The Dollhouse

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

New York City, 2016

After packing her personal possessions from her desk into a canvas bag—there weren’t many, a mug, an umbrella, and an extra pair of high heels—Rose walked out of the WordMerge offices for the last time. The rest of the staff had no idea what had occurred with Tyler. She’d collected her things and left, as if she were only popping out to the gym.

Five years ago she’d been a rising star, groomed to take over a national anchor position one day. And now she couldn’t even hold a job at a start-up. But with her father so ill, the trajectory of her career seemed an inconsequential thing, like a burned-out lightbulb you kept meaning to fix. She’d get back to it and figure it out soon enough. For now she had to focus on her dad.

Bird was eager to get outside when she returned to Darby’s apartment. Or maybe Esme’s apartment, really. But once they walked out the service entrance, the rain began falling in sheets. She tucked Bird under one arm, strode into the park, and planted him beneath one of the giant elm trees. The leaves acted as a de facto umbrella: large drops broke through the foliage every so often, but the worst of the weather was kept at bay. Bird found a patch of dirt of which he approved and took a long pee, glaring up at Rose for invading his privacy by watching him. She looked away. How had she got to this point, where a ten-pound dog bossed her around?

As Rose approached the Barbizon, a figure caught her eye. Jason stood underneath the awning that led to the lobby, looking down at his phone. In a smooth movement, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, and her stomach did a flip. His every move breathed of sex to her now; she couldn’t help it. But she didn’t want him going inside.

“Jason!”

She called out and crossed the street, almost getting hit by a cab that had veered suddenly into the left-hand lane.

Jason looked up. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“Sorry, I left my phone in the apartment.” She glanced back at the lobby. Patrick saw her and waved. “We’ve got to go around the side. Come this way.”

“Wait a minute.” Jason stood firm. “I just went inside and they said you don’t live here anymore.”

“Well, not officially. I dog-sit for another tenant.”

“Then let’s go in; this rain’s a disaster. And we have to talk about what happened today. Tyler said you quit.”

“I did. If I stayed, he would’ve made my life more miserable than it already is. But we have the story still, so that’s good news. Come around this way and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He still didn’t budge. “Why don’t we just go in the front?”

The answer came to her in a flash. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the lobby. Management rules.”

“Rose!”

The deep voice was instantly recognizable. She begged silently for it to be only Griff, not Connie, but her luck had run out. The two were unfolding themselves from a black town car, wearing matching Burberry raincoats.

“Griff, hi.”

“What are you doing here?” His eyes darted back and forth between her and Jason.

“This is Jason.” She was unsure what else to do. She nodded at Connie, who glared back. They’d met a couple of times when the kids were dropped off, but never exchanged more than a few words.

Griff shook Jason’s hand like the politician he was, firmly and with great sincerity. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m going inside.” Connie disappeared, leaving behind the faint whiff of Chanel No. 5.

Jason dug his hands into his pockets. “I’ll leave you two for a minute.”

“Don’t,” Rose insisted. “Griff, I’m not here to see you; you don’t have to get all bent out of shape.”

“I’m not bent out of shape. Simply surprised. Did you leave something behind?”

Jason looked at Rose, confused.

“I didn’t leave anything behind. I’m visiting a friend in the building.”

Relief crossed Griff’s fine features. “Right. The woman on the fourth floor. In that case, after you.” He gestured inside.

“No, you go ahead. I have to speak with Jason.”

“All right. And maybe we can make an arrangement to talk, in a week or two. Would that be possible?”

An unmistakable heat came from his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that Jason was standing close to her, ever so slightly possessive, that got his competitive juices flowing. Or maybe he’d actually missed her.

Two weeks ago, she would have loved the opportunity to bring him back into her life, in whatever way. To find their connection again. But not anymore. And her change of heart had nothing to do with Jason. Her father’s decline, Stella’s painfully honest rant, and the ladies’ stories had made her see her life in a new light. She would be in charge from now on. As a result, the chemical attraction, the aura that encircled Griff and made him the focus of her world, had dissipated. Just like that.

“Sorry. I’m too busy.”

“I see. I guess I’ll see you around. Jason, it was nice meeting you.”

Jason grunted in return, and when she turned to face him, she could see he was pissed.

“What exactly is going on?”

“Well, that’s Griff, my ex-boyfriend. And his wife. I mean his ex-wife.”

“We were introduced.”

Patrick was making his way outside, and she didn’t want to have to speak with him. “Follow me and I’ll explain.”

The walk to the service entrance and up the stairs seemed endless. Once in the apartment, she dried off Bird with a towel before he skittered over to his usual place on the couch. He stared at Rose expectantly, as if he were a tiny bearded spectator at a boxing match.

“Who lives here?” Jason asked.

The time had come to tell the truth. Now that the story had been killed, maybe Jason wouldn’t be too horrified. Rose grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dried off her hair, avoiding his gaze. “This is Darby’s apartment. Or Esme’s. I can’t quite wrap my head around who she is anymore, to tell the truth.”

“You appear to be quite comfortable here.”

“I’ve been taking care of her dog.”

“Whoa. Back up a minute.” He lowered himself onto the couch and exchanged glares with Bird. “First of all, why did you quit?”

She sat cross-legged on the chair. “I don’t want to make stupid lists. That’s not why I signed on with Tyler.”

“I can understand that. But we could have convinced him to do the Barbizon piece at least.”

“No, he was done with it, and done with me. I’m tired of playing games and being played.”

“So what will you do?”

“I’ll pitch the story to someone else. The New York Times Magazine, that kind of thing.”

“And what about all this?” He gestured around the room. “How will you explain to your editors that you’re living in a source’s apartment? The Times doesn’t like that type of thing, you know. No good news source does.”

“I know. It wasn’t planned.”

“Obviously, there’s something you’re not telling me. You’re taking care of her dog, yet you don’t know much about her, and have no idea where she went. “

“It all happened at once. Stella Conover was dog-sitting but she had to go to the hospital, so I took over. Apparently, Darby hasn’t made many friends on the floor. She’s standoffish.”

“Why didn’t you take the dog back to your own apartment?”

“It was Griff’s apartment. Until we broke up. Griff and his ex-wife, who you just had the pleasure of meeting, got back together, and she wanted to live there. He gave me only a few days to move out, and I was desperate. It’s a temporary solution.”

“You haven’t spoken with Darby since she left, right?”

“Right.”

“Does she know you’ve been holing up here?”

She took a deep breath. “Not yet.”

He rubbed his chin. “I hate to ask this, but how exactly did you get all of your information? The book of spices, the letter, that kind of thing.”

Without thinking, she glanced at the bookshelf.

“You went through her belongings?” His eyes widened with shock. “You’re living in a woman’s apartment, squatting. If she comes back and finds you, she could call the police. You’re trespassing. And snooping.”

“I wish I could explain. But I feel this strange connection with her.”

“With an eighty-year-old woman you’ve only met in passing? That makes no sense.”

“I know, none of this does.” Her words tumbled out. “But I’ll be out of here before she returns. I’m moving into my friend Maddy’s apartment. I’ll take Bird with me and leave Darby a note. When she calls, I’ll explain everything. And she’ll be so grateful that I took care of her dog, she’ll agree to be interviewed and we’ll have a truly tremendous story. And if my hunch is correct and the woman who calls herself Darby is actually Esme in disguise? Can you imagine how huge that would be?”

He took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. “What about this scenario: She comes home, finds out that you have the dog, and considers what you’ve done is a major invasion of privacy, not to mention dognapping, and turns you in to the cops.”

“I have Stella to back me up, that I helped out in a pinch. And what’s going to happen to me? I’ll get fired? Too late for that.”

“Never mind getting fired. What about the ethics of what you’re doing? What if someone did this to you? It’s criminal, no question about it.”

“No.” She punched the word. “The story is much more than that.”

“In what way?”

“It’s about losing the people you love, being alone in a big city with nothing more than the four walls of your apartment to protect you. Ending up lonely and bitter with no one around.”

“This isn’t a Grimms’ fairy tale, Rose. Darby, or Esme, whoever she is, made her choices, from what it sounds like. We don’t know what she got involved in. But she wasn’t an innocent. Whatever happened up on that terrace in 1952 was tragic, but not unavoidable. Heroin, drugs, informants. They were involved in some serious shit.”

God, he was right. His words sunk in with a bitter force. She’d deluded herself these past weeks, crossing lines and making bad judgment calls about a series of events that had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

But there was no going back now. Rose stood. “Everything you say makes sense, Jason. But I want to find out exactly what happened. I have to.”

“Why? So you don’t end up the same way? A crazy old lady with no friends, living in a dingy, rent-stabilized apartment?”

It was as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “That was cruel.”

He softened, only slightly. “I get it. With your father being so ill, with everything you’ve been going through, I understand why you might be inclined to fixate on this woman. But you shouldn’t. It’s not healthy. Maybe Darby-slash-Esme is off on a beach in Tahiti, sipping rum punches with her sixty-year-old lover.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you think you could be overcompensating for what happened to you at the network?”

She bristled at his presumption. “No. Of course not. These are two different stories.”

“Maybe. But hear me out. Before, you were afraid to go forward because you didn’t have all the information.”

“Yes. I waited, but the story got away from me anyway. Maybe if I’d shown some guts, like Gloria, I wouldn’t have been made the scapegoat. Maybe I should have been more willing to go out on a limb.”

“And so that’s what you’re doing here. You’re being aggressive, pushing boundaries and rules in order to get the full story. But you may never have it. This old lady, whoever she is, may never tell you what really happened. Maybe the unfinished business between Sam and Esme and Darby should stay that way.”

“I don’t think so. I want to put the pieces of the puzzle together. For Darby’s sake.”

“Esme’s sake.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t you want to find out what happened?”

“I do, but I’m not about to go breaking the law to do it. Tyler was right to kill the story.”

“Tyler’s an idiot. This story has legs.”

“You’re not much smarter than he is right now, as far as I can see.”

“Very nice.” Rose gritted her teeth. She didn’t have to take this. She’d had enough of men telling her what to do and when to do it.

“I can’t believe you don’t see what a tightrope you’re walking on.” Jason had turned red; a vein pulsed on his forehead. “You’re way too caught up in the story. Step back, take a break. And move out of here now.” He held his hands out, palms facing out. “If you don’t, I’m done.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t want anything to do with this. You’re digging yourself into a huge hole. You need to move out of here and get on with your own life.”

If only there was a life to move on to.

At seven thirty that evening, while reading out loud from Stephen Hawking’s latest, Rose looked up to discover her father had passed away. He gave no sign, no warning, not even a raspy breath. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone. She was unprepared for the suddenness of the ending. The nurses said he’d been doing well that day, had opened his eyes once or twice. She’d pictured his death in her imagination already: He’d shift back into consciousness, focus on her, and even if he didn’t say a word, they’d have one last connection.

But that didn’t happen.

Maddy was by her side not long after receiving her anguished call, murmuring all the right things. Rose fell into her arms.

“I don’t know, did I do the right thing? Maybe I should have kept him in his home longer, moved in with him and found an aide to help during the day.” Had he been happy at all, in the recesses of his cloudy mind? She couldn’t say the thought out loud, and burst into tears.

Maddy handed her a tissue. “You did what had to be done, and he loved you dearly. Don’t second-guess yourself.”

“I can’t help it.” The full weight of his fear and confusion fell upon her with a brutal force. She didn’t do enough, she let herself get sidetracked by work and Griff. Just as her mother had disappeared one day, her father had as well.

All her life she’d been terrified that her father would disappear the way her mother had. That feeling had dissipated as she headed into her teens, but she’d replayed the same game with Griff. Hoping if she said the right thing or presented herself properly, he’d never abandon her.

But they all had, in one way or another. Stella was right. In the end, she was alone. Not even Jason would bother with her, now that he’d learned the truth about her craziness.

She wished she could disappear as well, leave all the pain and solitude behind. She imagined the fall off the terrace of the Barbizon. The drop would take mere seconds. A rush of air and then a burst of pain. Then nothing. What had gone through Darby’s mind during the descent? What were her regrets?

Rose’s were obvious. She regretted everything to do with her father. Each decision had been made carefully, but there was no way of knowing if any of them had been correct. He’d gotten sick, he’d fallen, he’d died. The narrative arc was all there. They might have happened no matter what she’d done. But she could have done more. She should have done more.

She couldn’t even remember the last real conversation they’d had, before he’d become muddled and angry. How she wished she could rewind the video of her life and watch just that snippet. To see if she’d smiled at him, or touched his hand, or done anything to show him how much she loved him.

She held his hand now, and cried.