They talked business some more; then Faith realized she’d better be getting ready for her date with Richard.
“I’ve got to meet Richard in an hour,” she said.
Josie voiced her approval. “I liked him. Good appetite. You can tell a lot about a man by the way he eats. This is good. If you’re with him tonight, I won’t have to worry.”
Faith was a little annoyed. She could take care of herself. “You don’t have to worry in any case.”
“Whatever you say.”
Monday morning, Faith breezed past the doormen, who were getting to be old friends, and went straight up to Emma’s apartment. She was anxious to get downtown, get a look at Fox’s apartment, then get some work done before she had to leave for her appointment with Lorraine Fuchs. Busy, busy, busy.
It was sunny and several degrees warmer than it had been lately. People looked happier. Maybe there was something to this sunlight-deprivation business. After getting the key, Faith walked briskly to the subway entrance. Richard and she had been talking about the decade again last night at the Algonquin. Faith supposed every era had spawned a variety of popular notions—fads, even—but they seemed on the increase, and they seemed to be taken more seriously. Like the sunlight theory or the Yuppie fatigue thing. Then her own personal favorite—that an unmarried thirty-one-year-old woman was as likely to find a mate as she was to win the New York State Lottery and/or be awarded the Nobel Prize for anything.
“That’s not something you’ll have to worry about,” Richard had said, reaching for her hand. They
“Which part?” Faith had asked.
“The married part. You’ll be married long before your thirty-first birthday.”
“What makes you so sure?” she’d asked.
Richard had signaled the waiter for more drinks and
the menu. “Because you’re the type. Aside from being very lovely and smart, you’re a head-over-heels kind of lady. And that’s irresistible.”
It had been on the tip of Faith’s tongue to ask, “To you?” but for once she’d kept quiet. Maybe she wasn’t ready to hear the answer.
Now, leaving the subway and walking along the sidewalk, she cast a longing glance at the Grand Dairy restaurant. No time for blintzes today. She passed the place where her father bought his pure English lisle black socks by the dozen and turned off into Fox’s street.
The building was run-down. There was a small area in front, just big enough for a few lawn chairs, which would sprout in the spring, their elderly occupants passing time by watching what passed. The front door looked secure, but it opened with a push. Faith looked at the mailboxes. None of them had the name Fuchs.
Emma had given her the apartment number. It was on the third floor, and she walked up the stairs, key in hand.
It wasn’t hard to find the apartment. Not hard at all—with its bright yellow crime-scene ribbon taped across the door. And her key was worthless. The apartment had been secured by the police.
“Can I help you, dear?” An incredibly short woman who looked to be in her eighties came out of the apartment next door.
“I’m . . . I’m a graduate student and I’m doing my thesis on Nathan Fox, his life, his writings.” Faith fum-bled for words and quickly put the key in her coat pocket. “I thought maybe some of his neighbors might have had some contact with him.”
“You’d better come in,” she said. “I’m Sadie Glickman. What’s your name?”
“Karen. Karen Brown,” Faith didn’t dare look the woman in the eye. She’d be lost if she did. It was a whole lot harder to lie to a little old lady than to someone like Todd Hartley. Fooling him had been exciting and fun, in a way—at least at the beginning. Reeling off whoppers to someone her grandmother’s age conjured up Dantesque visions of what might await her in the hereafter. I’m doing this for Emma, she repeated to herself. It was becoming a mantra.
“You want something to eat, Karen? I have some nice pound cake.”
“No, no thank you. This probably wasn’t a good idea. The papers said he kept to himself.” Sadie sat down in a chair by the window in her tiny living room and motioned Faith into another. The largest piece of furniture was a television set. Besides its function as entertainment, it served to hold more photographs than Faith had ever seen assembled in one place. “My family,” Sadie said, waving her hand.
“Now that’s true—Mr. Fuchs did keep to himself. The police questioned me. A very nice young man.” She looked at Faith in an appraising way and Faith was tempted to pipe up, “No, I don’t have a steady.”
“I was here when it happened,” she continued. “But when they asked, the only thing I could tell them was that I thought I
Faith laughed.
“Are you sure you don’t want some cake?”
“Why not?” Despite the photo gallery, the woman was obviously lonely, and Faith felt she owed her something for the lies she was telling.
They settled in with cake and tea. Faith heard about the achievements of various Glickmans and a great deal about Leona Helmsley, who had been sentenced the previous Thursday.
“An old lady! An old lady like me! And they’re going to send her to prison for four years! When I say
‘like me,’ I mean, you understand, that we’re in the same time of life, not the same type of person.”
“I’m sure you have never been driven in your life by
‘naked greed.’ That’s what the judge said. Why he was so hard on her. He accused her of thinking she was above the law.”
Sadie nodded solemnly. “No, greed was never a problem for me. I never had enough to be greedy about. Not that I’m complaining. Abe and I had a good life. All the children went to college and are doing well. Maybe she did think she was above the law.
Harry, of course Harry can’t even think these days. You have to feel sorry for another human being. He spoiled her maybe. Too many fur coats. It went to her head.
But above the law? There are a lot out there”—she pointed to the street—“who think that. And what about Mr. Fuchs when he was Nathan Fox?”
And what about Mr. Fuchs? Faith had momentarily forgotten her mission. A mission impossible, and she’d better get going. But Sadie was a smart lady. Nathan Fox
Fox had used the old “for the greater good” argument to justify his actions. Always a chilling phrase.
Yet, self-interest was a good part of Fox’s life, self-158
aggrandizing in a way not dissimilar from Leona Helmsley’s ad campaigns. What about all his enfant terrible books? Dinners at Elaine’s—and his society matron groupies.
Sadie was still talking about the verdict. “She’s appealing. I hope she has a good lawyer. What’s the point? She didn’t kill anybody. Take her money away.
Send her here. There’s an apartment on the first floor available. Let her live out her days as one of the little people. It’s wrong to send old ladies to prison.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Faith got up and began clearing their plates and cups. Sadie watched approv- ingly.
