“So this is how the other half lives,” JJ thought as she stepped out onto Rachel Warner’s terrace. “Or is it the other 1 percent?” Only the anointed could afford a Fifth Avenue 7th floor apartment with a front row seat overlooking Central Park.

 JJ scanned the canopy of trees that stretched like a blanket before her. She could make out slivers of open fields and the winding paths that ran, like veins, through the park. And there, most breathtaking of all, the reservoir. To her, the reservoir was a runner’s mecca. True, it drew too many pilgrims, but weaving through them was worth every step. She loved how the water reflected the sky — actual sky! Perhaps the rumors were true: that there really was a world above and beyond the City’s skyscraper canyons. “Definitely going for an early run tomorrow,” she thought. Before 8 a.m., when the heat and humidity began their death-grip on the day.

 The phone rang and she went inside to answer it. “Where the hell have you been?” the woman screamed before JJ had time to say hello. “You’ve stood me up twice now and I don’t like it, not one little bit. You hear me, Rachel?”

 “Impossible not to,” JJ thought. Every Rachel between Manhattan and LaGuardia Airport had.

 “Say something, damn it!”

 “Okay,” JJ said. “Who is this?”

 “Who is this? Who IS this? It’s Millicent, of course.”

 But of course: Rachel’s Hang-up-if-she-calls friend, Millicent. JJ hung up.

 Within moments, the phone rang again. JJ ignored it and resumed her tour of Rachel’s apartment. JJ had already seen the all-white living room and the all-yellow guest room, where she had set up camp. It, too, was done up in the minimalist style: night stand, a two-drawer dresser and concrete slab of a bed, and a free-standing fish tank, belching bubbles.

 JJ walked down the hall, found a bathroom and laundry room, a couple of closets and an entertainment room that had a lone couch, a flat screen TV the width of a full-size bed, and an equally large aquarium built into the wall. JJ walked up to the tank’s glass and tapped her knuckles against it. Its dozens of small red and gold fish scattered.

 Next up, Rachel’s bedroom. JJ tread carefully. The room, though bare, had a lush dark blue rug that she left footprints on when she walked. Tempted as she was, she didn’t open drawers or closets, or peer into Rachel’s bathroom cabinet. Experience had taught JJ that what clients hid from sight, they hid for a reason, and it was best not to know why. What they kept in the open — well, that was a whole other story.

 Rachel’s bathroom was, in fact, a two-room suite. The first room was of blue marble. Walls, floor, sinks, toilet and one of those French contraptions that sprayed water up your butt. There were bars of sweet-smelling soap shaped like seashells, towels as thick as quilts and matching terry robes with embroidered initials: “I” for Ivan, “R” for Rachel. How nauseatingly sweet.

 The second room, also done up in blue marble, had a bathtub — make that, pool — a separate shower and a Jacuzzi. Connecting each was a serpentine aquarium built into the floor.

 “Ivan adores fish,” Rachel told JJ as they sat in Rachel’s living room. “Personally, I’d rather have a goat.” “No kidding,” JJ thought. “I’d rather have one too.”

 JJ returned to Rachel’s bedroom and studied the brass-framed photo sitting atop the dresser. “Ah, the happy couple,” JJ scoffed. But they really did look happy, standing on a cliff, the ocean spread beneath them like a bed of silk sheets. JJ assumed it was their wedding picture. Rachel was wearing a tight white dressed with a neckline that plunged lower than the Dow. Both hands were wrapped around a small but held a small but lovely bouquet of cream-colored flowers. Ivan had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, as if to keep her from falling into the water.

 On a scale from 1 to 10, JJ rated Ivan a 7. Tall, dark and moderately handsome. Well-built and maintained. All-American smile. His hair wasn’t bad either. Receding, yeah, but it had a romance-novel look to it: black, lustrous, shoulder length. JJ guessed he was older than Rachel by about 10 years — or maybe five, or 20. JJ was a terrible judge of age. Just last week she guessed Cal’s to be 18, when he was, in fact, 24. He was not amused; in fact, he seemed hurt. “What’s wrong with being 18?” JJ laughed, but Cal just looked away.

 The phone rang. JJ ignored it — Millicent could go screw herself — and went in search of the kitchen.

 The kitchen wasn’t hard to find. It was, as Rachel had so astutely noted, the room with the stove. The room also had a refrigerator, which offered up nothing but a carton of egg whites, a quart of orange juice, a flat-chested chicken breast, several wrinkled apples and a half-dozen chunks of goat cheese in stinky varieties:  Gouda, Feta, Chevre, Montrachet, Bucheron …  Did Rachel like goat cheese that much that she’d want a goat as a pet? JJ slammed the fridge door.

 JJ walked to the counter, where she found the coffeemaker. It was, as Rachel claimed, a complicated piece of machinery, more gizmos that a cockpit. JJ shook her head. She’d have to go out for coffee and groceries. Why not? She was making an obscene $300 a day house-sitting and could afford an obscenely priced latte, maybe even a scone.

At the other end of the counter, JJ found the $200 in cash Rachel, her benefactor, had left as a deposit for her services. She also found the hand-written note Rachel had left. In child-like handwriting she wrote:

 JJ —

 Thank so much, truley thanks. I can’t thank you enough though I guess I have already thanked you. Sorry.

 I amleaving you a print out of my husband’s notes about how to take care of his fish. Please read it carefully because their are a lot of fish all over the place and they need different kinds of food and stuff like that. If you need anything, Manny (he’s the doorman in the morning_) will help you,

 The afternoon doorman is Harold. He’s very nice and helpful but don’t curse in front of him or anything. He’s VERY religious. Not that you would curse of course. Earnest.Or maybe it’s Ernest works the graveyard shift. (I should have said night because the word graveyard makes it sound like he works in a graveyard if you know what I mean. Do you know what I mean?)

Ernest I guess is nice but I don’t really no because I go to bed early and don’t talk to him much. Also, he falls asleep alot on account that he works two jobs and gets tired a lot. He and his wife just had there 3rd child and he doesn’t get to sleep much. I feel bad for him.

 Wha t else should I tell you? Not that you can tell me on account that I’m not there. Maybe one thing and tht’s that my massage guy — Avatar — is supposed to drop by tomrorrow afternoon. He always comes on Tuesday aftternoon at 3 on Tuesdays. I didn’t have time to call him so could you take the massage for me? I don't’ want him to stop by for no reason. He is very good but a little strange because he only wears yellow. Not that I mind yellow, but my favorite color is dark blue. Doyou have a favorite color? You don’t have to pay him because I pay in advance but you should give him a tip. Maybe you can use the money I left you and I’ll paid you back when I get home.

 Thanks again for helping me out. You don't know how much this means to me. I will call Andy Miller to thank him for giving me your number.

 Rachel xoxo

 P.S. Remember to Hang up on Millicent.

As if JJ had to remember. Undoubtedly Millicent would call again. And again. And Again. Who exactly was this woman Rachel felt compelled to warn her against? Shouldn’t Rachel have told her why? And how convenient for Rachel to leave town and leave JJ to deal with the psychopath. It was almost as if Rachel planned it that way.

 Well, JJ would worry about Millicent later. There was a more important task at hand. She grabbed a twenty dollar bill from the counter top and stuffed it in her pocket; it was time to find the nearest coffee shop.

 Manny, the doorman, was standing guard in the lobby as she stepped off the elevator. He blocked her path.

 “So it’s the little house-sitter,” he said, or was it challenged? “Must be hard work. Sitting and watching TV all day. Snooping around, helping yourself to stuff.”

 JJ estimated he was 5’7, 150 pounds. No problem taking him on. She knew where to kick.

 “Actually, house-sitting is easier than being a doorman,” she said. “I don’t have to stand all day, wear a dumb-ass uniform and open the door for people who don’t give a rat’s ass who I am.”

 Manny stepped closer to her. “Listen, bitch — “

 “No, you listen,” JJ said as she rammed her finger into his shoulder. “You touch me, you even touch the air around me, and you will never pee again.”

 “You threatening me?”

 “Just sharing information. Now get out of my way.”

 He didn’t budge. “You think you’re tough and all that, well, you don’t know shit.”

 “I don’t want to know shit,” JJ said. Knowing shit only got you into deeper shit.

 “If you were smart, you’d — ”

 “Look,” JJ said. “I don’t know what your problem is, why you’re busting my balls. I’m here because Mrs. Warner wants me here. If you don’t like it, take it up with her.”

 Manny put his hands on his hips. “Maybe I will. But for now, I’m warning you. This is my building. I know everything that goes on here, and I’m going to be watching you.”

 JJ sighed. “Look, how about I pretend to be scared of you. This way we both win. You get to keep your macho pride and I go get myself a cup of coffee.”

 The lobby door opened and Manny turned. “Good morning, Miss Drake,” he said as he ran over to assist the elderly woman. He pointed at JJ and mouthed, “You wait.”

 Mrs. Drake’s fur coat glistened, as if she had skinned the animal that morning. He wove her hand through his arm and they shuffled to the elevator.

 “Hope you don’t mind me saying, Miss Drake, but you look like a million bucks.”

 “A million bucks in tips,” JJ grumbled. Manny shot her a dirty look.

 “Watch your step,” he said as he packed Miss Drake into the elevator. She patted his cheek and slipped him a ten.

 The elevator doors closed and Manny walked back to JJ. “Where were we?”

 “Nowhere, as far as I’m concerned,” JJ said.

 “Oh, that’s right. You were going out for coffee,” he said.

 “So?”

 “So get me a cup too. Black, two sugars.”

 “Why should I do anything for you?”

 “Because you and me have a lot in common.”

 JJ snorted. “I doubt that.”

 “You’ll see,” Manny said. “Besides.”

 “Besides what?”

 Manny grabbed her wrist. “Besides, I’m treating.” He shoved Mrs. Grant’s tip into JJ’s hand. “Black, two sugars,” he winked and then ran to meet the cab that pulled up to the curb.