Chapter 3
The following morning I was abruptly awakened by my cell phone screaming that somebody out there felt the need to speak to me at…gosh what time was it anyway? The clock said 8:17 and the caller ID said “Mommy Dearest.” I flipped it open and tried to make myself sound like I didn’t just swim out of the deep end of an REM cycle.
“Janie, I need you to do something for me since I know you aren’t busy.” The woman spread joy like Swine Flu.
I think I mumbled something about how I stayed up late working on ideas for the Gala.
“Whatever. I need you to go to your dad’s office at once and retrieve some files. They’ll need to be delivered to me at home immediately. I’ll be at the house very shortly.”
My brain halfway registered what she was saying. “Mother, are Peter and Stanley up at the office?”
“Of course they are, but they can’t very well leave, now can they? I’m going to email you the file list from your dad’s blackberry shortly. I have to go now. Bye.” Click.
I knew she was up at the hospital because I could hear all the beeps and hums from the little machines. I was hoping to ask her how Dad was feeling that morning, but I supposed I could ask later when I saw her at home.
Obviously, it was time to hop to it. I was up until about two A.M. the night before writing up and researching ideas for my presentation at the Gala. I was able to come up with a lot of good ideas, but unfortunately after searching the internet I had discovered that either they had already been thought of by someone else or they just simply wouldn’t work. It was ok though, today was a new day and I wouldn’t allow myself to be discouraged.
I made my way into the kitchen and fixed my usual breakfast: a bowl of Lucky Charms and chocolate milk. I downed the milk and munched on my cereal while I stood in my closet, deciding what to wear. To be honest, I was really trying to appear like I had a job and was just stopping by the office on my lunch break or something. There was no way I wanted any of the employees at Hightower International to know that one of the Hightower children was unemployed. That would be way too embarrassing.
When I was dressed and ready to go, I grabbed my purse and cell and ran out the door of my apartment.
The elevator finally arrived and took me down the twenty-three flights of my highrise. I walked outside, took a deep breath of the fresh fall air, thought for a moment and immediately turned around and went back in. I waited for the elevator, took the twenty-three flight ride back up, walked into my apartment, and checked the email for the file list from my mother.
Finally, a half hour later my cab dropped me off in front of the three identical high rise buildings which made up Hightower International. They were each triangles, and were placed to form a triangle pattern themselves. I always felt a sense of pride when I thought about how my family’s business built and occupied all three of the structures, which were nicknamed the Hightower Empire. Every time I saw them I got goose bumps. Our Executive Office was the building that was at the back of the triangle, located the farthest from the street. I walked into the cold shadows in the middle of the three high rises. The sound of my footsteps echoed against the concrete. The morning sun was completely blocked out and some Asian tourist were taking pictures and pointing up as I passed.
I walked inside and scanned my access card to take the Executive Elevator. It was like a boxed bullet that bypassed all the other floors and took you all the way to the very top, to the Executive Floor on seventy-three. The elevator itself was probably nicer than most apartments in Manhattan. It was unnecessarily large with lush, red cushioned seating, which lined the entire back wall. Mirrors were put in to prevent claustrophobia, making the area look larger—not that it really needed to and were outlined with shiny gold frames.
After a one-minute ride up, the elevator dinged and I had arrived on seventy-three. As the doors slid open, light flooded in and I was temporarily blinded. The large wall-to-wall windows of the Executive floor were installed to bring in every single watt of sunshine into the main reception area. The marble floors contained flecks of gold, which also reflected the light creating a nice accent to the cherry wood receptionist desk which is where Maggie sat—all day, every day.
Although a very sweet person, she was a funny kind of girl in her early twenties; awkwardly tall, with a muscular build, and carried herself about as graceful as a gorilla on stilts.
I walked over to her desk. “Good morning, Maggie.”
Although I was only half awake, and my voice was barely above a whisper, she was the jumpy type who scared easily and jolted from her seat spilling some coffee on her hands.
“Sorry Jane!” She croaked. Her voice was high and struck at a pitch that was impossible for any human ear to comfortably pick up. The result was that it always seemed like she is struggling to speak, like the sound got stuck in her throat. Because of this, it could sometimes be very exhausting trying to hold a conversation with the poor girl.
“Don’t worry. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” I said.
“Oh, that’s ok. Sorry.” She nervously straightened up the items on her desk. Maggie came to work for H.I. fresh out of college and was pushed into the position by her dad, who was one of our commercial real estate clients. I supposed he thought it would be a good opportunity for her, but I suspected Maggie wouldn’t still be working for the company in five more years. Either she’d be driven away by Peter, who took pleasure in torturing anyone and everyone who wasn’t as smart as he, or by the humiliation of being 6’2” and forced to cram herself in a 3x4 receptionist desk.
So for Hightower Int’l, Maggie probably wasn’t the best fit. No pun intended.
“So, have you seen Peter this morning?” I asked noticing that she was wearing a dress similar to one I had owned at age thirteen.
“No. Why? What’s wrong?” she asked frantically.
“Relax, Maggie.” I leaned over and put my hand on her shoulder. “I just have a list of files I need to pick up.” Sheesh. Who needed coffee with this much nervous energy floating around?
“Of course! Go on in. Oh, and I’m so sorry to hear about your father.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” I replied with a smile.
I scanned my card over the receiver to unlock it, and made a right through the door to go to Peter’s office. There were three wings to the Executive Floor: Peter’s department, Stanley’s, and Dad’s. Each had about ten people working directly under them.
When I arrived, Peter wasn’t in his office yet, but I was surprised to find it was uncharacteristically disorganized. Some banker’s boxes were sitting on his desk, and most of the file cabinets had opened drawers with papers hanging out. His books were scattered on the floor while some lay on their sides in the shelves.
Normally, Peter was painstakingly organized—obsessive even.
The files I needed should have been sitting on his desk as indicated by my mother’s email. She said she told him I was coming and to have them ready for me, but they were nowhere to be found. Great. Now what? Well, since the file cabinets were already opened, I decided I might as well check in there.
The standard cabinets our company used for every office were the kind that were short enough to sit on, but long enough to accommodate hundreds of files, but for some reason, these particular cabinets were different. They were black, taller and with less width. The drawers were four rows high and with a sort of mock row on top. I say “mock” because it was just a sealed, solid metal piece that, I assumed, was meant for magnets and sticky notes.
I peered through a few. The drawers were stuffed so completely full, so I would have to do some digging.
I squatted down on the floor, slowly reached down to the middle of the bunch, and braced myself for a siren or something to go off—Peter hated people touching his files—but nothing happened. I dug through for the next couple of minutes, but I was unable to find anything that remotely looked like what I needed. I was feeling braver by then, so I stood up and jerked open one of the top drawers, which was the only one that was closed. I must have pulled too hard because the top of it caved in a little revealing about an inch of black open space leading up to the mock drawer. I quickly tried to push it back up into place, but couldn’t.
I stopped for a moment. There was something off about this piece. I leaned in and examined it more closely but all I could see was a dark space where the top of it was supposed to attach to the bottom of the mock drawer. I squinted, trying to get a better look. What was really strange to me though, was how heavy the piece was, which meant something was hidden inside the mock drawer, weighing it down.
I knocked on the outside, and instead of sounding hollow, it definitely made a “thud,” like there was something inside. I stuck my finger into the little crevice, and on the very tip, I could feel papers. Strange. There must be a lot of papers in there to fill the entire space, and make it as heavy as it was. And why were there files being kept up there in the first place?
I wondered if…
“What are you doing in there?”
I jumped about three feet in the air, banging my shin on the bottom drawer in the process.
“Ow! Damn it, Stanley! I hurt myself.” I didn’t know why he was coming into Peter’s office but there he was, just standing in the doorway with his eyes narrowed, studying me. For some reason, I felt like a kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but wait a minute, it wasn’t even his jar!
“I’m trying to find some files Mother needs to help Dad.” I explained, rubbing my shin. Although, I didn’t know why I felt like I should have to explain anything.
“What files?” He asked, tensely, still standing in the doorway. He was very tall with a medium build, making the doorway appear smaller than it actually was..
“Here.” I frowned, handing him the list. After studying it, he looked up at me, all tension in his eyes gone.
“Hey, are you ok, Sis?”
“I’m fine. I know I probably shouldn’t be in the drawer. We both know how certain people can be about their files and all, but they were supposed to be ready for me.”
He finally smiled. “Yeah, but you know you won’t find them in here. Anyway, don’t worry about it. The files are ready for you. Here, come with me.”
“Great, thanks.”
We walked down the hall, all the way around to Stanley’s office which was immaculately organized.
“Here.” He said and handed me a small stack of about 10 files from the desk.
“Thanks! I didn’t know they were supposed to be in here.”
He gave me a funny look. “Oh?”
I started to explain, but then my phone rang: Mother.
“How much longer?” She asked before I could even say “hello.”
“I’m leaving now. I should be at the house in about fifteen minutes.”
“Good. I’ll be here at home, waiting. How’s Caroline? Is she ok?” She was absolutely obsessed with Caroline, which was fine because it took the pressure off me. I could barely handle my mother in small doses.
I answered Mother, “No, I haven’t spoken to Caroline, but I’ll call her from the cab.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll just call her again.”
We hung up.
“Gotta go, Stan. I’ll see you later!” I playfully punched him on the arm.
As I passed the receptionist’s desk on my way out, Maggie stopped me.
“Oh, Janie?” She creaked. “Before you leave, I want to quickly show you something.” She said standing up. The top of her desk landed just below her knees. She led me by the arm into a nearby conference room. We walked to the other end of the room and stood over by the wall-sized window.
“Over here.” She proudly pointed over to another door, mostly hidden by the recessed wall. I cautiously moved closer and opened it. Empty. Maggie smiled and slipped in, shutting it behind her. She then poked her head out, looking triumphant. “This is a good place to hide if you ever need to cry.” She whispered.
I forced an uncomfortable smile. What kind of a workplace was this where the giant receptionist needed a designated crying zone?
“Er, that’s great, Maggie. Thanks.”
She slipped out and put her giant hand on my shoulder. Her two-meter body had to bend at a ninety-degree angle in order to reach me.
“You can use it anytime.” She said and then came in for a crushing hug. Oh no. I braced myself. Luckily my folders acted as body armor between the two of us. Otherwise, I would have walked out with a collapsed lung.
********** ************ ************* **********
I was able to hail a cab quickly and traffic was light, so I got to my parent’s house quickly enough to make my mother reasonably happy. I found her sitting in Dad’s office.
“Did you get to speak to Peter?” she asked, sorting through the files with one hand and holding her martini in the other.
“First of all, no, I didn’t see him. Second, do you realize that it’s only 9:30 and you’re already drinking hard liquor?”
She looked at me like I was speaking Portuguese.
“A.M. Mother. I’m saying it is 9:30 in the morning.” I pointed to the clock on the wall.
Fluttering her fake eyelashes, she turned her head to the clock and pointed her glass toward it. “You can’t go by that clock. It’s always off.”
I threw my hands in the air. How could I argue with such logic? She adjusted one of the buttons on her sapphire Armani Collezioni jacket. I told myself it was silly to feel bland and frumpy next to my sixty year old Mom.
“How’s Dad doing this morning?”
With the tips of her nails she carefully removed from her forehead, single a curl, which was probably worth about $100 in highlights that came from a $1 bottle of peroxide. “He made it through the night.”
“Well no kidding.” I rolled my eyes.
She looked up from her reading and took a sip. “A little better than last night. He’ll be able to start his physical therapy soon.”
I nodded and told her I was planning to go see him that afternoon.
“Good. Caroline is in the dining room. Go say hello to your sister.”
“I see you were able to get a hold of her. She didn’t go into work today?”
Even though it made sense to take the day off, considering the circumstances, I was still a little surprised Caroline wasn’t in the lab today. She was quite the workaholic and was in the lab pretty much every minute she wasn’t at home.
“What’s the problem with taking a little time off? It’s not like she was going to cure cancer today!” Mother snorted at her own joke, sloshing her drink on the floor.
I shook my head and I left the room. Once again, I was moved by her bleeding heart. I just wished it would bleed a little more and force her into unconsciousness.
On my way to the dining room I passed through the kitchen. Where I found our cook, Rosalia Santini.
“Good morning, Rosie!”
She turned her plump body around from the sink where she’s washing some leafy vegetables.
“Aaaaye! Good morning my dear. Here, I make coffee!” she said in her thick native Italian accent.
She poured me a steaming hot cup and then fixed it up just the way I liked it: milk with extra sugar.
“Mm-mm, you’re the best, Rosie.” I tipped my cup in her direction.
“Your sister is in dining room.”
“Thanks. I better go see her.” I replied, standing up.
I found Caroline sitting at her laptop in the dining room. She was typing away and didn’t look up
when I sat down. “You didn’t go into work today? “ I asked.
She shook her head, “No. I didn’t feel like being in that cold lab all day.”
Wow, this must have been affecting her pretty deeply. To my knowledge Caroline had never taken a
day off from work, not even at Christmas. I then realized she probably wasn’t used to feeling this helpless,
especially when it came to matters in the medical field.
I was trying to think of something else to say when the doorbell rang. I knew our maid,
Jackie, wasn’t at the house because her little red Honda wasn’t out front.
“I’ll get it.” I set down my coffee and headed towards the front door.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
I scurried through the hallway, into our reception area, and opened the front door. Suddenly
there was an explosion of light, leaving white spots floating through my eyes. I blinked but the fog wasn’t
clearing.
What the hell? I looked around for the source when I realized that the lights were dozens of
camera flashes coming at me from every angle. There were people scattered all across our front porch.
Some had cameras. Some had microphones. Some were even crouched in the bushes trying to snap photos
through our windows. It finally dawned on me that they were reporters and for some reason were in a
frenzy.
“Jane!” One lady with a microphone yelled. “We want to ask you some questions!”
And for some reason, they were here to see me.
“What made you finally decide to present at the Gala like the rest of your family?”
“Does it have to do with your father’s stroke?” Asked a man from in the bushes.
Oh my God. Get me out of here! I didn’t quite know what was going on yet, but I knew I
wanted away from the chaos. So, I tried to back into the house, but the door had shut behind me. I twisted
the knob but it was stuck. It must have locked. Dammit! I was completely trapped. My back was pressed
hard against the door, and I could feel a trickle of sweat run down my spine under my sweater.
I smiled at the press and tried not to show my fear.
“Never show them your fear.” Mother used to coach us. “The press is like a pack
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If you’re scared, they’ll sense it, and then they’ll eat your face off.”
At the time, I was seven.
In a controlled panic—if that even exists, I reached behind my back and frantically rang the
doorbell. The reporters were all trying to yell over each other so none of them could hear it ring.
“Jane! Bill Blake from the New York Times.” Trying to act as normal as possible, I pointed
at him, giving permission to speak over everyone else. “This is the first time all four of the Hightower children
are entering the legendary Gala. This is huge! What made you decide just now?”
I cleared my throat and tried to steady my voice. “Um, well, I uh, just thought now was
the right time.” There! Good answer. Hopefully he’d just be happy with that.
“Why exactly now?”
Rottweilers!
“Um…I…Aaaack!” My prayers were halfway answered when the door flew open, taking me
with it. I fell flat on my back. My body was sprawled out inside the house while my legs still laid on the
porch.
I looked up, realizing Mother was now standing before the press. I could tell she was taken off
guard too, because she quickly threw her full martini glass out of their sight, which happened to be all over
me. She shoved my legs out of the way with her foot and abruptly slammed the door behind her. I stood up
and was wringing the vodka out of my hair when Caroline and Rosie tip toed in.
“What’s going on?” Asked Caroline.
“Mother threw her drink all over me.”
Rosie nodded like this was a common occurance. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! Apparently there’s a press conference on our front porch, and quite frankly I’m
glad Mother is taking care of it.” I replied. She has always been a breeze with the media.
They peaked out the window. “Is it about Dad?”
“No, actually it’s about me.”
“You?” Caroline closed the curtain tightly.
“Yeah, apparently it’s big news that I’m entering the Gala this year.”
“No!” Her jaw practically hit the floor in disbelief. Her reaction both scared and irritated
me.
I tried to play it off by shrugging my shoulders. “I suppose it’s a big deal because we’re all
entering this year, and it’s a first.”
“I just didn’t realize it would be such a huge thing is all.” She replied. “I’m shocked that
they’ve already moved on from Dad’s stroke over to another story.”
I nodded my head. “That’s the media for you.”
“Rottweillers.” We both commented in unison.
We all stood there, staring at one another, until Mother came in, calmly opening
the door.
“That’s all for now. Thank you!” she called over her shoulder as she slammed it shut. She stopped
short in front of me, and examined my wet hair and shirt.
“Oh, did I get some of my drink on you?” she asked, eyeing me up and down.
“Just a little.” I replied through my teeth.
“Oh dear. Sorry about that.” She patted my shoulder with the tips of her fingers.
“Rosie! I need another drink. A real one.” She yelled as though Rosie were in the back yard
and not just five feet in front of her.
“Yes, Ma’am.” She turned and left.
Mother strolled off like a cool feline back toward the office. But then she stopped, turned, and
stood poised at the doorway. “Oh Janie. EVERYONE is in abuzz that you are presenting this year, and
EVERYONE is expecting big things from you. I certainly hope you’ve come up with something good.”
With that, she left the room and I was left there thinking of just how much I hated EVERYONE.
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