“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?
“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.
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.
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.
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.”
