“When we’re done here, Julie and I have something to show you,” Anna said, eager to get it over with.
“Oh,” Mrs. Von Bizmark called. “Can you give me a clue?”
“It’s . . .” Anna searched for the right word. “Something,” she said.
“So is this,” Mrs. Von Bizmark said drily, stepping out from behind the screen to reveal that the second dress, a burgundy chiffon number with beaded detailing at the neck, remained several inches apart at the back.
Julie rushed back in. “Camille says they sent us the wrong gowns. These are for some Russian oligarch’s wife and her overweight daughter, apparently.”
“I was just telling Mrs. Von Bizmark about the thing we have to show her,” Anna said, wanting to rush through all the bad stuff. Twenty minutes passed as Mrs. Von Bizmark extracted herself from the tiny gown, got back into her Lululemons, visited the bathroom, and generally dawdled to passively express her annoyance about the dresses by making them wait. Anna felt like the day was about five years long. A huffy Mrs. Von Bizmark finally sat down at Anna’s computer.
“How long will this take?” Mrs. Von Bizmark asked.
“Thirty seconds,” Anna said and hit play.
Mrs. Von Bizmark grasped the edge of the desk when she saw Pippy Petzer on the screen and leaned in as the scene played out. Julie handed her the waiver. Mrs. Petzer leaned over the counter and uttered her line: “Kissy . . . just tries too hard. I mean, helicopters? Doesn’t get more nouveau than that.” Mrs. Von Bizmark inhaled sharply, wounded. Anna put a hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Von Bizmark replayed it a few times as if trying to work something out. Anna felt for her. It had to sting.
“Has she seen this?” Mrs. Von Bizmark asked, her eyes never leaving the screen.
“Avi sent it to her lawyer, along with a copy of the signed waiver. So I presume so.”
Mrs. Von Bizmark started to pace, her cotton candy quilted Burberry sneakers squeaking away on the floor polish. Perfect tendrils of light hair fell around her cheeks, which grew redder and puffier by the minute.
“You should ice your face,” Anna suggested “Shall I get Cristina?”
“In a minute. Get Pippy on the phone.”
Anna dialed from Mrs. Von Bizmark’s private line and flushed with fury when that bitch answered in the middle of the second ring. Anna chided herself again for not thinking of this sooner.
“Calling to gloat?” Mrs. Petzer said tightly.
“I’m calling to say that you’re still very welcome in our box at the opera,” Mrs. Von Bizmark said breezily.
“You can’t be serious.”
“No hard feelings,” Mrs. Von Bizmark said, quite pleased with her own canny social maneuvering.
There was a heavy silence on the phone. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“You mean because I expect you’ll make sizable contributions to the opera and the public school?”
“And sit with you.” While Mrs. Petzer’s fate hung in the balance, she could still be a potent ally in New York society. As long as the video never got out.
“Yes, lucky me,” Mrs. Von Bizmark said, as if suddenly it dawned on her that she would have to pass an entire evening in this woman’s acerbic, litigious presence.
“Well, I—”
“You know what, Pippy? Don’t bother coming, then. Is that better for you? Toodle-oo.” Mrs. Von Bizmark hung up and called for Cristina with the ice packs. “That takes care of that,” she said to no one in particular and leafed through a file of the day’s personal hard-copy correspondence while Anna and Julie waited for her to say more. Was this a rash move Mrs. Von Bizmark already regretted, or had she just delivered a strategic death blow in a battle for social dominance? It was impossible to tell from the way her eyes placidly passed over the various notes and letters, opened and sorted by priority.
“Moving on!” Anna said finally. “Any ideas about who else to invite into your box?”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Von Bizmark said, closing the file folder of personal notes and handing it to Anna. “You can handle all this, can’t you?” she asked. “Just, you know, do everything—”
“Perfectly,” they all said at the same time.
FOURTEEN
February 15
Anna picked the following Tuesday morning to kick off Operation Anniversary, just after the building staff got out of Renee’s weekly meeting with them. Villson covered the door, which was ideal since he would be of little use to her. Barclay retrieved Anna and Julie in the service elevator and took them down to the basement, a maze of storage rooms, bikes, a tiny and never-used shareholder gym, and the tainted employee lounge, which everyone crammed into. The doormen, Joe and Brian, and the porters, Alfie and Barclay, stood in a tight cluster, while the ladies occupied the sofa. Alicia blushed furiously like a teenager, and Cristina glowered at all the men aloofly.
Julie wore a vintage navy Ralph Lauren knit suit with epaulets, beige pumps, aviator glasses, and a bun, a portrait of white-collar seriousness. This was a business meeting, after all. Julie video chatted with Phil at Coolwater, along with the housekeeper, grounds crew, and Castle ladies, who all sat on the floor of his office, presumably because Phil didn’t know how to adjust the webcam on his laptop. You could only see Chef’s striped legs and apron, leaning in the corner, off camera. So unusual was this meeting that no one chatted as Julie and Phil adjusted the volume and tested the sound. Julie placed the phone on the shelf that held a TV so that everyone could see everyone else.
“The reason I’ve called an all-staff meeting is that the Von Bizmarks’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up, and I have been charged with impressing Mrs. Von Bizmark,” Anna began.
Unused to the microphone on his laptop, Phil snorted directly into it, followed by a loudly whispered, “Good luck.”
“Phil, we can hear you,” Anna said.
“Look, Anna, it’s your funeral. You’ll never impress her.”
“That’s why I need all of your help! Over the years we have all handed Mrs. Von Bizmark gifts; overheard her discuss events, meals, parties; seen her happy and sad, and I thought the only way to solve this riddle is to pool our knowledge.” A sea of stony faces. There wasn’t much incentive to go out on a limb when the chances of success were so low.
“OK, you guys, let me be frank. It’s my understanding that since the Von Bizmarks own two floors and six shares, they are head and shoulders the largest tippers in this building. Is that roughly accurate?”
A few heads nodded. Alicia and Josefina watched Anna wide eyed. Julie stood with a pen poised over a legal pad, ready to record anything useful.
“And what do you think is going to happen if there’s a divorce? Here’s a newsflash: Mrs. Von Bizmark will never leave that apartment.” She’d frequently said as much. “But without his income, you can bet your tips will be halved at best.” She let this sink in.
“And you, Phil. All of you out there. I have news for you. If the Von Bizmark union dissolves, Coolwater is a major asset that I can all but guarantee will be instantly liquidated.” Phil cocked his head to show Anna she couldn’t scare him, but they both knew he was way too much of a prima donna to work for anyone new.