Going For Broke Page 4

  After they had left, Victoria walked through the apartment with colored post-it notes and a clip board. Always uber-organized, she had decided to take inventory, and to rank the items she could part with. She loved her art, her antiques, her jewelry, though she wasn’t emotionally attached to them. She had lived without them before, and she could live without them again. Victoria had grown up with next to nothing, so she had a pragmatic view of her possessions. No, Victoria valued what the possessions represented, and how they reflected her to the world.

  She started in the living room. The art would probably fetch the highest amounts the quickest. There was a sketch by Dali that Trip was over the moon for when they were in Madrid years ago. She thought it was all the Rioja they drank at lunch. She never cared for it much. - the Dali, not the Rioja. It got a pink Post-It, which meant it would be in the first round to go. The Degas got a green one - she was willing to part with it, it would go with the last lot, if it came to that. The Lalique could all go. Trip’s mother had sent her a different piece every year for Christmas and she had always hated it. Oh, and Trip’s collection of first edition Longfellow. He could take his Longfellow and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. Pink slip. And so it went. When she was done with the living room, there were only a handful of items with green post-its. Victoria was a realist. If it had to go, it had to go.

  She wasn’t ready for the dining room just yet. She did love all that silver. The tea set, the candelabras, the George III jam spoon they got for a wedding present. Of course, with no one around to polish it all, what good would it do to have it? She’d get to it later. She’d inventory Trip’s library first. His stuff should be the first on the chopping block.

  The intercom from the lobby buzzed, which she ignored, as usual. Then she realized that Lumi wasn’t there to answer it for her, so she answered it. Pieter announced that the gentlemen from the “Effe Bee Eye” were there to see her. Was it too much to ask to find a doorman who could speak even a little English? They were back? She wanted to say no, but she knew they’d come up anyway.

  Mr. Trench Coat had returned, this time with quite a crew of Member’s Only boys. He handed her his card and introduced himself again.

  She was tired, and spent. She ran her hand through her hair - it still looked like she belonged in a shampoo commercial, even though she hadn’t seen Phillipe in forever. “Mr....” she looked at the card, “Towner. Trip isn’t here. In fact, if you find him, could you please tell him that his wife would like to have a few words with him?”

  Mike held up a stack of folded papers. “Mrs. Vernon, I’m sorry, but --” Oh My God, if one more person told her “I’m sorry, but...” she’d scream. A. They are not sorry and B. the But is never good. Never. Lately it seemed to just get worse and worse. She braced herself for this But. “But I have a warrant to confiscate your possessions.”

  “What possessions?”

  “All of them,” he said as he pushed the papers at her.

  Mike had to hold back a little smile. This White Collar Division may be kind of fun after all. Victoria put her hair behind her ear as if she had misheard him. “I”m sorry?”

  Mike nodded to the crew behind him. “Okay, boys. Let’s get started.”

  Victoria positioned herself in a wide stance, blocking the entrance to the front hall. “I’m going to have to call my lawyer,” she said.

  “That’d probably be a good idea,” Mike said as he strode purposefully past Victoria. He looked around and saw the color-coded artwork. “It looks like we got here just in time.”

  ###

  It didn’t take very long. Who knew that the best movers worked for the government? When they were done, she felt like the Grinch had made a pit stop on his way to Whoville. The art, furniture, electronics. The jewelry. The kids’ toys. They were left with beds, some clothing and not much else. They even took the espresso machine. Talk about ruthless. What was she supposed to do now? Go to Starbucks?

  Jack had told her to let them do what they needed to do. He had tried to stop it legally, and had the audacity to tell her that Trip had really left her in quite a vulnerable position. He asked if there was anything that he and Judy could do for her. Really, Jack? You went to Yale Law School and you end up talking to me like a funeral director? Victoria was sick of platitudes and pity.

  She went to pick the children up from school, an activity that she usually left to Lumi. Standing outside the hallowed school on East End Avenue, Victoria felt like she was waiting for an ESL class to start. A group of nannies chatted in some Eastern European language - Polish? The Mexican nannies huddled together. The two Southeast Asian girls chatted on their bejeweled cell phones. They were much too attractive - Victoria would never had hired a nanny that looked like that. Lumi was attractive -- lord knows she wouldn’t have anyone ugly or fat working for her -- yet plain. And more than just a little peasant in her hips.

  Thank God for Lumi. She had been really quite helpful and resourceful these past few weeks. It was Lumi who kept the children on a steady routine, made sure they got to all their lessons and tutoring appointments, she even did the laundry after Victoria had to let the laundress go. Now that Lumi was gone too, Victoria was in unchartered waters.

  That was the least of her problems. How about an empty apartment, empty pocketbook and empty bank account? She was brought out of her thoughts by the happy squeals of her daughter.

  “Mommy! You’re picking us up today? You NEVER pick us up!”

  “Can’t a mommy pick up her special girl?” Victoria asked as she leaned down to offer her cheek to Posey. “Where’s your brother?”

  “He’s always late. Lumi says it’s because he spends too much time hanging out with Rutledge Kerr after school. Lumi says Rutledge is the kind of boy that is going to get Parker into trouble.”

  “Is that what Lumi says?” Victoria replied. Lumi had a good handle on that one. Rutledge Kerr’s mother was a known afternoon drinker with a penchant for “one on one” sessions with a certain young trainer from the gym. It would make sense that, that little acorn didn’t fall too far from the tree. “What else does Lumi say?”

  “Lumi says that we should be extra good while Daddy’s away. And that if we eat the seeds from an apple a tree can grow in our stomach.”

  Parker came sauntering up, his sandy hair side-swept across his eyes, blue blazer askew and his rep tie loosened to halfway down his chest. If he seemed surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. It seemed that her ten year old was entering the world of pre-teen cool. He was very good at it.

  “Hey mom,” he nodded at her. No kiss was offered, or expected. “Where’s Lumi?”

  “I thought I could take you guys out for some ice cream,” she said with a little too much forced levity.

  “Whatever,” Parker said with his best cool on.

  As they walked into Emacks, the premium ice cream store that was the favorite of the preppie kids on the Upper East Side, Victoria began to regret her choice. Parker and Posey knew every kid in the place. Thankfully, Victoria could be sure that none of their mothers would be with them. When she saw the $9 ice cream cones, she had a bit of a financial cramp, a decidedly new feeling for her. She had a finite amount of money now, and dropping $30 on ice cream probably wasn’t the most prudent way to spend it. Oh well, she thought. One last hurrah until they find out what’s waiting for them at home.

  ###

  As the elevator door opened into their near-empty apartment, Victoria got two completely different reactions from her children. Parker ran out and into the living room, where he slid across the parquet floor like he was sliding into second base.

  “Cool!” he said as he slid the other way. “Can we keep it this way?”

  Posey, on the other hand, started to cry. “Where is everything? Where’s Lumi? Mommy, are we moving?” At that minute, Victoria knew.

  “Yes, honey. Yes we are.”

  ###

  Victoria had to find her address book. She never could remember the ph
one number - it was in her phone, though. Those assholes had even taken her Blackberry! That may have been the hardest one to let go. She flipped through the well-worn book that she barely used anymore. Every page had addresses crossed out, new ones penciled in, wives names replaced with the names, second and third home information added. It was a treasure map to the Upper East Side, yet worthless to her today. Except for one name. She picked up her phone and slowly punched in the numbers. She closed her eyes when the voice on the other end of the phone answered.

  “Hi, Mom?”

  CHAPTER 5

  Mike sat on the park bench on Fifth Avenue at Central Park and 84th Street. At least the Vernon’s apartment was easy to watch from this location. He really didn’t relish the thought of being a babysitter on the Upper East Side, but knew enough to take his punishment like a man. He figured he’d have to do it for one or two weeks, tops, and then he’d be back in Organized Crime where he belonged. Who knew how long this Trip Vernon could hold out, anyway?

  Ever the boy scout, he had come prepared for the day. His cooler was filled with a lovely lunch (Mike was a sandwich maestro). He had a thermos of coffee, three newspapers, an ipod filled with music and podcasts, a light jacket, camera with a macro lens and a bird watching book. Half-ruse, half-serious, if anyone questioned him he went with birdwatcher. Kind of creepy, and people usually backed off darned fast.

  The Vernon’s building was three buildings in from Fifth, with a dark green awning and a dark-suited doorman with a black cap. It probably looked exactly the same as when it was built in 1926. It was early April, and today was an exceptionally spring-like day, which put Mike in a good mood. If he had to sit here all day to wait for Trip Vernon’s big homecoming, at least he got to do it in good weather.

  He settled in with the New York Times crossword puzzle. It was Tuesday, which meant Mike could hammer it out in under fifteen minutes. He was so lost in thought trying to figure out the answer to “Much Devalued Currency” that he almost didn’t see the bright orange U-Haul stop in front of the building. Interesting, he thought to himself. People on East 84th Street usually didn’t traffic in U-Hauls, that was much more the domain of someone buying a sofa on Craigslist. He watched as a dark-haired man, mid-30s with a Metallica t-shirt got out of the driver’s side. A dark-haired woman, his sister, perhaps, got out of the passenger side. Well, times were tough. Maybe even the folks on Upper East needed to sell that old sofa.

  The doorman greeted them, though, as if he knew them. You didn’t need to be FBI to know that Metallica t-shirts and U-Haul trucks were not the natural habitat of old monied New York. Mike put his crossword puzzle aside and grabbed his camera. He snapped a couple of shots of the couple, and then really zoomed in to get the plates on the truck. Could be a burglary ring, and the doorman was in on it. Break that and he could get himself out of White Collar in no time.

  ###

  Victoria heard the elevator open and her kids ran to greet Lumi. Lumi had brought her brother Emil to help move the Vernons out. Not that there was much left to move. Their boxes were packed and they were ready to go. She decided to leave the little furniture that was left and told Lumi to take whatever she wanted after they were gone. She couldn’t use it at her mother’s little house, anyway.

  Her mother had been surprisingly laid back about the entire situation. Ever since she married Bud Brewster six years ago, she had lost the edge that was omnipresent during Victoria’s childhood. Perhaps it was the anger that Tom Patterson had the nerve to die on them, or that he left them without any life insurance and she was forced to take a job as a bank teller. Vicky Patterson grew up with biting words and a sharp edge as the order of the day. It really threw her off that her mother had mellowed so much. Maybe a little too much. Victoria had grown to prefer her people with an edge.

  As Emil and Lumi loaded their pathetically small bounty into the service elevator, Victoria inspected her children before getting them into the proper front elevator. Even if she was leaving in a burning blaze of criminal suspicion, financial ruin and social annihilation, she was going to make sure that both she and her children looked damn good doing it. Parker was head-to-toe in J. Crew. Khaki pants, button down shirt and Stan Smiths, he could have been in one of their ads. Posey was wearing the cutest Juicy Couture top with Dolce leggings and Tory Burch flats. (Tory Burch may have been over for adults, still for the under-12 set, they were de-rigeur.) She had on what she considered to be the perfect traveling outfit: Armani gabardine trousers, a fantastic Katherine Malandrino top, a Hermes scarf and her beloved Tod’s driving mocs. She put her Gucci sunglasses on her head, grabbed her Birkin Bag and took one last look around. She had a sinking suspicion that she wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

  ###

  First rule of U-Haul driving: Take a practice run before you start your big life-changing, cross-country trip. Victoria was able to hold her head high in the elevator down, and thankfully no neighbors were around to have a first-hand sighting of Victoria hopping behind the wheel of the big bright Orange U-Haul. The children hugged Lumi goodbye and Victoria handed over $200 of her fast-dwindling life savings to Emil. As much as it pained her to part with what little cash she had, she couldn’t fathom the idea of having to load the damn truck herself.

  She got in the cab of the truck and started the engine. So far, so good. The kids were in great spirits - they had ridden in a hundred limos, but this was their first drive it yourself truck experience. What a great childhood memory. Victoria really hadn’t driven since college, as she had a driver take her anywhere she wanted to go in the city, and Trip always drove to the house in Connecticut. So she was working with a fairly good strike against her to begin with. She hadn’t driven a stick shift since 10th grade when Laura Sndyer had gotten too drunk to drive her brother’s VW bug home and Victoria had to do it. Laura slurred the instructions to Victoria as they stopped and started the entire way home. That went much more smoothly than today’s outing.

  Like a scene out of Austin Powers, Victoria did a 72 point turn getting them out of the parking space, nearly giving all three of them whiplash. When she finally got on the open road of 84th Street, she almost took out two cabs and a bike messenger. As she took a left onto Fifth, she spied Frances Harvey standing at the corner with her two yippy little dogs. Frances Harvey was the biggest pain in the ass Victoria had ever met. She and her effeminate husband wintered in Antibes every year so Frances insisted on speaking with an annoying French pronunciation for even the most mundane words. One the biggest snobs Victoria had ever met, she bullied everyone on every Board and club she was involved with. Victoria sucked up to her like everyone else. Now, driving away in her big rented truck, Victoria flipped her the bird as she drove on.

  ###

  Mike watched the entire getaway, if you could call it that, from his perch on the park bench. He watched as the young pair brought down boxes and suitcases, and got the entire thing on film. He was sure that he was breaking a burglary ring. Nothing could have surprised him more than watching Victoria Vernon get in the cab of the truck and drive away. Or at least try to drive away. He had to admit, watching her try to maneuver that truck was damned hysterical. In his mirth, he almost lost sight of the bigger picture. That Victoria Vernon had packed herself up and drove away. Where on earth was she going to go?

  Mike picked up his cell and dialed Clark’s number. Maybe now he could be finished with this ridiculous assignment. Clark wasn’t so easy to let her go.

  “Then find her, goddamn it,” Mike didn’t think he had ever heard Clark swear. He cringed.

  “Clark, she’s obviously getting out of town. Vernon’s had no contact with her at all. We’ve got her phones, I’ve staked out the apartment. He’ll have no idea where she’s gone,” Mike argued.

  “You better, Towner,” Clark slammed down the phone.

  ###

  The FBI rarely uses personnel to monitor a person of interest. Technology today is so good, that it’s easy to track someone’s movements, tho
ugh cell phones, credit cards and internet use. It’s fairly simple to track someone who knows what they’re doing, and Victoria Vernon certainly wasn’t someone who knew what she was doing.

  Victoria Vernon didn’t have any credit cards. Her cell phone had been confiscated. Electronic tracking wasn’t an option. Mike already knew where she was going. He had done his homework on Mrs. Victoria Patterson Vernon. It must be hard for her to go home, because it looked like she had spent the majority of her life trying to get as far away from it as possible.

  He opened his file and reviewed what he had found out. The only child of Tom and Barbara Patterson, her father had died when she was young. Vicky, as she was called in her hometown, and her mother lived in an apartment on top of a local fried chicken franchise. He thought about the apartment they had just cleared out. She had done nicely for herself. At least until the recent turn of events. She got a full ride to Boston College and graduated Summa Cum Laude. After college she had moved to Manhattan, gotten a job with a wine distributor, met Trip Vernon and then never looked back. He looked through his papers to find her mother’s current address. It looked like she had remarried, and still lived in Tenaqua, Illinois a suburb just north of Chicago. He was sure that was where the U-Haul was headed.

  An instant message popped up on his computer screen. Clark had decided this was how he liked to communicate when they were in the office. In his last job, someone would just bellow “hey, asshole, come here.” Clark liked instant messaging. What was he, a 7th grade girl?

  “Status on Mrs. Vernon?” it read.

  “She’s heading to her mother’s. Outside of Chicago.” Mike typed back, except it took him about ten times longer than if he had just gotten up and had the conversation with Clark at his desk. His fingers were like Snausages on the keys.