Lucious seemed to register the odd looks from everyone around him. Sheepishly he set the plate down and explained, awkward, "These meatballs really are incredible—I never knew meatballs could taste this good. Uh, okay, I'm sorry! The reason I came over is to let you all know: I'm starting to move out today. After more than ten years as neighbors, I figured I ought to at least come say something."
Lucious's words came out jumbled and out of order, but Maya and the others got the gist.
"Lucious, where are you moving to? A new mansion you bought?" Jennifer was first to ask.
Lucious eyed the big basin of assorted meatballs on the table, swallowed involuntarily, then turned his head and said, "Not bought—I rented a thousand-square-foot apartment over on 53rd Street. Mainly it's convenient for work, closer to the office."
"That area's all industry people—Hollywood, Broadway, the music world. Other than being a notch below the Upper East Side across the way, it's just about the best address in Manhattan," Jack put in, envious.
"Honestly, I'm only there for the time being. Once my music company's up and running properly, I'll buy a villa in the Upper East Side too. Won't cost much—a few tens of millions ought to do it!"
Lucious's little flex had even Maya rolling her eyes. There aren't any villas left in the Upper East Side for you to buy, pal—the old-money set lives in apartments these days. The freaking villas are all out on Long Island.
(Author's note: I don't know about the nineties, but nowadays Manhattan has no standalone villas—it's all high-rise apartment blocks dozens of stories tall. Don't look down on the apartment buildings, though: those are top-tier units, gardens and all.)
"So what about the place here? Are you renting it out?" Jennifer asked suddenly, some thought clearly striking her.
"The company's just getting off the ground, so I need to raise some cash. I'm planning to sell it—I'll list it with the community association in a couple of days," Lucious said.
"How much?" Jennifer pressed.
"My place is a bit smaller than yours—forty, maybe fifty thousand. Why, Jennifer, you two interested?" Lucious was catching on to what she had in mind.
Jennifer gave a reluctant nod and explained, "You know how it is—we just had James, and he's a boy, so he can't share a room with Maya. In a few years we can hardly have him sleeping on the living room couch, can we?"
That actually took Maya aback. She sized up her mother across the room, uncertain and a little startled. Since when did my mom think this far ahead—already worrying about her son's future housing?
Lucious nodded knowingly. "All three of mine are boys, so cramming them together's no problem—but a brother and sister like yours, yeah, that's a headache. Tell you what: I won't even list it. Jennifer, if you two can come up with forty-five thousand, I'll sell it straight to you."
Forty-five grand in this era—converted to RMB, that clears half a million easy. And half a million yuan back in '93—could you even land a forty-some-square-meter secondhand apartment inside the capital's Second Ring for that?
Maya wasn't sure, but in the Manhattan of now, Lucious's asking price was more than fair. And that was only because the place was in Hell's Kitchen—in any other neighborhood it'd start at $100,000, minimum.
At midday Lucious left with a big bag of meatballs—a gift from Jennifer. They'd struck a deal: he'd hold the apartment for her and wouldn't sell it to anyone else for at least two weeks.
"Jennifer, what's your plan here?" After lunch, Maya pulled her mother into her little bedroom and asked.
Jennifer flopped down onto Maya's little bed with a fwump, rubbed her cheek, and said helplessly, "Jack's got a point too, you know. There's nowhere at home for him to write in peace. That fly-by-night outfit of Harvey Weinstein's doesn't even give him a permanent desk—so where's Jack supposed to go, if not the café?"
"So? The whole James thing was baloney, then—what you really want is to leash Jack to the house?" Maya asked, curious.
"I really don't like Audrey, but I'll admit it—she's got real class, she's prettier than me, and she's got more money than me. And if that little tramp Audrey thinks so highly of Jack's screenplay, it means Jack's finally about to hit it big this time. I am not handing him over to some other woman. We buy Lucious's place, knock our two units through into one—that's at least 90 square meters (about 970 square feet) together. Free up one bedroom as a study for Jack, keep the other for James—it kills half a dozen birds with one stone!"
Jennifer's face was all shrewd calculation now, not a trace of her usual dopiness.
"First off, Jennifer, let me tell you plainly: Jack's screenplay this time is going to flop, same as always. Counting on him to blow up overnight and turn into James Cameron? Not happening. Second, Audrey really isn't going to fight you for Jack—you said it yourself, she's got a boyfriend named Clint." Maya couldn't help herself.
Jennifer glanced at her daughter as if looking at a simpleton, shook her head, and said mockingly, "Still just a child, in the end. Cameron himself was a truck driver, you know—however hard Jack flops, he still beats a truck driver, doesn't he? And that Clint, he's just a waiter. One look and you can tell Audrey's the shrewd black-widow type—she preys on rich men. Her current boyfriend is only for fun; wouldn't surprise me if she's already got her eye on Jack as an up-and-comer. Hmph. Yours truly is plenty shrewd too. I'm counting on Jack making it big so he can put an Oscar in my hands someday!"
Jennifer pressed on. "And even if Jack stays a hopeless flop—I'm a mother of two now, I can't just run wild whenever I please. Today I slapped and cursed Audrey right in front of him; he's bound to be sore about it. If I buy Lucious's place and kit him out a study, that smooths things over a little. Remember this, Maya: you can't rule your man with nothing but a heavy hand—a little soothing at the right moment is just as necessary. It's one of the essential arts of keeping a marriage alive!"
Jennifer, you absolute legend. Not only did you peg Audrey as a black widow—you've thought it all through in this much detail and spun me a whole philosophy of marriage on top of it!
"We don't have enough money. What's your plan?" Maya cut straight to the heart of it.
Jennifer didn't explain. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. "Don't you worry about it—I've got it handled!"
Maya thought it over some more and decided buying the place next door couldn't really hurt. Let Jennifer knock herself out. Right now Maya still had a mess of her mother's to clean up—did the woman really think she could rough up the Black Widow, Natasha, and just walk away scot-free?
Maya, at least, wasn't that naive.
She headed straight out to the street, found an empty corner, and—poof—split off a Shadow Clone: a tall Maya in an Akatsuki cloak up top and open-toed ninja sandals below.
The big Maya first turned the cloak's collar up, then let the hair over her forehead fall loose. The little Maya looked her over, fished out a Hidden Leaf forehead protector, and tied it on, fixing the hair in place. That done, Maya herself simply walked off. The reason she'd come out at all was that in broad daylight a Shadow Clone couldn't very well go climbing out of windows. And now that the clone was off to stir up trouble, the real Maya had to keep her own hands clean, didn't she?
And just like that, the Marvel-universe blond Itachi was born.
Itachi-Maya had Shadow Escape active over her face; even up close it was a blur, and to anyone else it just looked like the hair and collar were casting shadows.