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  “Rule number four thousand: Always have confidence. It gets you everywhere.”

  “But how did you know he wasn’t going to say no?” she asked me, practically jumping up and down.

  “Because I knew. I knew that your dresses were spectacular.”

  “That was what you went on?” She looked at me quizzically.

  “That and the poker face he had on. No one looks that serious unless he wants something. If he didn’t like what we were showing him, trust me, he would have said, gorgeous, exquisite, things like that.”

  “Damn, you’re good.” Lucy looked at me in awe, then stopped the rack for a second and came around to my side. “Thanks, Gram.” She spoke sincerely.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her on both cheeks, “believe me, it was my pleasure.”

  “So now the best day of your life is my best day, too,” she whispered back.

  “Any day I get to spend with you is my best day,” I told her.

  “That’s such a grandmother thing to say!” She laughed.

  “It’s true, though,” I said, kissing her on her forehead.

  “Well,” she said, walking back to her side of the rack, “we still need to do more for you today. We need to do something exciting, something you’d never be able to do at your age.”

  “What happened to the list?” I asked, suddenly remembering.

  “It’s back at my studio. We’ll look at it there, but those are such basic things. Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to do? Something you’ve always wished you could have done when you were younger and never did?”

  “We never got those bras and underwear,” I said.

  “No, something big, something bigger than a bra or a date with some guy.”

  “I’ll have to think about it and get back to you,” I told her. This was the truth. I couldn’t think of much more that I really wanted to do. So far, it had been a hell of a day. And for the first time that day, I started to think that maybe I’d just stay twenty-nine forever.

  the search begins

  Barbara Jerome Sustamorn was a terror even before she was born. Ellie loved to tell people that Barbara kicked her so hard while she was pregnant, she once told the doctor she was afraid that Barbara would kick right through her womb. Whoever she told the story to would laugh and laugh. “Barbara the bully,” they’d say, then snicker as if this wouldn’t offend Barbara at all. But who wants to be called a bully? Barbara hated it when Ellie told that story.

  It’s not that Barbara didn’t know she could be difficult at times. She knew when she was going too far. Afterward, she’d be full of remorse and self-hatred, although she never said a word. Only Lucy knew. When she’d come into her mother’s room after school to find Barbara lying in bed, she knew. Even when she’d been as young as eight, Lucy had known when to climb onto Barbara’s bed and put her arms around her mother. Lucy was the only person Barbara would never bully. Though it was never said, she knew that Lucy was the only person who ever understood her.

  Barbara felt she had gone through life with a mother who never understood her.

  She wondered sometimes if she would feel better about herself if she never spoke to Ellie again. Yet she craved her mother’s approval so much she couldn’t leave her alone, even if she tried. She loved her mother dearly. Ellie was the person Barbara most wished she could be. She was also the person Barbara most wished she could please, and that was what made Barbara so angry, hotheaded, and just plain frustrated. And her behavior caused people, including her mother, to judge her. She spent her life trying and failing to please Ellie. If her mother would love her, then everyone else, including Barbara, would love Barbara, too. She was caught in an endless cycle of need and frustration.

  Barbara had been trying to emulate Ellie her entire life. When puberty struck and it was apparent from her large breasts and hips that she got her looks and shape from her father’s side of the family, she started eating nothing but carrots and celery so she’d have the figure Ellie had (and okay, when the aggravation of that scale never budging got to be too much, maybe she cheated, maybe a lot). Like Ellie, she married the first man who showed any interest in her, Larry Sustamorn, the dentist. Like Ellie, she never held a job, and concentrated on her family. Try as she might, Barbara never seemed to be able to make her mother proud.

  Then she gave birth to Lucy.

  Lucy was the shining light in everyone’s eyes. She was Ellie’s only grandchild, and as hard as it was for Barbara to take, Lucy was Ellie’s doppelgänger. She looked and acted nothing like Barbara. It wasn’t that Barbara minded that her mother and daughter were so close; it just saddened her that she couldn’t be more like them, that the duo would never be a trio, and this only made her that much more cynical and disparaging.

  A war raged inside Barbara’s subconscious. It was Maybe today will be the day my mother finally understands me versus Maybe this will be the day I finally don’t give a shit anymore. One side of her knew it was crazy to be fifty-five years old and still trying to please her mother. The other side couldn’t stop.

  “It’s just another block,” Barbara called out to Frida, who was a block behind her, panting.

  Barbara stopped so that Frida could catch up to her.

  “And I’ll promise you this, that Ken the doorman has seen his last day at that building,” Barbara continued the rant she’d begun earlier. “Who doesn’t have another set of keys?”

  “Well, we had all the keys,” Frida tried to reason.

  “Oh, please. What about the passkey?”

  “Well, you did ask him that, and he did say that he could call a locksmith.”

  “Like I’m going to sit there all day and wait?” Barbara threw her hands in the air. “And wait where?”

  Frida shrugged.

  “No, you and I have a much more serious problem than being locked out without keys, a phone, money, or my car. My mother is missing.”

  “Maybe she showed up at home by now?” Frida hoped to get Barbara to change her mind.

  “God knows where she could be by now,” Barbara answered.

  Just a block behind them, Ellie and Lucy were pushing the clothing rack across the street.

  “Barbara, my feet are really starting to hurt from these sneakers,” Frida said.

  “When we get to the bakery you can sit down and take them off for a bit,” Barbara said, thinking to herself that maybe the bakery would give them a piece of cake for their troubles as well.

  “Maybe they’ll pity us and give us a piece of Danish,” Frida added.

  “Honestly, Frida, how you can think about food at a time like this is beyond me.” She fumed as she rammed open the door to the bakery, causing it to bang against the adjacent wall, startling the ten or so people in line.

  “Oh, crap, it’s Mrs. Sustamorn,” Flo, the woman behind the counter, muttered to her coworker as Frida and Barbara entered.

  “This is an emergency,” Barbara announced to the other people in line as she shoved her way in front of them.

  “Mrs. Sustamorn, you’re going to have to wait your turn,” Flo told her flatly.

  “Flo, I need to speak with you. My mother has gone missing.”

  “Oh, no!” Flo grabbed her chest. “With the party last night and all.”

  “Flo, this is very important. A young woman came in this morning and purchased three cakes. Do you remember her?”

  Flo tried to remember.

  “Flo?” Barbara couldn’t wait.

  “Yes, we did have a woman come in and buy three cakes.”

  “Did she say what she was doing with them?”

  Flo paused. “No.”

  “Did she say where she was going with them?”

  Flo looked at her coworker. “No.”

  “Did she pay cash?”

  “Yes!” Flo got excited. “I remember, she paid cash! Does that help?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Barbara exhaled. “So that’s all you can tell me?”

  “I
think a man flirted with her. What’s the name of the guy who flirted with her, Sal? You remember? Look at his slip.”

  “Oh, Zach Pierson—that guy with the Internet site.”

  “Are you writing this down, Frida?” Barbara asked, looking over at Frida, who had taken off her shoes and made herself comfortable on the bench in front of the store window.

  “With what?” Frida asked her.

  “I’m sorry. My friend is very tired. We’ve had a rough morning, and we are both without cash. Is it possible for you to give her some sustenance?”

  “Hi, Flo,” Frida said and waved.

  “Hi, Mrs. Freedberg.” Flo reached into the display case and pulled out a danish. “Your usual?” she asked figuring maybe if she gave her a danish, Mrs. Freedberg would stop pilfering the Sweet’N Low all the time.

  “That would be nice,” Frida said, clearly pleased. “I’ll pay you when I get my purse back. I only left it my apartment, and then, sadly, I left Barbara’s purse in Mrs. Jerome’s apartment. It’s been a crazy day—”

  “Frida, would you spare her the news?” Barbara interrupted.

  “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Sustamorn?” Flo asked, hoping that maybe the next time she came in she wouldn’t be such a complainer.

  Barbara’s mouth began to water. “A danish would be nice,” she said. “I’ll make sure you are compensated for it later.”

  Flo wrapped both danishes in a napkin and handed them to Barbara, thinking maybe now she wouldn’t be so picky with the cakes anymore.

  “Thank you, Flo.” Barbara semi-smiled. “Well, I guess our business here is done. Frida, shall we?”

  Frida, who had been massaging her feet, began to put her shoes back on.

  “Let’s go,” Barbara called again, so Frida had no choice but to throw on her shoes without tying the laces. Maybe there would be a red light at a crosswalk, and she could bend down and tie them then.

  Barbara shut the door to the Swiss Pastry Shop and urged Frida to walk a couple of storefronts away. “Do you think she was hiding something?” she asked Frida under her breath, as if Flo could still hear her.

  “I can’t imagine why she would.” Frida rested her foot against a storefront and struggled to tie her shoe.

  “No, I suppose not. I don’t suppose that Flo from the Swiss Pastry Shop has anything to do with Mother’s disappearance.”

  “Maybe Ellie ordered the cakes!” It suddenly dawned on Frida. She shot up from her bending position and turned to Barbara, who was opening her mouth to take the first bite of her danish. And as she turned to share this revelation, she knocked right into Barbara’s hand, which made Barbara drop both danishes on the dirty sidewalk.

  They looked down at the pastries. Both were thinking the same thing, five-second rule, but neither said a word.

  “You know, Frida, sometimes I could just shoot you,” Barbara said and sighed.

  “Maybe Flo will give us another. We could ask if maybe the young girl mentioned if Ellie was the one buying the cakes.”

  “I’m never going back there again.” Barbara pulled Frida away from the store front. “Come on. Let’s go to Plage Tahiti and find out what they know about the receipt for that dress.”

  Tired and hungry, the ladies walked the next few blocks up Seventeenth Street slowly, with their heads down. Barbara picked up her head only when she noticed the sign for Plage Tahiti. She rang the bell. The blond lady inside pressed the buzzer, unlocking the door.

  Entering the shop, Barbara looked longingly for a second at a cashmere sweater she wouldn’t even be able to fit her left arm into. Frida was glad that she wearing her sweat suit—at least she didn’t look so out of place in a fashionable store like this.

  “Can I help you?” the blond woman asked.

  “Hi, I’m Barbara Sustamorn, Lucy Jerome’s mother, and this is our friend Frida Freedberg.”

  “I’m a dear friend of the family,” Frida added. “Lucy even calls me Aunt Frida, we’re so close.”

  “Enough, Frida,” Barbara snapped. “Now, we’re very tired and very hungry here. My mother seems to be missing. Frida and I searched her apartment and came across a receipt from a purchase at your store this morning.”

  “Oh, I’ve been so worried all day!” the blond lady exclaimed. “I had no idea the young woman this morning had stolen Mrs. Jerome’s credit card. I was going to report the transaction, but I never heard the rest of the story.”

  “I knew it!” Barbara said, coming to life.

  “I mean, she looked just like Lucy. She could have been a younger version of Mrs. Jerome. I see Mrs. Jerome in the park. She’s a very attractive woman.” She paused, taking a scrutinizing look at Barbara. “You’re Lucy’s mother? Mrs. Jerome’s daughter?”

  Although the saleswoman didn’t mean it to come out that way, Barbara was still a little hurt. She pulled at her black sweater to cover up her protruding stomach and straightened her slacks.

  “Yes, she is!” Frida backed Barbara up.

  “Anyway, the girl this morning seemed lovely. I didn’t think anything was up when she said that Lucy was her cousin. If you had seen this girl, you wouldn’t have blamed me for thinking—”

  “Spare us your apology,” Barbara broke in. “Just give us the facts. We’re very worried.”

  “To tell you the truth, now that I’ve thought about it a bit, I should have known from the way this young woman was dressed. Her jeans were two sizes too big, and”—she leaned in and whispered—“frankly, her underwear looked like nothing I’ve ever seen on a young woman like that.”

  “The jeans on the floor,” Barbara gasped at Frida. “She must have been wearing all of Mother’s clothing!”

  “Even her underwear?” Frida wondered aloud, shuddering at the thought.

  “That’s it.” Barbara threw her hands up in the air. “We’re going to the police.” She slammed her hand on the counter. “Thank you very much.”

  “Please let me know what happens,” the blond woman begged. “I’ve been very worried. I feel as if I’ve done something wrong. Should I call and report the stolen credit card?”

  “No, this isn’t your fault, and yes, we should have my mother’s cards frozen. But don’t worry. You shouldn’t feel bad. This young woman is just a con artist who has done something with my mother. We’ll straighten it out.”

  “Will you please let me know?”

  “We will,” Barbara said. “We’re off to the police now. By any chance, do you know where the nearest police station is?”

  “It’s on Twelfth Street, just five blocks down.”

  “Five blocks?” Frida said, quivering.

  “Five blocks,” the blond woman repeated.

  “Thank you again,” Barbara said as she shut the door to the store.

  Fifteen minutes later, Barbara and Frida had gone only two blocks.

  “It’s only three more blocks, and I’m sure they’ll have some coffee at the police station!” Barbara called to Frida, who was again half a block behind.

  “Barbara, please. I’m not as young as I once was, and this sweat suit might have been too much to wear on such a warm day.” She lowered her voice so as not to upset Barbara. “Would you mind just walking a little slower?”

  “After this, we’re getting you on a treadmill every day. If you have this much trouble walking a couple of blocks, I’m worried about you, Aunt Frida.”

  “Yes, Barbara,” Frida consented. Barbara was really getting on Frida’s last nerve, but the main thing was never to add to Barbara’s hostility.

  Frankly, Barbara was quite tired herself and didn’t exercise as much as she told people she did. She would never admit it, though.

  “When we get to the police station, I’m sure they’ll have a nice seat for us, and a hot cup of coffee,” Barbara reminded Frida.

  “Let’s hope,” Frida said, unzipping her sweat jacket.

  ***

  An hour later, two cops stood inside the precinct and watched as two women, one middle-age
d and one elderly, walked feebly up the steps.

  “Get a load of this,” one said to the other.

  “Lost suburbanites,” the second one said and laughed under his breath.

  “Can we help you ladies?” the first cop said.

  “Yes, you can. We need to file a missing persons report,” the plump middle-aged one with the gobs of jewelry and black attire announced.

  “Officer Fairholm takes care of that,” the second cop answered as he opened the door for them.

  “Then that’s who we’d like to speak to, pronto. Time is of the essence.”

  The cop pointed over to an attractive middle-aged female officer at a desk.

  “What can I do for you ladies?” Officer Fairholm asked as they approached.

  “In short, my mother is missing.”

  “Have you been to her home?” she asked.

  “What do you think?” Barbara responded.

  “When was the last time you spoke with her?” the officer asked as she wrote the information on a pad of paper.

  “This morning!” Barbara answered, as if this had been ages ago. “We both did.”

  “Yes, I spoke to her as well,” Frida confirmed.

  “Was there anything suspicious in her home to make you think that she might have been kidnapped?” Officer Fairholm asked without any compassion.

  “Yes! Some pants that she never wore were lying on the floor,” Barbara cried out.

  “And it’s not possible that she might have just thrown them on the floor herself?”

  “Oh, you don’t know Ellie,” Frida answered. “Ellie’s clothes are very important to her. She would never just leave something lying on the floor. I’m the same way. We’re both very neat.”

  “I’m sorry, and you are?” Officer Fairholm asked.

  “I’m the missing person’s best friend.”

  “So the only thing suspicious was a pair of pants left on the floor?”

  “Trust me,” Barbara said, “my mother never leaves anything on the floor.”

  “Anything else?” Officer Fairholm asked with growing skepticism.

  “Yes! My daughter was there when Mrs. Freedberg went to check on my mother.”

  “She complained about a mouse,” Frida added.