Page 93 of Gone Before Goodbye
Maggie can’t help but shake her head. The sports car rises above the city, floor upon floor, the view outside the windshield and glass door jaw-dropping, until they stop, yes, in the middle of a spectacular apartment. After Bob nods that it’s okay now, they both slide out of the Bugatti and enter the heart of the penthouse. The décor is a bit like the car—sleek, aerodynamic, stunning—but the space is all about the windows: floor-to-ceiling, very high, glass so clear you could easily walk into them. You don’t feel as though you are in a high-rise with a spectacular view. You feel at one with the view, the unassuming marble floor vanishing, as though you were floating.
Maggie stands there and flashes back to Charles’s final instruction:“You’re going to want to call your family and tell them you’re all right. Don’t. They still think you’re on your original job, so it’s not like they are unduly worried. The last thing you want to do is pull them into this by making an errant call.”
She’d promised that she wouldn’t call.
But that is a promise she has no intention of keeping.
The penthouse is silent.
“Is anyone else here?” Maggie asks.
“The family owns three floors.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll be the only one on this one.”
“Of course.”
Bob leads them to her room, which is minimalist and off-white and unassumingly decorated because again it is all about the cityscape. Every wall is done in gentle curves with no corners or harsh edges. It makes you feel as though you’re on a boat in the middle of calm seas. There is a kidney-shaped swimming pool on the expansive deck outside her window.
“The full patient medical records will be here within the hour,” Bob says. “They should provide you with all the information you need. Surgery will be scheduled for tomorrow unless there’s an issue.”
She wonders whether she will need to make up an issue to stall for time, so she can stay longer. Probably not. Charles or whoever had already informed the “retail magnate” that Maggie’s strict patient protocol was to stay at least four days post-op—and if you wanted the best, which Maggie is, you understood, accepted, and paid for that.
“Impressive, no?” Bob says.
She nods. The view reminds her of that skyline shot of Oz from the originalWizard of Ozmovie. It looks enchanted, magical, make-believe—a place where fantasies come true. But if you take a second look, it also looks artificial, futuristic, slightly nightmarish. Theskyscrapers sparkle and glitter and they’re all glass, almost fragile looking, so that you could imagine hurling a giant stone and watching it all crash down in shards.
“Is there a bar nearby?” she asks.
“A bar?”
“Yes.”
“As in a pub?”
“Sure.”
Bob frowns. “You want to go out for a drink?”
“Yes.”
“The day before you perform surgery?”
“I need to move around,” Maggie says. “I get antsy before a surgery.”
“You probably won’t be surprised to hear this,” Bob says, “but this tower has some pretty spectacular amenities.”
“Gasp oh gasp, label me surprised.”
Viking Bob smiles. “The penthouse has two private pools. You could get a massage or a holistic healing session or something like that. There’s a fitness center, a gym, a spa, a wellness retreat—”
“What’s the difference between a fitness center and a gym?”
“Damned if I know.”
“How about between a spa and wellness center?”
