Insatiable

warmed to the subject immediately. “You work way too hard at that job of yours. Not that I

don’t love every minute of it. Last week when Victoria made out with Father Juan Carlos in

the vestibule after she went to confession over her guilt about sleeping with her daughter’s

riding instructor, I had to stuff a napkin in my mouth to keep from screaming my head off and

startling the maid while she was vacuuming, I was that excited. That was so brilliant! That

story line was one of yours, wasn’t it?”

Meena inclined her head modestly. She was proud of the Victoria-and-the-hot-priest

story line. It was different when it was a priest who was nobly restraining himself from

sleeping with a woman. Father Juan Carlos didn’t also want to kill Victoria.

“Well, actually—” she started to say, but Mary Lou interrupted her.

“Still, you’re going to drive yourself into early menopause slaving away for that show.

Anyway, listen…”

With a ding the elevator doors opened, and Meena and the countess stepped inside to

begin what would, for Meena, anyway, be the eons-long ride up.

Mary Lou then proceeded to give Meena a long description of the castle in which the

prince spent his summers in Romania. Mary Lou was intimately acquainted with it, because it

was near the castle where she and her husband summered for two months every year—two

blissful months during which Meena was able to ride the elevator countess-free.

By floor five, Meena was wondering why she’d never gotten a feeling about Mary Lou’s

or her husband Emil’s impending demises. It was odd, really.

On the other hand, it was possible her power to predict death, which had shown up when

she’d reached her tweens, was starting to wane now that she was approaching thirty (a girl

could dream).

More likely, however, given Meena’s luck, it was morphing into something else…look

at the strange feelings she got around Leisha and her baby.

By the tenth floor, Meena had heard all she could stand about Saxon architectural

influences.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Meena said when the elevator doors finally, and

mercifully, opened at their floor.

“Oh, Meena,” the countess said as the two of them strolled toward their respective doors.

“I forgot to ask. How’s your brother doing?”

And there it was. The Head Tilt.

The Head Tilt was accompanied, of course, by the Sympathetic Look. The countess was

no stranger to Botox, as Meena well knew, since the countess had to be well over forty, but her

face was as unlined as if she were Meena’s age—perhaps because Mary Lou had such an

extraordinary collection of picture hats, as well as gloves, which she wore with fierce

resolution to keep out the sun. Today’s was a gargantuan maroon concoction.

So it was all there, the Head Tilt, the “eleven” between the eyebrows (two crinkled lines

of concern), the purse of the lips as if to say, I care. Deeply. Tell me: How’s your brother

doing?

“Jon’s doing great,” Meena said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, given

how many times a week she was forced to repeat this phrase. “Really great. Working out,

doing a lot of reading, even cooking. He tried a new recipe last night for dinner. He made a

great Chinese orange beef for me that he got out of the Times. It was delicious!”

This was an outright lie. It had actually been terrible and Meena had been furious with

Jon for even attempting it. He was no great chef. Steaks on Meena’s hibachi on the balcony

were his forté, not something they could just as easily have ordered in. She’d had to throw it

down the garbage chute. Meena hoped the countess and her husband Emil hadn’t smelled it

when they’d come home from whatever benefit they’d been attending. They were always

going to—when they weren’t hosting—charity events, all over the city, late into the night, and

had their names mentioned on the society pages regularly, as much for their generous gifts as

for their party-hopping.

“Oh!” Mary Lou flattened her hand against the front of her Chanel jacket. “That’s great.

I so admire what you’re doing, letting him live with you until he gets back on his feet. So

generous. The prince just loves generous people, and so he’ll just love you. Of course…” Mary

Lou brought her hand away, and the seven-or eight-carat diamond that she’d been wearing

beneath the glove she’d stripped away flashed in the glow from the overhead light in the

hallway. “Do bring Jon when you come over for dinner to meet the prince on Thursday night.

He’s always welcome as well. Such a sweet young man.”

Meena kept a smile frozen on her face.

“Well, thanks,” Meena said with forced cheer. “But I’m not sure about our plans. I’ll let

you know. Have a good night!”

“You, too,” Mary Lou said. “ Au revoir! ”

One thing, Meena thought as she hurried toward her apartment. One good thing could

still happen to her today. She was never going to give up hope. Without hope, what did you

have?

Nothing. That’s what.

She could still find the ruby dragon tote. Maybe online, used somewhere.

Except that, even used, it would still be more expensive than she could afford. It would

be selfish and horrible of her to buy something so frivolous that she clearly didn’t need,

especially when so many people were out of work and could barely afford food and had

horrible people like Yalena’s boyfriend preying on them.

She was never going to buy the bag, of course. Not even used. But it was important to

have hope.

Chapter Eleven

6:30 P.M . EST, Tuesday, April 13

910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B

New York, New York

HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO JOIN THE NYPD?

In order to be considered for appointment in the NYPD, you

must pass a series of medical, physical, and psychological

examinations to determine your suitability. Want to learn more

about our requirements?

Jon, staring at the computer screen, shrugged, took another sip of his Gatorade, and

clicked Learn more.

Applicants must be at least 17½ years of age by the last day

of filing of the exam they are applying for.

“Oh, yeah,” Jon said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Meena’s dog, Jack Bauer, hearing the sound of a human voice, jumped up from his dog

bed and trotted curiously over to the couch to see what was happening. Jon tilted his bottle of

Gatorade in the dog’s direction in a toast and kept reading happily.

Applicants must not have reached their 35th birthday on or

before the first day of filing of the exam they are applying for.

“Done,” he said to Jack Bauer. “We are so joining the NYPD!”

Jack Bauer tilted his head questioningly, sat down on his haunches, and yipped.

“Yes.” Jon put down his Gatorade, picked up the phone, and dialed. As soon as the

person on the other end lifted the receiver, he said, “Dude. We’re joining the NYPD.”

“The hell we are,” Adam said. “I’m about to be a father. I may need a job, but not one

where I get my ass shot off. Did you know there’s a serial killer on the loose out there?”

“I’m sure there are several,” Jon said. He put his size-twelve feet on his sister’s coffee

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