing what Melanie thought of privately as the bordello theme.

“My friend Fabulous Deon, he deejays for Expo sometimes. I know he can get us into Screen, but he won’t go unless I go,” Linda said.

“This is law-enforcement business. You can’t just tag along, and neither can he. All I need is the location of the club and the password.”

“Are you arresting somebody?”

“No, nothing like that. Just poking around. But still, I’d rather keep you and your friend out of it. You never know. It could get dangerous.”

“They know us at Screen. Nobody’s gonna bother us there. Besides, there is no password. It’s a velvet-rope-type thing, and you won’t get in without me and Fab D by your side to say you’re fly.”

“So what am I supposed to do with Maya? It’s way past her bedtime, and I can’t take a one-year-old to a nightclub.”

“Relax, chica, I took care of it. Mom’s on her way over here right now. She’ll take Maya back to your place and sit with her as long as we need,” Linda said.

“How’d you arrange that?” Melanie’s mother was even less interested in baby-sitting than her sister was.

“I’m telling you, ever since she started dating that widowed minister, she’s very familia-oriented. She’s trying to convince him she’s marriage material. Unlike the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself. I was good at being married. It was my husband who fell down on the job,” Melanie said wistfully.

“Oh, my God, that reminds me! I saw Steve in a club this weekend. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. He was with-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Melanie said, shaking her head decisively.

“No, really, it was definitely him. You know, back when you first kicked him out, I was like, Hey c’mon, one little lapse, Mel, give the guy a break. I mean, people cheat, right? It’s not the end of the world. But he’s been on a rampage in the clubs since you two split. I told you about that time my friend Teresa saw him-”

“Lin, stop! Enough already. I don’t need to hear every time he picks up some bimbo in a bar.”

Melanie grabbed Maya from Linda’s arms. She hugged her daughter close for a moment, then put her down and peeled off her pink snowsuit and fleecy hat. A stubby little ponytail on top of Maya’s head sprang straight up. Melanie tweaked it playfully. Maya squealed and waddled away, toddling a few bowlegged steps before plopping down on the floor.

“Why not?” Linda asked.

“Because. It’s not healthy. I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself, okay? Steve and I are legally separated, which was my choice. He’s entitled to see other women, but still, I can deal with him better if it’s not shoved in my face constantly.”

“Deal with him? You mean, over the settlement negotiations?”

“That. Everything. He wants to spend Christmas with me and la chiquita here.”

“You’re not going to let him, are you?”

“He’s her father. I couldn’t stand it if he just disappeared out of her life, the way Papi did with us,” Melanie said, a catch in her voice.

“You still obsessing about that ancient history? You know, ever since I wrote Papi and told him he was a rat bastard and I never wanted to hear from him again, I feel so much better. You should try it. It’s very liberating.”

“It’s kind of an empty gesture to kick someone out of my life who’s not even in it, don’t you think? I just got a Christmas card from him from a totally new address. He signs it ‘Feliz Navidad, Papi y familia.’ That’s it. No note saying he moved, no pictures of his kids, nothing. You believe that?”

“So tell him not to write to you. Then you won’t feel bad when he sends you that impersonal bullshit.”

Melanie thrust the shopping bag at her sister. “Here, help me figure out what to wear. I don’t want to talk about this stuff anymore. Too depressing.”

Linda rummaged through the shopping bag, her dark brows knitting into a frown. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I told you, mostly I own suits for work, and jeans. What about that red sweater? It’s pretty sexy on. Or the black dress from when Steve and I were dating? It had a little tear, but I sewed it.”

“Not if you plan to be seen in public with me! Get your butt in here,” Linda said, flouncing through the gold curtains into her closet. Melanie picked up Maya and followed.

Inside the closet, mirrors covered one wall, reflecting hundreds of specialized shoe cubbies Linda had installed opposite. Four massive department-store-style metal clothing racks bearing extravagant garments in every color of the rainbow filled the rest of the space.

“Quítate la ropa,” Linda ordered, and disappeared into the racks.

Melanie stripped off the jeans and turtleneck she’d worn over to her sister’s. She’d showered and blow-dried her hair when she went home to get Maya, and for reasons she couldn’t explain-or didn’t want to admit-donned her sexiest lingerie, a lacy black push-up bra and thong set trimmed in candy pink ribbon. Steve had given them to her for Valentine’s Day last year, right around the time she began to suspect he was fooling around with that executive assistant. You wish, she’d thought, and stuck them in the back of a drawer. But tonight she’d pulled them out, and now she twirled around, checking herself in the mirror, fantasizing about how Dan’s face would look if he saw her in them. How he’d come up to her, whisper to her in that incredible voice, back her up against the wall, put his hands all over her body-

¡Qué estúpida! Like she could afford to get obsessed with Dan O’Reilly again, with how lonely and vulnerable she was these days. She even did it with Steve a few weeks back when he came by to drop off Maya, that’s how desperate she was for companionship-or, let’s be honest, sex. She would never tell Linda. And yes, she regretted it, but it’d just happened. She’d been sitting on the sofa in the dark flipping channels and feeling depressed while Steve put Maya down in her crib. She’d looked up to find him standing in the doorway bathed in the blue light of the TV, staring at her with this incredibly potent combination of lust and nostalgia. Next thing she knew, he was on top of her and they were going at it like wild animals.

Not that there was any real danger they would slip into a reconciliation. Steve kept her on track. Lying naked on the couch afterward, half dozing, she’d heard a noise like the clicking of insects and looked over to find him tapping madly away on his BlackBerry. He’d been evasive when she asked him who he was texting. If she started thinking even for a second about getting back together, she could count on Steve to remind her why she’d left.

“Uh, what?” Melanie said, realizing Linda had been speaking to her.

“I said, I’m glad to see you finally took my advice and got yourself some cute knickers,” Linda said, walking over and pinching Melanie’s hips. “And you’re looking real good, too. You were kinda porky there for a while, sis. What are you, on Zone or South Beach or something?”

“No, I just don’t have time to eat.”

Linda laughed.

“I’m serious,” Melanie said.

“Hey, whatever it is, it’s working. And I take it from your choice of undergarments you’re planning to get lucky tonight?”

“No!” Melanie said, but she could feel herself blushing.

“Oh, wait one minute! I haven’t seen that expression on your face since you were all crazy for that FBI hunk. Is there a new guy in the picture?”

“A new guy? Definitely not.”

Linda scrutinized her. “You’re not wearing that slutty underwear for my benefit, chica. Come on, give it up.”

“It’s not slutty.”

“Hello, good girl. Slutty is a compliment.”

“There’s no new guy,” Melanie insisted, still blushing.

“The same guy? He’s back?”

“Dan? No. Well, I mean, he’s assigned to my new case, but-”

“Assigned to your case!” Linda yelped and began hopping up and down, clutching herself. “Mel’s got a boyfriend, Mel’s got a boyfriend!” Maya, sitting on the floor playing with some plastic rings, looked at Linda and gave a hoot of hilarity. Melanie couldn’t help laughing, too.

“Lin, I swear, sometimes I think you’re still eight years old.”

“That would make you ten, and, chica, with those curves you do not look ten.”

Melanie watched in the mirror as her flamboyant sister waltzed around, holding on to a sparkly beige dress as if it were her dance partner. She was startled to see how alike she and Linda looked, with their shiny dark hair, almond eyes, and full lips. She thought of Linda as so much more beautiful than herself, but it wasn’t true. Linda just acted the part, whereas Melanie was afraid to.

“Come on, spill it,” Linda demanded. “What happened so far? And I want every gory detail. What he likes, the size of his-”

“Will you stop? Nothing’s happened, and nothing’s going to. Dan scares me too much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not afraid of anything.”

“This guy, I am! When I get back into dating again, I’m taking it slow. He’d mess up my head, and I have Maya to think of after all.”

“Huh. Well, okay, if that’s how you feel. But I must say, I never saw a woman wear black lace panties for a guy she was planning to cold-shoulder.”

“I’m not wearing them for him. I’m just wearing them.”

“Yeah, right, Miss Jockey for Her. Like I believe that.”

Linda held the beige dress up against Melanie, studying the effect in the mirror.

“Hmm, no. Muy de modo but too neutral. We need you in some bright, sexy colors, chica. Something that screams, Hello, FBI hunk, nail my boricua ass so I can go home and tell my sister all about it.”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Oh, shut up and stop being so boring. Try this on, and we’ll just see where your night ends up.” Linda thrust a filmy scrap of tomato red fabric at Melanie.

“What is it?”

“It’s a top, silly. D &G. Label whore that I am, you should thank your lucky stars I’m even thinking of lending it to you.”

Melanie took the thing. There was barely enough to it to keep it on the hanger. She slipped it from its moorings and looked at it suspiciously.

“It won’t bite you. Take off your bra, and I’ll help you get into it,” Linda said.

“Are you crazy? I need a bra.”

“Oh, come on, it’s a halter. It’ll hold you up. I’m not on the ittybitty-titty committee either, you know. Besides, the FBI hunk’ll be on the edge of his seat, wondering if something’s gonna pop out.”

Melanie shook her head in disbelief.

“I’ll fix it so it works, promise,” Linda said, slipping the fabric over Melanie’s head and carefully adjusting the ties behind her neck. Melanie looked at herself in the mirror.

“Wow,” she said.

“Yeah. It’s amazing what the right outfit can do. It makes you beautiful, keeps you young. It’s almost like it cheats death.”

“Right. I’ll remember that the next time somebody shoots at me.”

“Very funny, smart-ass. Oh, wait, I have the perfect pants! I scored ’em at a fashion show after I talked up the designer on air.”

Linda disappeared back into the racks, emerging a second later with gauzy black chiffon pajama pants. Melanie stepped into them and zipped them up the side. They made her look thin and glamorous.

“Here, try these, too,” Linda said, pulling sexy satin pumps from a white box with MANOLO BLAHNIK stamped in black letters across the cover.

Maya put down the plastic ring she’d been chewing on and leaned forward on her diapered bottom. “Shoes!” she cried, pointing.

“She’s your niece, all right. That’s only her fourth word,” Melanie said with a laugh as she slipped on the stiletto-heeled pumps and studied herself in the mirror. Amazing what clothes could do. All of a sudden, she felt like a million bucks and life seemed full of possibilities.

Linda looked Melanie up and down approvingly. “You may or may not catch the bad guy, but I’ll tell you one thing, chica: This FBI agent better watch the fuck out.”