AMANDA’S mind shot into overdrive. She glanced quickly toward the back of the dark gallery. Dracula was disappearing into his secret lair. Her head snapped back. The nerdy young woman was already headed toward the incoming customer.
Entering from the bright outside into the dark interior of the shop, the dreaded large man was momentarily blinded.
Amanda dropped like a stone and hunched behind one of the display tables piled high with paintings. Cissy’s new pair of twelve dollar DKNY hose split over one of her elegantly uncovered knees. The Garbo slouch hat lurched lower and the Sophia Loren dark glasses dislodged and toppled toward the floor.
Amanda’s hand shot out and grabbed the glasses before they clattered onto the wooden planks. She held her breath.
The chirping young assistant’s voice was counterpointed by the gruff, deeper tones of inquiry.
What in heaven’s name is he doing here? Is he going to smash up the place? Is he in cahoots with Count Dracula? Dear Lord, did he follow me?
Amanda strained to hear what the pair was saying as she slipped out of the Ferragamos and flipped the silk scarf around her neck to keep from tripping.
“Gee. They just disappeared. I guess the other customer is in the back with Mr. Pinks. You should wait here. He doesn’t like people in the back unless he asks them.”
There was no answer, but the thumping tread of his feet and his heavy breathing as he followed the young woman indicated he had no intention of remaining in the front. Their footsteps approached Amanda and passed by the other side of the table.
“Oh. Well, okay. But you have to stay out here while I go in the back.” He grunted. Hidden from their sight by the massive table, Amanda imagined his steely eyes following the young woman opening the door of the Inner Sanctum.
Now was the time make a break for it. Crouching on tip-toe, she scuttled from behind the table, her calves screaming, clutching the shoes and her Mark Cross bag. The door was mere feet away. She rose to dash out.
“Aaagh!” The scarf caught in a dusty Rococo frame and yanked her head upright.
“Oh, you’re still here,” Count Dracula called out, emerging from his back room lair. Amanda breezily waved her hand in a grand farewell gesture and swooped out the front door shoving her collapsed Garbo hat out of her face just in time to avoid plowing into the doorframe. She had seen the large man turn and squint against the outside light.
“Au revoir,”the proprietor of Pinks called out as she moved in large, unhurried, exaggerated strides past the shop window.
And then took off like a shot.
She was half way up the block, her bare feet crying out in pain, her eye on the cracked sidewalk when she ran smack into the large man’s chest! He must have dashed out a back door and taken out after her. Amanda screamed bloody murder.
MARC COULDN’T concentrate. He wasn’t all that comfortable in museums anyway. Probably something left over from the art world making his brother’s life hell, which in turn made his life hell. And the guy in charge of the Metropolitan’s exhibition was an imperious prig.
Marc knew Cambiare had used its influence to get David hired. The auction house did seem to be doing everything in its power to treat his brother fairly and give him every opportunity to redeem himself. It had been, what? About ten years. David had proven himself in small attributions and as a respected teacher. Now all he needed was a major coup like nailing an international forger to put him back on the fast art world track.
Or getting the last laugh on the international art community by pulling off the forgery himself. Not a pretty thought. But a possible one.
Marc explained David’s absence to the arrogant curator and gave him David’s number. The hospital had said it was perfectly acceptable for David to receive calls and visitors.
“I’m sure we will be able to manage.” The curator looked over his half-glasses with a faint smile. “We do wish him a speedy recovery.” David’s young female assistant nodded earnestly, her lips pinched tight in distress.
Marc asked her to show him through the rooms so that he might inform David how the installation was progressing and suggested she might give his brother a call and stop by after work to fill him in more completely. She eagerly agreed.
Nodding obsequiously to his favorite Metropolitan guard, Marc left the exhibition area. He was amazed at the rebuilding of walls and resculpting of display space that was taking place. Mounting a major exhibition was a big deal. He was impressed big brother had been asked to participate.
“WE WERE only too glad to do whatever we could to assist in solidifying Mr. Parkerson’s reputation.” The head of Cambiare’s New York office offered Marc a coffee.
“And calling me in to spy on my brother was an efficient and practical way of backstopping your decision, right?” Marc noted.
The elegant man smiled coolly. “If anyone had the motivation to prove him innocent of these absurd charges…”
“Yeah, we’ve been over that ground. Where the hell is the insurance guy from the London office? I’ve got better things to do with my time…”
Like track down my head-strong girl friend and see what the hell trouble she may be getting herself into. Girl friend? Well, yeah. I mean, we were intimate. That must count for…
“I’m truly sorry. I was told he would be available today. He’s been a bit under the weather.”
“What does he look like?” Marc’s voice was sharp and his look intense. He had a sudden, startling thought.
“Wh… I… I’ve never met the man myself. We’ve only spoken on the phone. Short, compact, I understand. The London office sent a description ahead. I’m sure we could ask for more detailed information.”
Marc shook his head. “No, no. That’s fine. Have him get in touch with me as soon as he can. It’s important that we compare notes. Another factor seems to have entered the case and it’s getting a bit heavy.”
Short. Compact. Another dead end. Damn.
The director’s eyes grew large and his back stiffened. “Heavy? Do you mean violence? Perhaps it’s time to get the police involved.”
“And they will inform you they can do nothing until they are given more definite leads. The break-ins could be coincidence.”
“Break-ins? You didn’t inform us…”
“I’m informing you now. Somebody’s really hot to get his hands on something.” He gave a short derisive snort. “The cops would be thrilled to hear those specifics.” Marc stuck his hand out to leave. “Don’t worry. No, as a matter of fact, do worry. Tell your staff to keep particularly on the alert. I wish I could be more definitive, but I don’t really know more than that. I was hoping the insurance investigator might be able to add some information from his end.”
He shook the worried looking executive’s hand and left.
It was late afternoon Friday. The streets were crowded with chic Madison Avenue types hurrying to get away early for the weekend.
I’ve gotta bring this thing to a head soon.
Marc zigzagged easily though the sidewalk throng as he moved quickly toward Rockefeller Center. The insurance investigation firm was an international one. He should have thought about contacting the New York office before.
Your mind’s been on other things- Right. The delicate tint of blue veins under her perfect coral skin… The succulent moistness of her parted lips.He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Annoyed pedestrians side-stepped him.
He was in front of Tiffany’s. He needed to get away from all the rushing bodies to think. Marc wandered aimlessly among the spare, elegant showcases. In front of a particular one, he stopped and stared blankly.
“May I show you some engagement rings?” The smartly dressed saleswoman tilted an elegantly coifed head toward the array of sparkling jewelry.
Marc bolted from the store.
“MISS EMERSON, for heaven’s sake, pull yourself together. It is I!”
Amanda shoved herself away from the thug clutching her, ready to let loose with another bloodcurdling scream. She blinked. It was Mr. Wilde.
“I hardly recognized you,” he noted, stepping back to admire her appearance. He chuckled, quizzically. “And you obviously didn’t recognize me.” He caught sight of the shoes clutched in her hand and the expensive bag. And then the yellow emerald. “Good heavens, is that real? This is not the neighborhood…”
“It’s fake. What are you doing here?” Her heart was pounding. She shoved the shoes back on her feet and tried to resettle the slouch hat into some semblance of correctness. Had the scream rousted the big guy and Pink Dracula to come chasing her down? A few people were giving them wide berth on the sidewalk, but other than that her scream seemed only to have attracted momentary attention.
She dragged Mr. Wilde into a nearby coffee shop carved out of a dark corner of one of the reconverted eighteenth century manufacturing buildings prevalent in the area.
“Is something wrong, Amanda? You seem particularly on edge.”
“What are you doing here, Wilde?” Amanda asked sharply.
“Uh, coffee? Tea? You want a bagel?” A young man stood waiting at their elbows and she realized she hadn’t had lunch.
Wilde looked around perplexed. “A cappuccino, please. With a cinnamon stick, if possible. The young lady will take tea. Earl Gray. Bring milk.” He looked at her severely. “Miss Emerson, I need an explanation for your rather extraordinary attitude.”
“So do I, Mr. Wilde. What are you doing in this part of town?”
“Well, I say. That is a bit brusque. I shall assume you have your reasons for bordering on the rude. I was looking for an out-of-the way gallery that several of us had prior dealings with some months ago.”
“Pinks?”
“Yes.” His disgruntled face brightened. “Do you know the place? I can’t for the life of me remember where it is. The streets down here are as convoluted as…”
“What sort of dealings? And who?”
“Nathan had the bizarre idea we might be able to place some of our work. I told him I had no interest in such matters, but the others were quite insistent.”
“Who ‘others’?”
He smiled an understanding, benevolent smile. “It was long before you became a member of the class or I’m sure we would have included you. Although, it was all to no avail.”
“Who ‘we’?” Amanda sat her cup of tea down with a snap.
Mr. Wilde reacted to the sharp gesture. At Amanda’s look he hastened to answer. “Nathan and Christine. And the professor, of course.”
His mind slipped to another track. “You should know the professor has been quite upset at Parkerson’s accident. Blames himself. Rather overreacting, I should think. But nonetheless, he called me in quite a state and insisted I get down here and retrieve the drawings the rather strange proprietor had taken on assignment. Said he was insisting Christine and Nathan do likewise. I thought perhaps seeing you at work today might calm him. You know how fond…”
Amanda had to choke back a lump. “Oh, gee. Mr. Wilde, you don’t think he’s beginning to lose it, do you? He… he’s so fragile.” She should have gone to the office. Been there when the professor needed to talk to someone. He had always been there when she needed him.
Mr. Wilde sighed and sipped his cappuccino meditatively. “These last several weeks, have you noticed? He seems to be more distracted than ever. And then this dreadful occurrence at the League…”
Amanda sat up. “Mr. Wilde, what do you think of a private posing session? Just the four of us? I’m sure we could get Antonio this weekend. All to ourselves. His extraordinary talent. Just for us. Do you think that would please the professor? Get his mind off himself. Nathan, I think, would like that and Christine would, too.”
The large artist stared at her for a moment and then his eyes began to flick about excitedly. “What a brilliant, brilliant idea! Miss Emerson you are a life-saver. I’ve been wanting… The professor and I have often spoken of…” His jowly face was ablaze with enthusiasm. “Do you know, I have the most extraordinary… What do you think of costumes?”
“Do you mean dress up?”
“Yes! Like fifteenth century Florentines. With the proper paper and ink. Oh, I know that would excite the professor.” He chuckled, downing his cappuccino. “It’s certainly exciting me. Do you know how to get in touch with young Antonio? He’s absolutely perfect, you know.”
“Yes. Absolutely perfect.” Amanda had a sinking sensation. She should have run the idea past Marc first. This was pretty big and Wilde was making it bigger by the second. She took a deep breath and fiddled with the emerald, watching the gold and yellow fireworks burst from deep within the stone.
The older artist leaned over. “That ring is not a fake and you had better take care how you display it in this rather seedy section of the city.” He looked about cautiously.
Suddenly a large shape passing outside the narrow window of the coffee shop caught Amanda’s eye. She ducked her head quickly and waited a few seconds. When she turned back, the large shape had passed by.
“Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Wilde.” She slipped out of the booth and peeked out the door. The large man was hurrying down the street in the opposite direction of Pinks. Her heart hammered. Should she go back to the spooky little shop? Might she find Dracula with a stake through his heart? Would the drawings be gone? The lumbering big man had not been carrying a portfolio but he could certainly have secreted several drawings under his coat. What would Marc want her to do?
Nothing. He doesn’t like the idea of me doing anything.
“You seem to be in some distress, Miss Emerson. I didn’t mean to alarm you about the neighborhood.”
“Mr. Wilde, will you do me a big favor? I’ll tell you where Pinks is and you can go retrieve your work. Will you come back and tell me what you observed? I’ll wait here. I have to warn you, though. Something might be wrong, so do go in cautiously. And then again, nothing may be wrong.” She smiled wanly, hoping he would let it go at that. He did.
“This is a most upsetting period. Certainly I’ll do as you ask. I take it I’m not to refer to…” He took a careful look at her appearance.
Amanda imagined he was debating with himself. But if she had wanted to give him more information, she would have, therefore, as a gentleman of the old school he would act on her request with what information he had. He nodded, looked around to assure himself she was in a safe, reputable establishment and left.
Amanda’s imagination went haywire. Mr. Wilde discovering the battered body; the place in utter disarray; cops everywhere; taken into custody; the next time she would see him would be in a rage behind bars.
Or nothing. She couldn’t be absolutely certain the big man was the same big man that had bedeviled her and Marc. She could be working herself up for no reason whatsoever. Amanda put her face in her hands.
I’m not made for this kind of stuff.
Yeah? Well, why did you take off on your own down here in the first place? Too many Nancy Drew books? You wanna impress the guy you’re smarter than he gives you credit for? Looks like a forger’s ego isn’t the only ego causing trouble.
She went to the pay phone enclosed in an old-fashioned cozy, wooden booth where she could still see their table and phoned Marc. The machine picked up with David’s rather terse announcement to leave a message.
“Marc, it’s me, Amanda. I… that is, Mr. Wilde thinks it’s a great idea if… We thought if we could get ‘Antonio’ for a private session with just the four of us this weekend, maybe… I mean, I thought maybe… with just the four of us… we might… I’m not at the office. Leave me a message at the apartment. I…” It slipped out before she could stop it. “I miss you… I’m sorry I…” She hung up.
The chrome plating of the modern instrument seemed incongruous in the warm wooden booth.
Where do you want this to go, girl? He was passionate and tender. You couldn’t have asked for a more caring lover. What’s your problem?
The problem was she hadn’t planned on getting involved with anyone just yet. There was a lot to accomplish in her young life. She had convinced herself the higher she climbed up the corporate ladder the better the pickings would be. Amanda flopped back against the wall, her finger picking at her torn hose.
I sound like my roommate.
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Another meeting of the Bad Luck Club. Cissy and Christine’s very definite opinions seemed to challenge her into clarifying her own position to herself. She liked that. A good executive stance: get opinions from the experts, then make up your own mind. Good. She was feeling better. She dialed the office.
Jimmy was very pleased with himself. “You woulda been proud of me, boss. Ole Untermeyer’s really pushing to get me to set something up.”
“Who?”
“The money guy, remember? Jeez, boss, you really are out of it. Cissy said…”
Amanda couldn’t believe she had let the business get shoved so far into the back of her mind. “How did your lunch date go? I’m sorry, I think I made her late.”
“She was really proud of how she fixed you up. We can’t wait to see.”
“We? Who, Jimmy? This makeover of Cissy’s was a temporary thing. It’s not permanent.”
“The professor, of course. He’s gotta know everything that’s happening to you. And then he told Nathan. Oh, by the way, I let him off for the afternoon. That was okay, right? I mean he really seemed upset or something.”
“Nathan upset?”
“Are you kidding? Nah, the prof. He wanted to do something. Got a call from somebody. Wanted to drag Nathan off with him but smart-ass wasn’t having any of it. Y’know, I think the professor ought to give up on that kid. He’s been trying to mother him along too long.”
“Mentor, Jimmy. Mentor. The professor thinks Nathan is an extraordinary talent. And you have to agree.”
“Me, I woulda dumped Picasso. Did you read that dame’s book about what a bastard he was? I don’t see why the rest of us have got to put up with that kinda ‘artistic’ crap, pardon my French, ‘specially when you’re running a business…”
Jimmy was feeling his oats. The luncheon with Cissy must have gone swimmingly. Amanda feared to think what havoc the young hot-shot might create if given full rein.
“Jimmy, thanks for handling Untermeyer. And of course it’s fine if the professor wants to take off early.” She almost expected to see her old friend hurrying past the coffee shop window on his way to Pinks, though she couldn’t quite figure Nathan’s attitude.
I wonder if the kid knows more than he’s letting on? Who did Mr. Wilde say had urged him to get his work back from the gallery?
“Thanks for looking after things. I don’t think I’ll make it back to the office this afternoon. Close the place up carefully for the weekend. I’m glad you and Cissy had a nice lunch.” She knew that final remark demanded a response and he knew it, too.
“She’s a terrific lady, Amanda. I think it went good. She said maybe we could do it again sometime soon. You think I got a chance? I mean, she’s really a classy lady.”
Cissy would have him crawling. And he sounded like he would be perfectly happy doing so.
“Of course you have a chance, Jimmy. You’re a pretty classy guy yourself. She’d be lucky to get you.”
“Yeah? Ah, I dunno…”
Yeah. They’d make a perfect couple.
The waiter was tapping frantically on the glass inset of the folding doors. Mr. Wilde was stalking about their table breathing fire. He headed in the direction of the phone booth.
“Jimmy, I gotta go. Thanks again. ‘Bye.”
Mr. Wilde was in extremely high dudgeon. He ordered a dark stout to calm his nerves.
“An absolutely amazing series of events, Emerson. I should not have taken your admonition lightly. The proprietor greeted me with flinging himself behind stacks of very bad reproductions and shrieking at the top of his lungs about calling the authorities while that odd, young woman cowered in a corner and burst into tears.” He pressed a handkerchief to his forehead
“I demanded they explain themselves and react professionally. When they realized it was I, as opposed to the person they had assumed I was, they began babbling most chaotically.”
His drink was delivered. Mr. Wilde took a tentative sip as if to reassure himself it was safe to down. Satisfied, he took a grateful swallow.
“It appears there was a previous encounter with a person resembling myself which was quite distasteful. The vulgarian had demanded information from them they had no intention of divulging, since it was none of his affair, at which point he became frighteningly demonstrative.
“I had noted some disarray when I entered, though, in truth, the shop has always struck me as a poor excuse for a proper art gallery. Ah, you are looking increasingly anxious. Forgive me, I do tend to get verbose when I’m upset.” He dabbed his damp face and swallowed another draft of stout.
“I’m sure you wish me to- how does one put it?- jump to the chase.” He gave a nod of understanding and continued. “I retrieved my pictures. That dreadful proprietor very tattily said ‘good riddance,’ and hurried me out.”
Wilde looked concerned. “I could have sworn that I had left a drawing of a female nude, very Ingres-like, of which I was quite proud, but he insisted I had done no such thing.” He shrugged. “And he could have been correct. I tend not to pay too much attention to the ‘provenance’ of my drawings.” He chuckled at his joke. “Simply placing them in appreciative hands is more than adequate satisfaction.”
Amanda felt the hairs at the base of her somewhat disheveled French twist rise. “And whose ‘appreciative hands’ would that be, Mr. Wilde?”
“Why the professor’s, of course. He does have the most discerning eye.”
Amanda’s heart sank even farther. The professor did seem to be getting in deeper and deeper.