Q: What kind of keys don't open doors?
A: Piano keys.
— Laffy Taffy Joke #156
My first thought was to call the police.
It took about 4.7 seconds for me to realize how ridiculous that would sound. "Hello officer, I would like to report a theft. What was stolen? A drawer full of candy. Hello? Hello?"
"Angela," I said very calmly to my assistant, "has anyone been in my office this morning?"
She tugged at the waist-length braid draped over her left shoulder. "You," she answered. "And Mr. Ferrero."
My knuckles whitened as I clutched the chair.
Angela was not the brightest Smartie in the pack. But she was a good assistant. Kept my business life running smoothly and on time—too bad she didn't hire out for personal lives.
"Yes, I know that Mr. Ferrero and I have been in my office because I was in here at the time." My fingernails dug into the chair arm's padded leather strip. I peeled up three inches of stitching and chipped two nails before I realized what I was doing. "I mean before I arrived. Was anyone else in this office before I got in this morning?"
"N-not that I know of." Angela started backing away. She looked like she thought I was about to combust.
Maybe I was.
"Fine," I managed in a steady voice. "Never mind."
She turned and fled the room, closing the door behind her and leaving me alone with my empty drawer.
Trying to quell the surging panic, I grabbed my purse from beneath the desk and dug around for a treat. Any treat. A half-sucked Lifesaver. A dinner mint. A caramel wrapper with a tiny blob stuck to the corner.
Nothing.
Not even a lone Nerd rolling around the dust and lint gathered in the bottom of my bag.
How had I left home without a single piece of candy?
Leaping from my chair, I pressed the intercom button and announced, "I have to go out for a minute. Please hold my calls."
Angela didn't respond from the other end of the phone line, but I didn't care. I dashed for the door. Just as I reached for the handle the door burst open.
Instantaneously, a dozen men dressed all in white began removing furniture from my office. Out went the armchairs and the side tables and the floor lamps before I could even voice a, "What on earth is going on here?"
Had I been fired? Had Jawbreaker found out that Phelps was a fraudulent boyfriend? Had there been an unwritten rule in the croquet tournament that the loser lost her job?
"Mr. Ferrero's orders," one of the men said. "Wants everything out but that desk and chair."
Then, with all the offending furniture gone, they threw plastic sheets over the desk, the built-in bookcases, and the entire floor. One of the men carried in two paint cans and set them in the middle of my dropclothed desk.
He popped off the lids to reveal brilliant fuchsia and tangerine. Three other men made their way around the room laying strips of blue painter's tape in parallel, vertical stripes on the bare walls.
Oh no, I thought, my beautiful khaki and cream walls. And then, before I completed the thought, the painters started spreading garish deep pink and light orange stripes up and down my lovely walls.
I couldn't watch. As I turned to leave, I ran into Jawbreaker in my doorway.
"Lydia, I'm glad I caught you," she oozed.
Great Gobstoppers, can't she say anything without simpering. "What can I do for you, Janice?"
"I need to get the files for the trunk show tour."
"Oh, I haven't gotten the PowerPoint done yet." Or even started for that matter. I had more pressing concerns at the moment.
She smiled like a cat came across an endless river of cream. "That's alright," she purred, "Kelly can do that."
No, Kelly can't do that. The West Coast Trunk Show was my project, my idea from the beginning, and no little KY tramp—fellow tiara hunter or not—was going to take it away.
Giving up on getting out of the room anytime soon, I walked back to my desk and plunked my purse on the plastic-covered desk. "Actually, I was going to start as soon as I get back. I'll have it to you before lunch."
She didn't look as taken aback as I'd hoped.
"You have too many other things on your plate right now, what with the Spring collection and all. Besides," she drawled, her voice positively reeking of unadulterated gloat, "that will fall under the purview of Kelly's new duties."
"New duties?" If not for the sheet plastic covering my chair I would have collapsed into the cushy softness.
"Ferrero's orders," Janice said.
I watched in horror as a gloating grin spread across her tanned, aging face. Where was candy when I needed it?
Wait, I thought I remembered seeing a stray Tootsie Roll in my file drawer last week. Dropping to my knees behind the desk, I flipped up the plastic and jerked open the drawer. I shifted files desperately and, finally finding the dust-covered treat, stood as I tore off the wrapper.
Jawbreaker continued as I chewed my way to emotional calm.
"He ordered that all your duties be divvied up while you're working with him." Her eyes fell on the trunk show file beneath the transparent plastic. She carefully lifted the cover and slipped the file out without displacing anything on the desk. "Kelly will be taking over most of your duties."
I nearly choked on my Tootsie Roll. "I-I-I—"
"Maybe you two should get together later so you can show her the ropes."
"I have to go."
I needed more than a Tootsie Roll. Maybe one of those giant Tootsie Logs. Or a case of them.
This was my nightmare come true. KY Kelly was getting my job, before I was even out. I had no delusions that she would treat this as a temporary situation. If she could find a way to snag my job permanently—whether by straightforward or ethically-fuzzy means—she would.
I dashed to the door, leaving a confused Jawbreaker at my desk amid the sheet plastic and rapidly forming pink and orange stripes. I made it to the doorway before remembering my purse. No way I could get my candy fix without my wallet. Unless I was ready to stoop to shoplifting. Though I actually considered that option for longer than was morally comfortable, I knew I had to go back to get my purse.
"Can't leave without my purse," I said through gritted teeth.
Jawbreaker looked confused.
Perfect, I could retrieve my purse and get the heck outta Dodge before anything worse could come out of her mouth.
I made it to the doorway again.
Only to run into Kelly.
"Lydia," she exclaimed in that annoyingly high-pitched, enthusiastic voice, "I'm so glad I caught you."
Caught was sure the right word for it.
I pasted on my best glad-to-see-you-but-I'd-rather-eat-broken-glass smile. "What can I do for you, Kelly?"
"I just wanted to tell you what a fantastic opportunity I think this is for both of us, you working so closely with Ferrero," she stepped forward and hugged me, "and me getting the chance to work with you."
"Yeah," I managed to lift my right hand to pat her on the back in the kind of hug guys give each other at football games, "just great."
"I was just saying you two should set up a meeting," Jawbreaker said. "Maybe you could have a standing appointment. At least until Kelly gets into the swing of things."
I extricated myself from Kelly's hug. I wanted to shout No, no, no! There will be no getting into the swing of anything by anyone but me.
But the opportunity with Ferrero was more important than protecting my job from devious KYs. I had to keep telling myself that. Reminding myself. Because if this worked out, I could drop the number-crunching job and focus on my designs. If I decided that's what I want to do.
I had time to make that decision as long as the choice wasn't taken out of my hands.
So, for now, I just smiled and nodded and pretended like the last thing I wanted to do was help Kelly learn how to do my job.
"Sounds great." I inclined my head to the door. "Gotta run now. We can talk when I get
back."
This time I made it into the hallway.
"Oh Lydia," Kelly called after me, "did Gavin get his keys?"
I turned back, beginning to think I would never get to the deli around the corner before I went into candy-withdrawal. "What keys?"
"The spare set in your desk drawer," she said. "I let him into your office to get them this morning when he dropped me off."
My jaw locked. I spread my lips in a weak facsimile of smile. "Yes." That son of a sweet tooth. "I think he did."
The world around me faded away and I saw a red-hazed image of Gavin smirking arrogantly as he scooped all the candy out of my drawer into his briefcase. My fingers curled in anticipation of choking the life out of him.
How dare he? Did he have any idea what he had done? Who was I kidding? The bastard knew exactly what he had done. He knew what that candy meant to me. He had done this deliberately.
Well, if he knew my weakness, then I certainly knew his.
My mechanical grin faltered. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go take care of something."
Jawbreaker and Kelly looked nervous. Very nervous.
And they should be.
Because not only had Gavin not been in my office to retrieve his spare keys this morning, but he had never actually gotten around to getting them back from me at all. One of the many things we had left undone.
As soon as I made a quick stop by the deli for saccharine reinforcements, I would make good use of that extra key on my Tiffany key fob.
The doorman in Gavin's Central Park West building didn't even blink as I crossed the lobby and waved to him like I belonged there. I guessed in this part of New York society, girlfriends came and went and came back again often enough.
But I had a feeling he would catch hell later today for letting me in.
As I waited for the elevator to drop me at the penthouse, I pictured the object of my quest. The one thing Gavin cared about more than anything else. Even more than himself—shocking.
The doors slid open and I stepped onto the marble floor. For the first time in two years, I faced the giant oil portrait of Gavin. Hung directly opposite the elevator doors so that everyone entering the apartment had to see the image of him in front of the stock exchange.
When we were going out I thought this was a symbol of his self-confidence.
Now I knew it was ego.
I rolled my eyes and headed down the hall to the left, toward the living areas.
The living room, a palette of mousse-y brown and modern black, had once seemed so sophisticated to me. Now it was cold. A room without any expression of the personality of the person living there. A room only an interior designer could love.
Black leather and taupe suede covered every piece of furniture, even the mantle and the coffee table. A zebra-print rug covered half the floor, giving a safari feel to the room.
I shuddered as I thought of the countless romantic hours we'd spent on that rug. I remembered one night in particular. The night he'd turned on the gas fireplace, popped a bottle of champagne, and asked me to marry him.
And the worst part of the memory was that I'd said yes.
How could I have been such a naïve fool only three years ago?
Shaking off the memories, I kept on walking into the office. Into the heart of the apartment.
Where the rest of the rooms bore the high-concept mark of a pricey decorator, this room was all Gavin. Custom bookshelves lined every inch of wall space, and every shelf was full of books on every subject. Philosophy, history, ecology, the mating habits of Sub-Saharan scorpions. Gavin was a firm believer in the theory that the more you knew about the world, the easier it would be to succeed in it.
Piles of books filled the floor and covered his antique desk—rumored to have belonged to a Rockefeller.
And next to the desk, in a glass case set atop a marble pedestal, was my quarry.
I hurried to the desk and pulled out the top drawer on the right. Feeling the bottom, I found the piece of cold metal taped to the rough plywood.
"Ah ha!"
I spotted a legal pad on top of a pile of books on the history of New York. Folding back several sheets of Gavin's scribbling notes, I plucked the pen from the desk set and composed my note.
Your baby is safe. For now.
If you ever want to see it again, return the candy.
I have a shredder and I'm not afraid to use it.
— L
With two twists of the key I opened the glass lid, replaced the book with my ransom note, and re-locked the case. I had just slipped the book into my purse when I heard the elevator ding.
"I just have to grab my notes," Gavin told someone in the front hall. "They're in my study."
Holy Hot Tamales!
Making sure everything looked just as I'd found it—except for the missing book, of course—I headed out the back door of the study just as footsteps sounded in the living room.
As I tip-toed along the back hall, destined for the second exit in the kitchen, I heard him explode.
"Lydia!"
Apparently he found the empty case.
I moved a little faster.
I had just reached the kitchen when my phone rang.
Lollipop, lollipop, ooh lolli-lolli-lolli-lollipop.
Maybe I could just ignore it. I hit end and proceeded to the kitchen.
Lollipop, lollipop, ooh lolli-lolli-lolli-lollipop.
I crossed the kitchen as I hit end again.
Just as I was about to release the hidden back door, I heard "Answer the phone, Lydia!" shouted down the hall.
Frozen, I looked at the door and at my phone. At the door. At my phone. Door. Phone. Door. Phone.
"Now!"
I hit send.
"Hello?" I thought I managed to sound like I didn't know who was on the other end of the phone.
"Take the book out of your purse."
"Gavin? How nice to hear from you." I inched toward the door.
"Take the book out of your purse," he repeated.
"Gee, you sound kind of upset." I reached for the release button hidden in the tiled wall. "Is something wrong?"
"Lydia..." His voice sounded more echo-y. Like he had moved into a more confined space. Like a hallway.
I pressed the secret tile and the door slid open before me. "What? Gavin I can barely hear you." I stepped into to the concrete stairway. "You're breaking up. Are you still with NationConnect wireless? I told you their service is terrible."
"If I walk into that kitchen and you're not there," he said, "you will not like the consequences. Do not leave this apartment with that book."
By this point I was bounding down the stairs two at a time, certain that at any second he would appear above and leap over the rail to land right in front of me.
The building had twelve floors, and of course Gavin had to have the penthouse. As I reached the seventh floor, I said in as blonde a voice as I could muster, "Book? What book? You know I don't read books."
"This isn't funny."
His voice dropped to that next octave that meant he was getting really, really angry.
Good. Because I was really, really angry, too.
"Did you just call me honey?" Fourth floor. I was almost free. "That's pretty inappropriate now that we're not going out anymore. What would Kelly think?"
I clicked the phone off, concentrating on my escape.
Second floor. One more and I was home free, out the emergency exit into the back alley that lead down the block and out onto 74th Street.
Just as I reached the exit, a booming voice echoed down from above. "Bring. Back. That. Book!"
In a fit of feistiness that surprised me, I shouted back, "Give. Back. My. Candy!" and escaped out into the morning air.
10
Q: How does an octopus feel?
A: Handy.
— Laffy Taffy Joke #176
My office looked like a circus tent. All the walls were now covered in garishly bright stripes, the elegant cream
-colored armchairs had been replaced by two semi-circular, red velvet sectionals, and Ferrero stood in the center like a ringleader directing the placement of two mannequins and a golden sculpture of a poodle standing on his front paws. A standard poodle.
I took one look and turned to run.
Unfortunately, Ferrero has keen eyesight.
"My muse," he called out.
Shoulders slumped in resignation, I walked into my office to face the disaster.
"Where have you been all morning?" he chided.
Though one never can tell how Ferrero will react, I thought it best not to tell him I had been breaking into my late-fiancé's penthouse to steal a priceless book in retaliation for the loss of a drawer-full of candy.
"Errands," I said dismissively, hoping he would drop the topic, "I am a very busy woman."
He waved both soft hands in front of his face. "No more," he clucked. "From now on you are only my muse. You shall eat, breathe, drink, love the Spring Collection. If I work, you work. If I rest, you rest. We are the same person."
Closing my eyes against his over-the-top display of artistic temperament, I wished this all away like the remnants of a bad dream.
Couldn't we go back, like, five days? Just before I walked through that door with Phelps and my life hurdled out of control. No, that wouldn't be far enough. I'd have to go back at least until before I told Jawbreaker about the NEB in the first place. And before my parents told me they were selling the ancestral home to sail around the world.
"Cherie?" His multi-accented voice invaded my delusional fantasy. "Cherie, we must to work."
Reluctantly opening my eyes, I found the workmen gone, the mannequins standing at either end of my desk, the golden poodle on my desk—where my monitor use to be—and Ferrero reclining on one of the red sofas with a sketchpad in hand.
He looked enthusiastic. Anticipatory. Predatory.
"Alright," I replied hesitantly, "what do you want me to do?"
I crossed to my desk and rummaged around for a sketchpad of my own. And surreptitiously slid the bags of Jolly Ranchers, Cinnamon Bears, and Squirrel Nut Zippers into my lower left drawer. A feisty Zipper dropped to the floor and I knelt under the desk to fetch it.
I had just closed my fingers around the nutty treat when Ferrero said, "First, you must take off your clothes."