Ingrid looked from Matt to Mariza, who both lowered their heads. Matt was shaking his. She felt as if she had caught them red-handed.
“I wish they would finally just get hitched!” Rowena continued. “Maybe one of those hair knots of yours would do the trick? What do you think, Ingrid?”
“Sure,” she said, smiling wanly. Hair knot. How ugly that sounded! Like something you found clogging up the drain of the bathtub. She felt herself blanch. She wasn’t feeling well at all. Perhaps Mariza and Matt should get married. Mariza, Matthew, Margarita—their names all began with an M. Mariza was beautiful and exotic—even affable and warm, it seemed. They were a family. A child should be with her real mother and father—shouldn’t she?
Rowena finally left, joining Blake, who had been watching with a scowl.
Matt grabbed Ingrid’s hand. “Come sit next to me. Mari was just showing me some school photos of Maggie on her phone. Have a seat!”
“We haven’t even ordered yet,” added Maggie.
Ingrid was so flustered she could barely make out what they were saying. There was no place for her here, she realized. Maggie already had a mother. Matt should probably be with his ex-girlfriend. They looked beautiful together, they made a beautiful family. One that should be left in peace. She looked at Matt, remembering his face from the other night, lying in his bed, their bodies pressed against each other’s with only a thin layer of clothing separating them, his half-lidded eyes, looking at her with such hunger and desire…
No. She should bow out, leave them alone, let them find their way back to each other. It was so terribly obvious that she was a third wheel—actually, much worse than that—a fourth wheel. Ingrid was many things—a witch, a goddess, a sister, a friend—but she was not a home wrecker. She excused herself quickly, saying she had a lot of work to do, and left the three of them alone.
chapter seventeen
From the Mouths of Babes
The yellow cab let them out in Tribeca on a narrow cobblestone street in front of an old warehouse. They looked up at the white facade. The warehouse had been built in the mid-1800s in the Italianate style, fancier in appearance than what its original purpose suggested—to provide large spaces to store goods coming into New York City’s ports. Five stories tall, with enormous arched windows set apart by ornate pilasters, the building was crowned with deep cornices now painted a gray blue.
Joanna placed her hands on her hips. Under her camel overcoat she wore a red knit dress that Norm had helped her pick out—his favorite color on her with her silver hair. “Frankly, I pictured something more run-down, less ostentatious,” she said.
“You know how he is,” said Norman.
The door, a copper fortress of a door oxidized with a green patina, would not budge when Joanna grabbed at the handle. Norman found the buzzer to the right and pressed the single black button.
“Scan,” came a female voice from the intercom.
“Excuse me?” said Norman.
An impatient exhale crackled back at them.
Joanna moved behind Norm and spoke to the wall. “We’re here to see the Oracle?”
“I know,” the snooty voice returned. “You still have to scan. Use your god passes!”
“We’ve been traveling all day. We’re tired,” Joanna said. She was sick of the jaded attitudes in this city.
“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Norm said impatiently.
More crackling from the intercom. “The little blue glass rectangle above the intercom. You see it?” she said slowly as if they were children. They saw it. Someone had graffitied the tag DOG EARS on it in silver marker. “Put your nose right up beneath it. Scan your eyes. That’s your god pass. Then, if you truly are who you say, the doors will open.”
They did as instructed without protest, and once their retinas had been scanned, the large brass door clicked loudly and swung open.
“Take the elevator up to the top floor,” the voice enunciated in a bored tone behind them.
The elevator doors opened onto a large, high-ceilinged white room interspersed with thick columns. It was early evening and the light slanted through the arched windows from the direction of the Hudson River. At the center of the room was a long glass table that doubled as an aquarium. Inside it, electric-blue and tiger-striped fish darted about in bubbling green water among undulating sea plants. Joanna glimpsed a spotted moray eel slithering out from beneath a rock. On the table lay iPads displaying covers of magazines. White orbs that looked like marshmallows functioned as seats. The walls’ enormous flat screens featured video art, large abstracts of moving, swirling, saturated color.
At the very end of the room before the windows, they saw the receptionist station. A clear cube with a silver laptop and a marshmallow orb. A tall young woman in a black blazer and skirt came toward them, her black patent leather heels clipping along the shining cement floor. She wore a headset, and her glossy black hair was pulled into a big knot on top of her head.
“Cappuccino or bottled water?” she asked with a mechanical smile.
“We just want to see the Oracle,” said Norman with a huff.
“Cappuccino or bottled water?” she repeated.
“We’ll take water,” said Norman.
“Have a seat.” She extended an arm like an airline hostess toward the aquarium table. “Browse an iPad. He’ll be with you shortly.” She swiveled around and clipped away toward a door, pressed a button, and the door slid open.
Norman took a seat. “Squishy!” he remarked.
Joanna sat down, found her cell phone, and glanced at it. “Remind me to call Ingrid when this is over.”
The receptionist was already returning, carrying a tray with two tall blue glass cylinders. She mumbled into her headset as she strode toward them. “Come with me, please.” They followed her to a steel door. She pressed a button and the door slid open. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she instructed.
The door slid closed behind them.
“Where’s the Oracle?” said Joanna.
The room was equally as large as the previous one. There was the same kind of colorful swirling art on the walls’ flat screens, but nothing else besides the large clear cube at the center. Resting on top of it was an open laptop. Norman motioned with his head at the cube. They walked toward it. Norman touched the track pad. A call was coming in. Norman clicked Answer. The video feed showed an empty bed with Star Wars sheets and pillows. Loud heavy-metal music blasted from the speakers.