Her phone vibrated in her apron pocket. She flipped it on, her earphone snugly in place, as it always was. “Margot.”
“Babycakes.”
Margot smiled at her neighbor’s voice as she went to the craft service table to get her coffee. “Hi, Devon. ’Sup?”
“Just checking in on your first day at the new gig.”
“Well, except for phone calls at dawn, things are going really well.”
She heard a ferocious yawn. Then, “I’m going to bed in five. You know, the new guy is moving in today.”
“Did you find out anything else?”
Her neighbor chuckled. “Eric thinks he’s straight.”
Margot checked out the few people standing around the doughnuts. She didn’t recognize any of them. “Gotta love Eric,” she said.
“He’s never wrong. He also said he’s a major babe, although he was wearing off-the-rack.”
“I’m surprised he wasn’t struck by lightning.”
Devon laughed. “I’m too tired to live. Kick ass, babe. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She clicked off her phone, then it was her turn at the coffee. She should have brought a mug; she hated foam cups. Behind her, some grips and electricians were talking and laughing, and she got excited all over again at the thought of soon becoming one of the gang. In fact, she was going to introduce herself to the woman behind her, then her phone rang again.
“Margot.”
“Hello, darling.”
“Ma.”
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Nope. Been up since three-thirty.”
“That’s not good. You’re not sleeping?”
“New job. Remember?”
“Of course I do. That’s why I’m calling. To wish you luck.”
“That’s nice, Ma. Really. But I’m in the middle—”
“Would you do something for me?”
Margot sighed. Getting off the phone with her mother should be an Olympic event. “What?”
“Talk to him.”
“Him” was her father. It was always her father. Unless it was one of her uncles. Or her cousins. Or her neighbors. “What’s wrong?”
“He bought five cases of broken dishes.”
Margot sighed. “Are you sure they’re all broken?”
“If they aren’t, they will be by the time he gets them. I ask you. What is he going to do with five cases?”
“I don’t know, Mom, but I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“Reasons. We have the meshugge storage unit which is costing an arm and a leg, and now he says he needs another unit because he can’t move the merchandise.”
“I’ll talk to him. But, Ma, I have to go.”
“Okay, bubele. We’ll talk later.”
It wasn’t even six, and the troops were calling already. She fully expected to hear from Corrie, her other next-door neighbor, before seven. Which was fine.
Margot liked keeping in touch, and her co-op in Chelsea was a hotbed of wonderfulness, full of fascinating characters who she’d come to love. A month ago Seth Boronski had died, poor man, leaving his second-floor unit vacant, and just last week it had been bought by a single man. Daniel was his name, but that’s all Margot knew about him. Which was unusual, because frankly, no one knew more about the comings and goings of 18 West 16th Street. Not even the super, who only came around when threatened by mass revolt or bribed with oatmeal raisin cookies.
The new job had been all she’d thought about for days, planning, thinking, styling in her head. She’d have time to scope out Daniel on Sunday during the weekly co-op dinner.
Right now, though, she needed to get to the kitchen. She had to order the lettuce. And the troops should be arriving any minute.
DANIEL WINCED as his friends Terry and Bill lurched through the front door with his oak headboard, narrowly missing the molding. “Careful with that, damn it.”
Bill gave him an evil look. “You know what you can do with your careful, Daniel, old buddy?”
“That headboard’s eighteenth century.”
Terry cut the discussion short with a succinct curse.
“Fine. Be asses,” Daniel said, leading them into the bedroom. “Put it there.”
The two men, his old roommates from Rutgers, put the headboard down with matching grunts. “Think you could get some heavier furniture next time?” Bill asked.
“I’ll work on it,” Daniel said, anxious to get back to the truck. Steve was down there, guarding the rest of his possessions, although the lion’s share of boxes was already inside. He had beer in the fridge and pizzas coming in an hour, so he wanted to be done by then. “Come on, we still have the rest of the bed.”
Terry, who was a big guy in college and an even bigger guy now that he was a stockbroker, wiped his face with his NYT T-shirt. “I can’t believe you got me here to do this on a Thursday. I’m losing millions and sweating way the hell too much.”
“It’s your vacation, and I don’t recall a lot of arm-twisting,” Daniel said as he led his reluctant mover toward the door.
“Some vacation. I should be in Aruba, soaking in the sun.”
“What about me?” Bill said. “I’m not on vacation.”
“You’re on a permanent vacation,” Terry said, shouldering his friend out of his way. “In case you’ve forgotten.”
“Hey, I offered to pay for movers.”
Daniel laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Bill. When in doubt, throw money around.”
Bill shrugged. He still had his good looks, although his lifestyle was starting to show on his face. The heir to a huge manufacturing fortune, he’d given the reins of the business to his younger brothers and decided on a life of decadence. But he was such a generous guy, none of his friends could complain too much. Still, Daniel worried about Bill’s fast-lane life. The man was pushing thirty-five and the way he was going, it was questionable he’d reach forty.
They got to the elevator, and rested against the walls as they rode down the two floors. They’d started out taking the stairs, but exhaustion had hit hard about two hours ago. Daniel still couldn’t believe he’d done it. Given up his place in Greenwich, Connecticut, to move to the city. The short commute alone was worth it, but that he’d found this place in Chelsea, well, that was something else.
Chelsea. Everyone knew about Chelsea. How the art scene had changed the landscape in the late eighties and expatriates fleeing the Village’s high prices had moved here, renovating lofts and garment buildings into high-end co-ops. The area had been predominantly gay, but now was home for an eclectic mix of people. That mix gave Chelsea a vibrancy, an aliveness, and had attracted him. In Greenwich, he’d had a nice place, but there was no… Hell, he didn’t know what was missing, except that his life had become stale. Boring as an old shoe.
His move had raised eyebrows at the firm, but he didn’t care. Well, he cared, but not enough to alter his plans.
They reached the lobby and headed for the double-parked truck in front of the building. Steve rested against the back bumper, reading. He held up a finger, making them wait while he finished his chapter, then closed the paperback.