Diana Peterfreund - Under the Rose

He put his hand to his chest. “I’m the son of a gardener.”

“You’re a Digger at the best law school in the country.”

“You’re a Digger at the best university in the country.”

“Even more reason to aspire to greatness.”

He laughed. “Someday, go look through the roster of the patriarchs. See what they all do for a living. You may be surprised. We’ve even got a garbageman.” He opened his book again. After a page or so, he added, “My mom was a social worker.”

“Did she retire?”

“She died.”

And that pretty much killed the conversation. We rode the rest of the way into New York City in silence, and I even managed to doze off for a little while. I don’t know how many pages Poe read, and I can’t be sure, but I think the humidity in the car must have done wonders for the squeakiness of his highlighter, because it completely stopped making noise.

We arrived at Grand Central Station, and Poe deciphered the tangle of subway lines while I ran into a nearby shop to grab a couple of umbrellas. Though the tunnels were warm, to judge from the streams of icy water leaking through the cracks and dripping down the subway stairwells, it was a real bitch of a day outside. One switch to the F train later, and we were on the LES. (Lower East Side—I can swing the lingo with the best of them.)

“So what’s the plan?” I asked Poe as we picked our way through the puddle-riddled streets.

“I don’t have one. I thought we’d go up to the apartment and knock, see what happens.”

“Sounds brilliant.” I rolled my eyes.

“That I am.” We turned the corner. Jenny’s building was a grungy, graffiti-sprayed five-story job with a bodega on the first floor. Whatever gentrification may have swept through the Lower East Side recently had skipped this particular spot, which didn’t mean Jenny had acquired it any more cheaply. I wonder if her parents, or even her ersatz boyfriend (you know, the one nursing his glass jaw) knew about her little hideaway. According to Poe, his club hadn’t been aware of Jenny’s apartment during their deliberation process, so it must be a relatively recent development.

We entered the vestibule and buzzed Jenny’s apartment, but there was no answer. There was no name on the tiny mailbox slot, either. With nothing to lose, I pressed the other buttons. After a second, there came a muffled response.

“Delivery,” I said, and the door buzzed open. I smiled at Poe. “You aren’t the only one with little tricks up your sleeve.”

A middle-aged man in a work shirt streaked with grease stuck his head over the banister. “Mind telling me what you want?” he said, lumbering down the steps and wiping off his hands with a towel. “You don’t look like you got a package.”

“Are you the super here?” I asked. “We’re looking for the resident of 4A. Ada Lovelace?”

“Never met her.” He shrugged. “She leased the place a couple months ago, when the new owner took over. But I don’t think she’s here much.”

“Do you know if she’s been in this weekend?”

“Look, girly, why don’t you and your boyfriend—”

“We’re not trying to start a fight,” said Poe, stepping forward. “We merely wanted to leave this note for her.” He held out a small card emblazoned with the Rose & Grave seal.

The man’s eyes went wide, and he looked at us each in turn. “Who are you guys?”

“Who do you think we are?”

“Couple of punks.” The super nodded at the card. “You’re the second crew to come in here waving that symbol around like I should care. What are you, a gang?”

“You don’t know what this symbol means?” asked Poe, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

The guy shrugged. “Some Da Vinci Code crapola. I don’t give a shit. Now, why don’t you get out of here before I throw you out.”

Back on the street, Poe kicked at the cornerstone. “I don’t get it. The D-bomb usually works like a charm.”

“Maybe in New Haven,” I said. “And D-bomb ?”

“Drop the Digger name into a conversation and see how quickly your way is smoothed for you,” Poe said.

“Isn’t that against the secrecy policy?”

Poe lifted his shoulders. “What’s the point of power if you can’t use it every once in a while? The policy of the society is to fly under the radar, it’s true, but they do occasionally throw their weight around.”

“You mean like last spring when they made us lose all our internships?” I looked back at the building. “Well, we don’t seem to have much influence here. Plus, I’m about to freeze or fall asleep standing up—possibly both. So let’s continue this conversation in the nearest coffee shop, okay?”

Poe sighed. “Fine. Let me run around the corner real quick and see what the fire-escape situation looks like. If I can get up there—”

“Whatever, Spider-Man.” But I couldn’t help smiling.

“I have some skills you aren’t aware of, Miss Haskel. Anyway, if I can’t jimmy the window, I can at least peep inside.”

“And get yourself shot and/or arrested?”

“Just let me look. I’ll be back in two seconds. Don’t drown while I’m gone, okay?” He winked and took off.

I ducked under the bodega’s canopy and rubbed my arms through my coat. I should have brought gloves. I should be in bed right now, curled up with the fall issue of the Lit Mag. Damn Jenny. Okay, that was it. I needed coffee now. I went inside the shop. Ghost town, like the rest of the street on this ugly day. The guy behind the counter was watching daytime television, and there was a young truant in a black wind-breaker shoplifting candy in the corner. “Small coffee, please,” I said to the attendant. “Actually, make it two.”

The guy nodded and went to pour the cups. He looked over at the boy. “Buddy, gonna buy something?”

The boy picked up two PowerBars. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

But it was enough. I turned my head toward the kid with the familiar voice, who looked up, facing me fully. “Oh my God…”

“So,” Jenny said, “you found me.”

I hereby confess:

I’m not proud of myself.

“Where the hell have you been!” I cried.

“Amy—”

“What the hell happened to you!”

“Please, just calm—”

“I thought they fucking kidnapped you, do you know that?”

“I know,” she said, and her eyes went from me to the attendant, to the door.

“How do you know? What the hell, Jenny? What were you thinking? Your hair was left on our stoop !”

“I wasn’t…just—I wasn’t, okay?” She lifted her hands. “Who is that with you?” she asked. “Poe?”

“You know what?” I said, walking toward her and stabbing my finger at her raincoat. “I’m not even going to say you’re fined for that. You’re a traitor!” Now that I saw she was safe (though shorn), all of my inner rage decided to have a coming-out party. “How could you? You manipulative, lying, oath-breaking bitch! How could you!”

“Whoa,” said the guy behind the counter. “You’re a chick! Weird. Wait, is this some kind of butch lesbian thing?”

“Amy, wait a second!” Jenny grabbed my hands in both of hers. “I’m—” She took a deep breath. “I’m really scared. And I want to talk to you, but…” She looked out the window. “Not with him there, okay? I can’t stand that guy.”

“Well, he can’t stand you, either,” I snapped. “And though I may have been on your side about that a few days ago, now I think I’m on his.”