Diva (17 page)

“We’re well acquainted with Barnard, thanks,” the young guy said. His name tag said
Robert
while the middle-aged guy’s said
Walter
. “But one of our students said this girl was making a scene in his dormitory. He also seemed to think she’d been drinking. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

They pushed past Lorraine. “Wait!” she said, urging her legs to keep moving. She approached them on the other side this time and tried to grab Walter’s arm.

“Hands off, girlie!” He shook her off as they stepped from the lawn to a paved walkway, and Lorraine almost fell. The two men and Clara walked quickly to a redbrick building and climbed the stairs to its entrance.

“But you don’t understand!” Lorraine said, stumbling up the stairs behind them. “My Clara? Drinking? I’ve never heard of something so ridiculous. Why, I’ve never seen Clara drink
anything
, ever. Not even a glass of water—”

“Lorraine, you’re not helping,” Clara said.

Robert and Walter led Clara into the building, which, judging by the men lounging in the common area and wall of mailboxes in the lobby, was also a dormitory. A few handsome
boys in blazers rose from their armchairs to stare at Clara and Lorraine.

Lorraine followed the guards and Clara through a door to the left of the entrance and down the stairs to the basement. Walter scowled at Lorraine over his shoulder on the stairs. “You’re still here? Turn around, and don’t stop until you’re back on your own campus!”

Lorraine ignored him, and he couldn’t do much about it, since that would’ve meant letting go of Clara. The security guards led them into a cramped, messy room. A few security guards as young as Robert were sitting at mismatched desks, reading textbooks and sipping steaming mugs of coffee. A half-f box of doughnuts and a stack of plates sat on an empty table with wooden chairs around it. Another positively ancient guard dozed on a couch against the wall.

“What is this place?” Lorraine asked Robert.

“Security headquarters,” he explained. “And we’ve got a holding cell in the back for the real troublemakers. That’s where your friend is going.”

“You’re putting me
where
?” Clara exclaimed.

“All right, I’ve got to take over the shift at Hamilton,” Walter said, ignoring Clara and checking his watch. He gave Lorraine one last glare before turning to Robert. “You think you can handle this, Bobby?”

The younger man nodded, his shaggy hair flying as if he were a wet dog shaking himself dry. Bobby reminded Lorraine a lot of a Labrador, actually, with his big, eager-to-please
brown eyes. Thank God he was the one sticking around. Lorraine would have Clara out of here in no time.

“Keeping booze and girls out of our dormitories is something we take
very
seriously here at Columbia,” Walter said to Clara. “If you’re going to get drunk, do it at your own school and let them deal with it.”

“For the last time, I’m not drunk! And I don’t even go to Barnard!” Clara called, clenching her fists in frustration. But Walter was already steering his chubby form back up the stairs.

“Just come with me,” Bobby said.

He walked down a narrow hallway that branched off the office area, then took out a key ring to unlock the last door on the right. When he did, Lorraine could see over his shoulder that it was a supply closet of sorts. Cups of pencils and pens sat next to stacks of notebooks and folders on wide metal shelves. A few wooden chairs sat in the center of the tiny room and there was a coffeepot and mugs on a small table by the door.

Bobby ushered Clara inside. “So like I said before, I’m going to have to ask you to cool your heels in our little holding cell here—just until you’re sober enough to head home. There’s coffee in there—that’ll probably help.”

“I’ve said about twelve times that I’m not drunk,” Clara complained. “Do you want me to walk in a straight line? Recite the Pledge of Allegiance?”

Bobby loosened the collar of his uniform. “Sorry, but orders are orders. It’s not like I even think drinking is such a
big deal. Just last week my buddies and I went to this place called the Big Top—”

“Oh, fine!” Clara said. “It’s like talking to a damn wall.” She looked at Lorraine. “Good job rescuing me.” Then she slammed the door to the supply closet shut behind her.

Bobby looked at Lorraine. “You really need to leave now,” he said. “Walter could get you in real trouble if you’re still here when he gets back. I’ll walk you out.”

Lorraine let out a heavy sigh and walked with Bobby back down the hallway. She needed to come up with a plan to free Clara, and fast. She’d prove that she
could
do something nice for someone else—whether that someone wanted her to or not.

Lorraine stopped at the end of the hallway.

“Why did you stop?” Bobby asked, halting as well. “Is something wrong?”

Lorraine sidled up close to him, nearly pinning him against the yellow wall. She put her gloved hand on his arm and gave Bobby her best sexy sheba stare. “I’m just dying to see the inside of a real jail cell, Officer!”

The security guard’s face flushed and he blinked his big eyes a few times. “I just do this to help pay my tuition. And it’s not a real jail cell. We’re in the basement of a dormitory.”

“I don’t believe you!” she exclaimed. “Of course it’s a cell. You just said so yourself!”

“We call it that. It’s really just a door that locks. You shouldn’t worry about your friend—she’ll be fine.”

“Doors don’t lock! Not where I grew up!” Lorraine blurted out desperately. She looked between him and the door to the supply closet in mock wonder.

“Really? Where did you grow up?”

Lorraine thought for a moment. “Amish country!” She could hear what sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter coming through the door.

Bobby eyed Lorraine’s pleated navy-blue wool crepe Patou day dress. It barely reached her knees. “Dressed like that?”

Lorraine had really picked the wrong outfit today, hadn’t she? He would never believe her now. Unless … “I’m trying to blend in. I’m on my rumspringa!” Lorraine looked down in concern. “Isn’t this what sinners in New York wear?”

Bobby laughed. “You might’ve gone too far in the sinner direction.”

Lorraine gave him a coy smile and ran her fingertip down his skinny chest. “Well, that does seem to be how, um,
non-Amish
girls get the attention of handsome boys like yourself. Now show me this ‘locking door’ of which you speak.”

Bobby, still blushing and a little dazed, walked back to Clara’s “cell.” He unlocked the door and opened it. “See?”

“So,” Lorraine said, “if I go in here and you close the door, I’m locked in?” He nodded. She walked through the doorway. Clara rose from her wooden chair with a hiked eyebrow. Lorraine ignored her and looked back at Bobby. “Show me.”

Bobby closed the door on them and Lorraine tried to turn the doorknob a few times. Then she walked over to
Clara’s chair with a smug grin. “You can thank me later,” she whispered.

Clara stared at her. “Lorraine, what exactly are you—”

“The mouse is going to be your cue to run,” Lorraine whispered.

“What?” Clara asked.

“Try opening the door again,” Bobby called from outside.

Lorraine jiggled the knob and the door opened. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “How do I know you weren’t just holding the knob, using your muscles so that it won’t turn?”

“Because it’s a lock,” Bobby replied, somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

She crossed her arms. “Back on the farm in Amish country, people used to tell tales about things like locks all the time. Like how buildings here in the city have these floating boxes that people ride in instead of climbing stairs! Can you imagine?”

“I should probably get back to work—”

“See, I knew you were lying! Locking doors, what a silly idea.”

Bobby sighed and walked past her into the supply closet. “Okay, this time I’ll let you close the door on me.” He took his key ring out of his pocket and handed a large silver key to Lorraine. “But then you go home, all right? And maybe, well—my shift ends at nine … if you wanted to—”

Lorraine took the keys from him, then pointed at the
corner in mock horror. “A mouse!” she exclaimed. Before Bobby had a chance to look, Lorraine grabbed Clara’s wrist and pulled her through the doorway.

She shut the door, locked it, and pocketed the key.

“Hey, you weren’t supposed to bring your friend out with you!” Bobby called through the door. “And I don’t see any mouse! ”

The girls ran into the hallway. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you did that!” Clara’s voice was high with fear, anger, or admiration. Admiration, Lorraine decided.

“I know! What a rush!”

“What do we do now?” Clara whispered with wide blue eyes.

Ha! Clara Knowles was asking
her
what to do. Competency proven!

“Raine?”

“Run,” Lorraine said. “There’s a church nearby, Saint John the Divine. The guards would never chase us in there. It would be blasphemy or something.”

Clara looked doubtful but nodded.

“I don’t see any mouse,” Bobby called out. “And anyway, I was right about the lock. See? I can’t get out.”

“Are you sure?” Lorraine asked.

The doorknob jiggled. “Yeah, you’ve got the key, remember?”

“You’re right, I do!” Lorraine called with a laugh. “Bye!”

Lorraine gripped Clara’s wrist and pulled her down the hall, away from Bobby and his poor, dumb Labrador eyes.

They ran past the security guards in the office, up the stairs, and straight out the door. They raced across campus, constantly looking behind them. A group of well-dressed Barnard girls and Columbia boys walked toward them—they were probably
actually
coming from the opera. The two girls veered out of the way onto the grass.

Finally they made it through Columbia’s black gate and onto Amsterdam Avenue. They both laughed, relieved. “We made it!” Clara said.

Lorraine looked back to the brick dorm they’d just left and saw two security guards running out the entrance. “Not quite,” she said, pointing.

She grabbed Clara’s hand and they ran straight down the sidewalk. A hulking Rolls-Royce honked loudly at them as they dashed across the street toward an enormous, beautiful Gothic stone church that looked like it had been yanked straight out of a piazza in Italy. The sight of its intricately carved archways, numerous columns, and rooftop spires against the night sky would’ve been gorgeous if Lorraine had had the time to appreciate it. The two girls rushed up the stone stairs and through the heavy bronze doors into the church.

Clara looked over her shoulder when the doors shut behind them. “Do you think we lost them?”

“Definitely. They hadn’t even left campus by the time we got here.”

Clara smoothed her hair under her headband as they
walked down the center aisle. Lorraine found this surprisingly endearing. She’d never felt anything special when she walked into a church. To her, churches were just big, old buildings where people tended to get
very
angry when she pulled out a flask in a pew.

But the quiet wonder of this building did demand respect, no matter what religion a person subscribed to. They passed through the aisle under high, domed ceilings. Creamy white columns stood near the altar. The enormous stained-glass windows added splashes of warmth and vibrancy to the cathedral’s otherwise somber atmosphere. An older woman dressed in black sat with a candle in her hands while a group of tourists marveled at the architecture in excited silence.

Clara and Lorraine slipped into one of the long wooden pews and sat down. “It’s not like an hour in the supply closet would’ve killed me.”

Lorraine shrugged. “If I hadn’t told you all that about Marcus, you never would’ve sneaked into his dorm.”

Clara met Lorraine’s eyes. “
Amish
, Raine, really?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“It did. Thanks, I guess.” Clara sank further into her seat. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously when you tried to tell me about Marcus’s fiancée. You were right. Her real name is Deirdre Van Doren and she’s got some kind of record.”

“Like a criminal one? Then let’s call the police, let them deal with her.”

“Shhh!” a frizzy-haired tourist hissed, glaring at them. Jeez, Lorraine thought, just because she had horrible hair didn’t mean she had to take it out on everyone else.

Clara leaned forward and whispered, “No, I talked to an ex-cop who’d worked some of her cases in the past. He said he
thinks
Anastasia is Deirdre, but he can’t provide anything that would hold up in court.” Clara fiddled with her aquamarine ring. “So I’m going to have to make sure Marcus doesn’t marry her myself. Even if he doesn’t want to be with me, he deserves someone better than her.”

Lorraine studied formerly Country Clara and felt her stomach twist up. She’d known Clara wasn’t really over Marcus—how could she be? It was
Marcus Eastman
. Marcus Eastman, the guy Lorraine had been in love with for the better part of her adolescence. As much as she wanted to save Marcus from ruin, part of her still wanted to be the girl he turned to once he was free of his duplicitous bride-to-be.

But the truth was like a fresh cup of coffee—it woke you up. Marcus would never want
her
. He was still in love with Clara. He never would’ve called security if he didn’t harbor feelings for the girl. Being that angry took a lot of energy—energy Marcus wouldn’t waste on someone who didn’t matter a hell of a lot to him.

Lorraine stared at the high ceilings and felt a chill of piercing but revelatory silence. She could focus on the way Clara had put her down, how Marcus refused to notice her, how Gloria had abandoned her when she’d needed her most.

Or she could get over it and try to take the high road for once.

“I’ll help you do the right thing, Clara. By doing the
wrong
thing. I’m an expert at that. We’ll confront this quiff and chase her out of town!”

Clara nodded. “And if she doesn’t agree to leave, I’ll publish an exposé on her. I managed to dig up a lot of dirt on her today. Maybe not enough to get her arrested, but it would definitely make Marcus’s parents think twice about letting him go through with the wedding.” She paused. “Provided Parker lets me do that. He might want me to focus on parties and gossip—it’s what sells.”