Something She's Not Telling Us - Darcey Bell Page 0,29

“All she wanted was to escape the Norwegian royal family. There were so many things they expected her to do. Though that didn’t explain why she was always losing her shit—excuse me, Daisy—going off on waiters and salespeople and leaving me to sneak back into restaurants and overtip or pick up the clothes she’d flung around dressing rooms. At the end of the day, I’m grateful for the wild ride. I got to experience this totally decadent lifestyle that I don’t personally want.”

Rocco is looking approvingly at Ruth again, as if she’s expressing a political view, when in fact it’s pure memoir. In any case, he seems contented. Ruth has introduced him and his family to this super cool, cheap, excellent spot in Flushing. He could do worse. He’s done worse.

“Most people think they’d be good rich people,” says Eli.

“It’s worked out for you, Eli,” says Rocco.

Ruth says, “Luck is luck, am I right?”

“You’re right,” Charlotte hears herself say.

“How’s the play?” Rocco asks Eli. “Lady Macbeth still trying to wash the blood from her hands?”

“Not great,” says Eli. “It’s taking everyone’s energy trying to talk the director out of doing the crazy shit in his head.”

“Language,” Daisy says.

Eli says, “Sorry. Now he’s decided that Lady Macbeth should wear a blue Marge Simpson wig.”

Ruth says, “Eek! In high school, we played it in street clothes. It made it even more scary—”

“And they’ve cut the budget,” Eli says.

Ruth says, “That play is the most frightening thing ever. This murderous psycho couple egging each other on. She’s up to her elbows in blood. It was hard to imagine someone ordering the murders of those two princes in the tower.”

There’s a silence. Rocco and Charlotte look at Eli, the nicest of them, to break the bad news about Ruth’s mistake.

“I think that’s Richard III,” he says. “The princes in the tower.”

Ruth’s face turns red. “Oops,” she says. “My bad.”

Eli signals the waiter: more beer for Eli and Charlotte, then a platter of orange slices, and when nothing’s left but peels, dinner’s over. Even Ruth has run out of steam. She has just enough energy left to make eye contact with the owners and check-sign the air.

“We can’t let her pay,” Charlotte mouths at Eli, who reaches for his wallet.

You would have thought he’d reached for a gun, that’s how fast Ruth jumps up.

She nearly bumps into a crowded table as she goes back to the owners. As they run her credit card through the machine, they stand there in the half-relaxed, half-attentive poses of people waiting for something to appear on a screen.

The owner swipes the card again. He calls Ruth around to look, and Ruth shakes her head. She brings the owners over to the table. Ruth’s face is working strangely.

Ruth says, “I have no idea . . . except . . . wait. I’ve been using my grandparents’ address for my credit card statements because some creep keeps breaking into my mailbox in Greenpoint. I’ve been identity-thefted twice. My grandparents are pretty organized, but sometimes they file something in the wrong cubbyhole. Maybe they forgot to pay the bill. It’s happened, but not often . . .”

Charlotte has seen so many cards denied, by now she thinks she can figure out who’s surprised and who expected it to happen. But she can’t tell about Ruth.

“Identity theft is awful,” she says.

“Awful but fixable,” Ruth says. “In return for a big chunk of your time and your life.”

The owners thank Eli for his card.

“I feel terrible,” Ruth says. “Mortified. This was my idea and my treat and my—”

“Don’t worry,” says Eli. “We wanted to pay. The credit card god has ruled in our favor.”

“How charming,” Rocco says darkly.

“Next time’s on me,” says Ruth. “I’ll straighten this out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlotte says.

“I’ll pay you back. I promise. I am so embarrassed.”

They’re getting up to leave when Daisy says, “Where’s my present? Ruth?”

“Daisy, honey, don’t whine,” Charlotte says.

“My God,” Ruth says. “I almost forgot. The most important thing.” She reaches into her tote and pulls out a small package covered with cellophane: a glittering metallic bunny on a chain. She finds a piece of paper, the size of a playing card. She gives Daisy the bunny and card with a ceremonial flourish.

“The bunny is cool,” Daisy says.

“Cool indeed,” says Ruth. “You chain this bunny to your inhaler. And you give this card to your mom. It will tell her how to open a special app on her phone that will find your inhaler no matter