"Well," Elinor said, "I see you've come to Washington after all." Her face was drawn and tinged a bit gray, as if she'd changed her foundation or been swallowing silver. She did not ask why everyone had assembled-if they'd come to rally around her or if they were somehow connected to the "trouble" CJ had claimed to be in.
No one responded. They let Elinor's eyes scope out the room, then alight on the panties the way theirs had done.
Like CJ, she shrieked.
When she'd quieted down, CJ told her what had happened, how the panties had been lying in wait, a lace land mine poised to explode on the pillow, shooting shrapnel of feathers and shards of La Perlas. Her description, she knew, was over the top, but, damn, she was angry-angry at her sister, angry at herself, for getting involved.
Elinor blanched, Elinor blinked. Then she recounted what the congressman had said about his wife's favorite color being lavender.
"And now it's time," Manny said, "to call the police."
"You can't make me," Elinor said. She turned to the others. "He can't make me, can he?"
CJ shrugged along with the others, though she silently hoped that he could.
"I'm an officer of the law," Manny said. "I didn't want to be dragged into this, because I know it's my duty to turn this over to the proper authorities. And the proper authorities are not us."
Elinor shook her head. "Go ahead," she said at last, her skin tone reverting to near normal as she uttered her glum resignation. "It doesn't matter. I told Malcolm last night. And everyone in town will know soon enough, now that the congressman knows."
CJ wondered when-if ever-she'd seen her sister this forlorn, a candidate admitting defeat. She stood up and put her hands on Elinor's shoulder. "E," she said, "I'm so sorry."
Elinor patted her hand. "Before the police get here, can we order tea? I need caffeine, CJ. You and I know this is going to get worse."
"Sure. Anyone else want anything?"
There were murmurs for coffee and juice and a bagel. "And scones," Elinor added, matter-of-factly. "Have room service bring a basket of scones. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday, except for that god-awful mousse last night."
It was as if they were going to order tea at the Ritz, with neither a half million dollars nor a nation at stake.
CJ moved toward the phone, then Elinor suddenly cried out, "Oh, my God! I do that every time I'm in a hotel!"
The group raised eyebrows, tilted heads, curled their hair. Well, one curled her hair, anyway.
"Do what?" Manny finally asked.
"I order tea and scones. I did it at the Lord Winslow."
"Anyone who's ever traveled with you knows you do that," CJ added.
Elinor laughed. "You're right. You know. Malcolm does. Jonas. But I would never have dreamed Janice would have remembered. I haven't gone anywhere with her in years."
"Janice?" Yolanda asked.
"My daughter. Three days ago she asked if I'd be staying at the Fairmont. She asked if I'd be ordering scones."
Silence again.
"Don't you see?" Elinor asked, her voice breaking a little. "Janice must have been mocking me. She must have known I had ordered them at the Lord Winslow."
"And that you didn't finish them," CJ added. "That you left them out in the hall, like the housekeeper told me." Her eyes locked with Elinor's in twin perception.
Poppy turned her head. "Does Janice read Vanity Fair?"
Elinor tossed Poppy a halfhearted defense. "My daughter and I don't always get along, but I can't believe she's blackmailing me."
"Did she stay here last night?" Alice asked.
"She said she was going to. Jonas said her boyfriend was with her."
"What's his name?"
"I don't know. I didn't meet him. CJ, did you meet him?"
"Yes. I think his name's Jack."
"Could it be Jake?" Poppy asked. "Is it possible he's a security guard at the Lord Winslow?"
"Does he wear black?" Yolanda asked. "Does he have an iPod?"
"I wonder if he was in Grand Cayman," Elinor hissed.
"And," Poppy added, her breath coming out in little bursts, "I wonder if he likes Chinese."
CJ said, "Shit," then Belita said it, too.
Forty-seven.
Before calling the Capitol Police, Manny let Elinor call Malcolm. Not that she had a clue what to say.
He didn't answer until the fourth ring, as if he knew it was she, and did not want to bother.
"Malcolm," she said, tying to sound normal, trying not to air any more dirty laundry-ha! such pathetic words!-in front of her friends, "please come to the hotel. I believe Janice is my blackmailer."
"Janice? Our daughter?"
She closed her eyes. If she could die now, everything might work out all right. "Yes," she replied.
"Elinor..."
She could not bear explaining the details right then. She could not bear to think she had driven her daughter to hate her so much...her own flesh, her own blood, to conjure such betrayal. In that instant, Elinor regretted every moment she had favored Jonas over her daughter, denounced herself for every time she'd clung to Jonas as if he were the sole lifeline she had to her husband. Had she been so insanely jealous of her sister that she'd needed to make certain Jonas would love her, his counterfeit mother?
Along the way, Elinor had been dreadfully unfair to Janice.
Why had no one stopped her?
She gripped the phone tightly because she knew the answer: No one stopped you because you would not have let them.
Dewdrops leaked from her eyes. "Malcolm," Elinor whispered, "please. We have to confront her, and it will be better if you are here. Janice will need your support. It's obvious she's never felt she had mine." She wanted to ask him to come there for her, too. She wanted to beg him for his support, for his love, though she hardly was worthy of either. "I'm in CJ's room," she added quietly, then gave him the room number.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he replied, then quickly disconnected.
Elinor took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and looked at the others, who stood, without motion, like mannequins at Bergdorf's or Saks.
They waited until Mac arrived. He was somber and tense. His khakis were wrinkled, his hair was askew, and his eyes were slightly glazed, as if he hadn't slept. Elinor knew it was her fault. Could it be a sign that he cared?
CJ told him about the panties, because Elinor did not have the strength. Then Elinor asked him to call their daughter.
"Come to CJ's hotel room," Mac said to Janice. "She wants to show you something before she goes back to New York." He told her the room number as Elinor had told him, though everyone now suspected she already knew it.
And so they waited, mostly in silence, except for Belita, who gurgled and giggled and said several words, one of which sounded like "Poppy."
Then, the knock on the door.
Elinor leaned against the wall, her arms folded, her self-respect gone. For the first time since he'd arrived, Mac glanced at her, but she shook her head. She was finished with being in charge.
He opened the door. "Hi, honey," he said to Janice. "Come on in."
Her hair was its usual mess, her clothes tossed together with her usual thoughtlessness. But when Janice saw everyone, she withdrew, like a shy child caught off guard.
Elinor winced.
"What's going on, Daddy?"
Mac cleared his throat. "Honey," he began, "do you know your mother is being blackmailed?"
Her eyes landed on Elinor. Her gaze turned cool. Elinor recognized the chill that always seemed reserved for her, like a Yalumba Cabernet/Shiraz 2001 or a Chateaux Cheval Blanc Grand Cru. "Blackmailed? Why?"
Jonas might be the theater buff in the family, but Janice had always been a competent actor. The chilled look reminded Elinor of that. "If anyone is going to ask why," Elinor suddenly said, "I guess it should be me." She took a step forward but did not raise her voice. "Why, Janice? Why did you do it? Were you trying to scare me to death? Were you hoping your father would divorce me?"
A small furrow creased Janice's forehead. She looked as if she was going to cry.
Malcolm gently placed a hand on Janice's shoulder. "Honey," he said. "Please. Just tell us if you know anything."
"Know anything? About what?" That's when her eyes seemed drawn to the panties, which still lay spread-eagle on top of the bed. "What is going on?" She turned to someone in the hallway, whom they couldn't see.
"Is your friend with you?" Mac asked. "Maybe he'd like to come in."
"Unless," Elinor added in spite of her guilt, "he's already been here. Has he?"
The chill turned to ice. "Well. So now it's my mother who's accusing me of something. At least my employer had the balls to say what they thought I had done."
"Janice," Mac said, "don't talk to your mother that way."
Janice let out a sharp laugh. "Why not, Daddy? It's not as if anything I say or do affects her. Nothing ever has."
Elinor stepped forward and raised her index finger. "Now just one minute, young lady..."
Mac moved between them. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Both of you. Just stop."
If it was true that energy could be felt in the air, the energy in the room slid from bad to way worse, like Gruyere left out in the sun. Then a short man appeared at Janice's side and boldly marched into the room.
"Jack Dowling," he said, extending his hand to Malcolm. "We met at the party." He wore glasses and had an unfortunate comb-over. "Janice's fiance."
Janice had a fiance? Well, it was a fine time to announce it.
Then Poppy twittered. "Well, he certainly isn't Jake from the Lord Winslow."
"And he wasn't your stalker in Cayman," Yolanda chimed in.
"No," Elinor said, with unexpected relief. "It isn't him." She turned to her daughter. "Oh, God, honey, I am so sorry." Then she went to the bed, sank onto the mattress, and cried in front of them all.
"That does it," Manny said. "I'm going downstairs to alert security, so they don't panic when the police show up. Don't anyone leave until I get back."
Yolanda picked up Belita. "We're coming with you."
The coffee and juice, the bagels and scones, arrived as they were leaving.
"What do you think, Manuel?" Yolanda asked as they scooted from the room.
"I think what I said in the beginning. Your friend should have called the police."
He buzzed for the elevator; the doors instantly opened.
"But isn't there some other way?"
They stepped into the elevator; he pushed the button for the first floor. He didn't respond. Sometimes Yolanda forgot that, at the end of the day, her brother was still a man who didn't like talking about people, especially women.
On the first floor, he paced toward the desk, Yolanda and Belita close on his heels.
He ignored the fact that the clerk was registering a guest. "NYPD." He flashed his badge. "Which way to security?"
The clerk pointed to a side door. "But they're busy right now."
"Yeah," the guest added, with a small chuckle. "They caught an old lady stealing the silver."
Forty-eight.