Page 24 of Gone Before Goodbye
She isn’t sure what to say next, but Porkchop takes over, asking in a quasi-mocking tone whether she’s on her way to her “big, secret meeting.”
“I need to get dressed,” she says.
“Call me when you’re done.”
“You don’t have a mobile phone,” she reminds him.
“I’ll be by the payphone. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what this meeting is about?”
“Bye, Porkchop.”
She hangs up and throws on black jeans, boots, a denim shirt, and a blazer. It’s a massive mind melt that never seems to have a clear answer: Never be too provocative but never be too stuffy… Oh, but have a sense of style and always know what’s trending so you don’t appear, gasp, out of date—always trying to find the right balance between feminine and practical.
Utterly exhausting.
Maggie props up her phone on the bathroom vanity as she starts her makeup. She hits the icon and waits. When Marc’s face appears, Maggie says, “I saw your dad yesterday.”
“How is he?”
She chooses a little avoidance because she doesn’t want to go there right now. “Vipers is doing great. You ought to see what he’s done with it.”
“Did you both get drunk?”
“No.” Then: “Yes, of course.”
Marc smiles. “I’m glad you two have each other.”
Which is an odd thing to say.
“How long until your meeting with Evan Barlow?” he asks.
Maggie checks the clock on her phone. “Shoot, I’m running late. Talk later.”
She takes one last look in the mirror, shrugs, pockets the phone, and heads into the corridor. She reaches the fourteenth-floor atrium. The elevator doors are already open and waiting for her. The Mercedes-Maybach is parked at the quieter entrance on 57th Street. The chauffeur wears a black suit, black tie, and completes the look with a peaked newsboy cap. He holds the back door open.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Maggie.”
“I’m Alou.”
She sticks out her hand and meets his eye. “Nice to meet you, Alou.”
He hesitantly shakes it. “Yes, ma’am.”
The windows are fully tinted, so no one can see in. She slides onto the plush leather in the back. The seat’s heater is already on full blast. There is a woman in the front passenger seat. She turns and gives Maggie the full-wattage smile.
“Hi, Maggie, I’m Dawn! I’m your Barlow concierge!”
Dawn speaks in exclamation marks, which are not welcome this early in the morning ever, never mind after a night at Vipers with Porkchop. Maggie looks back at Alou before he closes her door. He shrugs as if to say, “Yeah, this is how it is.”
“Hi, Dawn.”
“Many of our patients demand total confidentiality!”
“I’m not a patient, Dawn.”
She blinks and the full-wattage smile flickers but stays strong. “Oh, I know. We just thought you might want to experience the service. Plus, well, I was asked to assure your ride is comfortable and discreet.”
“I appreciate that. Where are we going?”
