Magdalenas shadow, p.26
Magdalena's Shadow, page 26
Coco couldn’t stop the tears; they flowed unchecked down her face. She pulled the second sheet of proofs from the pile. Here she stood, hand in hand with her mother in identical black dresses, a vivid green landscape spreading out behind them. A passing breeze caught their skirts as they stood cheek to cheek staring at the camera. Neither smiling nor unhappy, they existed peacefully in an imagined moment. Coco sobbed silently, her fingers flipping through photo after photo. The room thinned out until she sat alone with Van Clisen.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, gathering the proofs Coco could no longer bear to look at. “Words are insufficient in moments like these.”
“Thank you.” Coco twisted a tissue in her hands. “Will you send me a copy of this picture?” She indicated the photo where Coco and Magdalena stood bare shouldered in a black and white embrace.
“Of course. It would be my pleasure.” He separated the proof from the pile.
The next day a parcel arrived at #2. When she opened it, it was the photo, framed beautifully in a blackened steel frame. She placed it next to a photo of Bebe in an old gold frame. She looked at all the pictures that lined her mantelpiece: Tia, James, and Bebe; Jack and Carmen; herself and Magdalena.
There was a decidedly empty place to the right that desperately needed to be filled, a place for Rob and Mila.
Chapter Forty-One
The law offices of Foster, Robinson, Allen, and Banks were housed in a large old-world granite building that shone white in the spring sunshine. Coco vaguely recalled the building’s wide ornate metal double doors, its cornices and large picture windows. When she walked around the corner of the building she could see the cemetery, now transformed by springtime into a green natural haven for squirrels and wild flowers. Coco had left Chicago that morning, flying into New York on the pretense of discussing her suit against Ryan Blackwell, but in truth she hoped to see Rob.
She stood some moments staring at the cemetery gate where Magdalena once had stood, wishing she could see her mother again in this life. Would she ever stop missing her? Quietly, almost imperceptibly, a door to her left opened revealing a small blonde woman, painfully thin with strange gray and silver eyes. Coco immediately recognized the silver fire, strength of will, and steady self-assurance sparkling in their depths.
“You must be Rob’s sister, Bev.” Coco offered her hand. “He told me all about you. And your dad.” Coco smiled sympathetically, her eyes cast toward the cemetery where he lay buried.
Bev’s face blanched slightly while her icy silver eyes sparkled in the spring light. She shook Coco’s hand quickly, letting it go as soon as she could. “I saw you admiring the view, and I’m pleased you could spare time to go over your case, Miss Rodriguez. Shall we go up to my office?”
Coco nodded. “Rob told me the firm used to be the Banks family home. It’s beautiful.”
“My great-great-grandfather built this house,” Beverly replied crisply. “He was an English admiral who came to New York to consolidate our family’s shipping interests in the eighteenth century. Much of the estate was developed generations ago, but I keep this bit of green to remember my family’s history and to protect the cemetery.”
Coco looked from Beverly to the cemetery. “Rob loves this house very much. I’m glad he gets to work here even if it’s no longer a family home.” Coco turned toward Beverly who stood watching her.
“I’m an only child, Miss Rodriguez, and I’m afraid that Mr. Robert Banks no longer works here.” Beverly’s smile faded. The silver glint in her eyes intensified giving her features a look of quiet satisfaction.
Coco felt an initial shock. It was quickly replaced by a deep sense of dislike because she knew instinctively that this woman saw a wetback when she looked at Rob and an illegal when she saw Coco. Family pride made Beverly Banks an elitist. She was money-spoiled, bigoted, and closed minded; an old world American aristocrat, all DAR and WASP to her bitter scrawny little core.
“I’ll be happy to go over your case with you myself, Miss Rodriguez. I see a lot of room for negotiation. Even though Mr. Blackwell has declared bankruptcy, we should be able to move forward with our suit.” Coco nodded, feeling a shiver run down her spine; Rob was selling the Chicago penthouse, and he no longer worked for his dad’s law firm. How was he supporting himself and Mila? Coco followed Bev reluctantly inside the Banks family mansion, no longer impressed by the grandeur around her. The house was stuffy, cold, and strongly imbued with a feeling of exclusivity.
Coco sat down in Beverly’s office and tried to relax. “Do you have a number where I can reach Rob?”
“I’m sorry but I’m not at liberty to give out private numbers.” Bev spoke apologetically, yet her expression told Coco she wasn’t sorry, not in the least.
Beverly gave Coco a quick overview of the lawsuit, showing her the different directions they could still take the case. Coco felt cold and sad as Beverly’s icy voice washed into background noise. Once the meeting was over, Coco rose mechanically to go.
“Well, thank you.” Again, Coco offered Beverly Banks her hand. Beverly took it, shook and let Coco go with a smile that said don’t let the door hit you in the ass, before returning to her desk. “If you see Rob, tell him to call me, okay?”
Beverly shook her head at Coco in feigned confusion. “As I told you before, Mr. Banks no longer works here. I don’t know how to help you, Ms. Rodriguez.”
Like hell you don’t. Coco walked from the room fighting to conceal her deep disappointment.
Coco passed dozens of portraits of long dead Banks family members and partners. Only when she reached the stair to the first floor, did Coco have an idea. Turning into the next office she asked where she could find Bill Foster. Two doors further down she found him sitting at his desk, his computer playing seventies groove music.
“Bill,” Coco peered at him from around the door. “May I come in?” The moment she saw his green eyes, her old hatred rose up inside her. This man was part of the reason she and Rob had lost control that night.
“Miss Rodriguez!” Bill rose to greet her, his eyes taking her in slowly.
“I see you have some manners.” Coco noted his polite greeting but waved away his proffered hand before looking over the room. “I suppose your country club upbringing gave you that much,” Coco added. She walked past him toward the massive window that mirrored Bev’s own view.
“Just enough to get me in the door; after that… well, you know,” he trailed off shrugging his shoulders while they both remembered the way he had manhandled her at the club.
Turning toward him, Coco saw a leering intensity in his eyes, and something else she couldn’t put her finger on… maybe suspicion. “So, tell me, why did they fire Rob?” She tried her assumption on him to see where it might lead.
“You tell me,” he snorted before sagging back into his chair like the lounge lizard she knew him to be. Yet his reply confused her.
“You first,” she smiled, hoping he would say more.
Bill shook his head, but when he looked back at her a sly smile lit up the right side of his face. Rob’s half smile, only on Bill it looked cruel. “You couldn’t have made me work your case for free, no matter how sweet the rewards. Unlike Rob, I wouldn’t have risked my job or the firm’s reputation for your tight little ass.”
Coco stared, too shocked to do anything else. But suddenly it all made sense: Rob had never charged her. With all the other lawyer’s fees, she had not noticed. This reality gave Bev the excuse she had been looking for to get rid of her half-brother. Now Coco, the Latin whore, was handed the blame.
“Ya got me.” She smiled her most dazzlingly guilty smile. “But I was wondering if you could do me one little favor,” she added, blinking sweetly. “I need to tie up some things with Rob. You don’t happen to have his number, do you?”
Bill laughed and shook his head at her. “Haven’t you caused him enough pain?”
Coco studied him quietly before leaning slowly toward him. “Ah, Bill….” Coco looked directly into his greedy eyes. “Rob never gets tired of the kind of pain I offer.” Her words hit Bill like an avalanche of sexual possibilities, his eyes taking on a soft lusty drunkenness as he stared at her.
“You know, I may be able to help you after all.”
When Coco walked out of Bill Foster’s office he was ready to lick her shoes. Coco now understood history’s hatred of sexually powerful women. The right move, the right word, and money changed hands, marriages ended, as did careers, even lives. Tia once said that John the Baptist had lost his head because some slut wanted it on a plate. Coco caught her reflection in one of the huge gilt rococo mirrors that lined the entrance hall. This reflection was why Coco had Rob’s email address, written on a sheet of legal paper. It was also why Bill had given her his private number and the address to his penthouse apartment in the city, a comfortable distance from the conventional suffocations of his upstate wife and child. Without hesitation, she threw Bill’s number and penthouse address into the next available trash can.
Chapter Forty-Two
Coco didn’t want to use Paolo’s phone to email Rob, but her old phone was dead and she’d come to rely on Paolo’s high end smartphone for everything. Coco opened her email and typed in Rob’s address. She clicked into the subject line, and wrote… nothing. After ten minutes, she settled on “Coco Says Hi.” Infantile but far better than “Forgive Me, I’m Legal,” or any of the other repulsive subject headings that ran through her mind.
I hate this, Coco thought, before clicking into the mammoth white expanse where she was supposed to write something sensible.
Rob… Bebe and I miss you and Mila. We’d love to see you both again. I stopped by your office but Bev said you’d quit. I have a small business now, and we could probably use a good corporate lawyer considering how naive I am and how mouthy Carmen is. We’re not getting sued yet but it’s just a matter of time. Anyway, I hope you’re well, and give our love to Mila. I never finished Don Quixote, but I liked the Franco poems. Thanks. Veronica was amazing. I miss talking with you, and I miss having you close in #1. It’s sad that you’re selling. You know my landline number so don’t be a stranger.
Hope you are well.
Love, Coco.
Coco hit send before her nerves broke and she closed the page completely. A split second later the email was in Rob’s inbox.
When the phone rang that night she grabbed it, bolting at full speed to her bedroom. James crawled down the hall behind her while Bebe bounced on the bed beside her. Coco sat on her bed and put her finger to her lips before she hit the answer button.
“Hello?” Her voice wavered.
“Hello, Miss Rodriguez,” Beverly Banks’ voice echoed into the still room. “We have some excellent news for you. Mr. Blackwell’s bankruptcy lawyer has informed me that he’s willing to sign over the New York City building he formerly occupied. Are you familiar with the building?”
“Yes,” Coco answered flatly, wishing a house would fall on Beverly and her nasally well-bred voice.
“If you will accept these terms then we can go ahead and move to settle.”
“How much of the building do I get?”
“All nine floors. Your suit’s for over one hundred million. The building’s value is estimated at less than the number indicated in your suit so you would be taking a loss.”
“I didn’t think I’d get anything after Blackwell declared bankruptcy. Honestly, this settlement sounds fine. I’ll be in touch.”
When Coco hung up the phone she felt sad. The only joy she felt lay in the enormous sum Rob had stipulated for her near loss of life. It showed how very much he still valued her.
“Who was that?” Bebe asked still bouncing on the bed.
“A business lady. You wouldn’t like her,” Coco said, wrinkling up her nose. A moment later the blanket began sliding off the bed. Bebe peered over the edge, giggling as baby James peered up at her.
Rob didn’t call the next night either. On the fourth day after she had sent the email, Coco took her family to the library to check out books. While Bebe collected books from various shelves, Coco checked her email for the hundredth time. There was nothing but spam.
So that’s it, Coco thought, and closed her phone. Rob was finished with her. She had done what she could, and he hadn’t responded.
The library was full that day: children filled the kids’ section, some read while others stacked books on the small colorful tables. At a large table just outside the kids’ section, four teenage girls sat looking at fashion magazines. Coco remembered how at one point in her life the arrival of a new Vogue or Bazaar had felt something akin to the joy other kids felt at Christmas. Glancing casually over their magazines she saw a perfume ad – her perfume ad with Magdalena. In the same moment a girl glanced up, her eyes showing no sign of recognition before she looked back again at her magazine. Coco smiled; without makeup and airbrushing she was not N.V. the fashion model; she was just a mom hanging out with her kids.
Good, she thought, remembering how Tom’s paparazzi had dogged her in Italy. Maybe this is how my life will be. Maybe I’ve found the balance I’ve been looking for: single but capable, famous but anonymous. James woke, his eyes looking up at her from where he lay in his front carrier.
“Hello sweet boy,” Coco said. She smiled and kissed him on the nose.
Chapter Forty-Three
New York City never loses its appeal, Coco thought. She stood with Carmen and Jack on the steps of the Blackwell building, a damp spring wind pulling at their clothes in the shadow of the nine-story red brick building. The inside of the building had been sacked. All the furnishings were gone along with the large mahogany entry table, so mammoth in size that Coco could not image how they had managed to get it through the doors. In the dim light, the large mahogany console that once had served as a hotel registrar’s desk had also come under attack; a criminal with a crowbar had cracked the old wood in an attempt to rip the piece from the wall.
Coco ran her fingers over the damaged carved flowers wishing there were a way to repair them. Behind her, Carmen and Jack moved quietly over polished red brick, looking at the massive support columns that studded the room. Slowly the three made their way up the first flight of stairs, exploring room after room until they reached the ninth floor.
Coco bypassed the other rooms, moving to the room that had been hers. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find everything exactly as she had left it: a pair of socks in the corner, her makeshift bed pushed under the window, gray light pouring in on rumpled sheets. Inside the closet her clothes still hung on their hangers – handmade skirts with rip-cut tees, her corduroy patchwork jacket hanging alone on the closet wall. Coco slipped it off the hanger, pulling it over the black angora turtleneck she wore before turning toward the view she loved. Nine stories, she remembered thinking, is perfect: you can look out on the world but you’re not so high up that you can’t see the people below you.
“Your jacket…” Carmen walked up behind her looking confused.
“It was in the closet. They took everything but the bed and my handmade clothes. I’m trying not to feel hurt.”
Carmen came to stand beside her, looking out at the view. Sunlight poured in between the surrounding buildings, lighting up the room where they stood. “We should move here.” Carmen slipped her arm through Coco’s. “We should run La Sangre from here, Coco. It’s amazing.”
“That’s how I felt the first time I came here. I loved New York the way I loved this room the moment I saw it.”
“Would you be okay leaving Chicago?”
“I think I would.” But Coco felt a knot form in her stomach at the idea of leaving #2. The real question was how would Bebe and James take the move?
Back on the first floor they found a large old kitchen that opened onto what must have once been a dining room.
“Wow.” Carmen ran her eyes over the heavy crown molding that still lined the windows and doors.
“It needs a lot of remodeling,” Jack said quietly. “If we’re going to work here we’ll need to open up the second and third floors for offices and conference rooms.”
“Some of the rooms are already big enough for conference rooms. Why can’t everyone just use a bedroom for an office?” Carmen looked worried. “We can’t be wasting time on remodeling.”
“We need large spaces to lay out the proofs and the designs. We need a space where we can all work together,” Jack said, looking at Coco.
“Well, there’s no money for renovations,” Coco said, “so we take it as is or sell it and find something else. It would be smart to sell it and find something smaller.”
“Or rent the extra space and make money,” Carmen added, giving Coco a nudge.
Chapter Forty-Four
On Coco’s return to Chicago she found a message from the reporter Angie Thompson requesting a follow-up interview. Coco called her that night.
“I’ve been hired by Vogue to do a follow-up interview with you. We’d like to do an article on how your mother’s death transformed your life. Vogue’s readers want to know how you are adjusting to being the heiress to Magdalena’s vast estate.”
“I would love to be featured in Vogue.” Coco felt more than pleased with the idea of being in her favorite magazine again. In her first run she had been a blip on the runway scene, just a photo lost in the back half of the magazine. “So, this will be a big article?” Coco asked, hopeful.
