“Meaning what?” Katherine said.
“The first time we met, Matthew was a starving artist living on the top floor of a five-story walkup. Today you’re on the fourth floor. I look forward to the day when you are rich and famous, and I can ride the elevator to your penthouse in the sky.”
“You’re full of shit, Newton,” Katherine said. “The day Matthew is rich and famous is the day you’ll go off and find another poor struggling artist with no money and lots of stairs to climb.”
Newton laughed. “She’s right. Now let me see what I came for.”
He stepped in. “Oh, my,” he said as he took in my latest work. “Oh, my, my, my. Genius.”
“Really?” Katherine said. “You think Matthew is a genius?”
“Oh, heavens, no. I’m the genius. I said he’d get better, and he has. The lad has discovered color. And hope. And passion.”
“Keep talking, Newton,” Katherine said. “Every word of praise is going to cost you more money.”
Newton shrugged. It wasn’t his money.
He picked out five paintings.
“Someday these will be worth millions,” he said. “Until then, I’d peg them at ten grand apiece.”
He wrote me a check for fifty thousand dollars. I couldn’t believe it.
“There’s one catch,” he said, waving the check in my face. “You must let me buy you dinner.”
“Shouldn’t I be buying?” I said. “I mean, that check will cover a year’s worth of dinners.”
He laughed. “Not where we’ll be dining, my boy. Have you ever heard of La Tour d’Argent?”
“I have,” Katherine said, gently plucking the check from his hand. “We accept your generous offer.”
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up at eight forty-five.”
As soon as Newton left, Katherine started rummaging through her closet. “I have nothing to wear,” she said. “
“You look fabulous in nothing. It’s my favorite look for you.”
“You’re not helping,” she said. “Hurry up and get dressed.”
“One question,” I said. “Why is he taking us to dinner?”
“Because he loves to eat, he has a big fat expense account, and he wants to be seen in public with a handsome
I didn’t know. And that made me nervous.
Chapter 100
La Tour d’Argent has been a Paris institution since the sixteenth century. Perched on the river Seine in the heart of Old Paris, it’s a mecca for people who live to eat. Not exactly the kind of place where you pop in and ask for a table for three.
And not just any table. Ours had a sweeping view of the river and Notre Dame Cathedral.
“How’d you manage to get such a good table at the last minute?” I asked.
“All it takes is charm and money,” Newton said. “I supply the former and my employer has oodles of the latter.
The sommelier handed him a wine list.
“This is the manageable version,” Newton said, handing it to me. “They have half a million bottles of wine in their cellar, and the complete wine list is four hundred pages.”
He ordered a bottle of 1990 Louis Roederer Champagne Cristal Brut that cost more than my first car.
“A toast,” Newton said once our glasses were filled. “To our blossoming young artist, Matthew Bannon.”
“And to the beautiful woman who made it all possible,” I said, “Katherine Sanborne.”
“And to Matthew’s generous new patron,” Katherine said. She looked innocently at Newton. “What’s his name, anyway?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say,” Newton said. “He’s a lovely man but rather secretive.” He smiled at me. “I’m sure you understand, don’t you, Matthew? We all have our little secrets.”
“But we’re toasting him,” Katherine said. “He has to have a name.”
Newton grinned. “In that case, feel free to give him one.”
“Copernicus,” Katherine said. “Newton and Copernicus — both drawn to the stars.”
We all drank to Copernicus.
“So, Newton,” I said, “are you as secretive as your boss, or can you tell us a little bit about yourself?”
“Secretive?
“I can’t wait for the book,” Katherine said. “Tell us some of the good parts.”
“Actually, my dear, they were all good parts. When I was twenty years old, I fell in love with Andy Warhol. Some people dismiss him, but he was the bellwether of the art market,” Newton said. “Notice I said art
“And you knew him personally?” Katherine asked.
“Intimately,” Newton said. “Andy introduced me to Timothy Leary, who of course introduced me to LSD.”
“You took LSD?” Katherine said.
Newton shrugged. “It was just a phase, but who among us didn’t experiment in the eighties?”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I was hooked on breast milk back in nineteen eighty. But it was just a phase.”
Newton let out a guffaw, and we spent the next few hours swapping stories of our lives. Mine were carefully edited. His were delightfully entertaining, but I’d be willing to bet they were more bullshit than substance.
By one o’clock I felt like I had learned very little about this man whom I knew only by a single name. Hopefully he knew even less about me.
On the ride home, he had the driver open the moonroof. The three of us rode in silence and gazed at the sky.
“For my part, I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream,” Newton said when we arrived at our apartment.
“That’s beautiful,” Katherine said.
“Vincent van Gogh said it first. Off to bed with you now,” he said with a wink.
Which is exactly where we went.
That night, we undressed each other slowly, gently touching, exploring, caressing. There were no threatening asteroids hurtling toward us. I knew in my heart there would be lots and lots of bright, beautiful tomorrows. At least, that’s what I wanted to believe on that perfect night in Paris.
Chapter 101
IT WAS A warm September evening when Nathaniel Prince set out on his five-mile jog through the streets of Moscow. A half hour into his run, the fine mist that had been in the air turned into a pelting rain. Two minutes later, it stopped as suddenly as it started, but Nathaniel was already soaked to the skin.
