Never Love a Naked P.I.

“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.

Chapter 14

MARC WAS angry.

And Amanda couldn’t really blame him.

He was angry she had tried the foolish impersonation stunt alone, angry she had wandered around the streets after encountering the big guy, and angry she had come up with such a loony idea as the posing session without consulting him.

Except, they both agreed, her plan for the private session was exactly what needed to happen. They could get the four suspects together and put on the pressure to find out which one was the bad guy, before the yet undiscovered bad guy decided to do somebody in.

Amanda looked around at the crowd of people in Washington Square, hurrying from one place to another. NYU students, all ages, backpack laden, business men and women rushing to take off for the weekend, the unkempt homeless and groups of people just hanging out.

Marc was expounding earnestly-had been for many minutes, Amanda noted distractedly-occasionally shoving his horn rims back up his nose.

His contacts must be bothering him.

There seemed to be nothing left of the lamplight-dappled moments she and “Antonio” had spent strolling the same walks a few evenings ago. That Antonio was gone.

That Amanda was gone, too.

Amanda chewed on her lower lip. Which wasn’t doing her subtle Makeover-by-Cissy look much good.

“Marc, I’m not listening to you.” She stopped him mid-reprimand. She plopped down on a nearby park bench, dislodging a sprawling street person, whose first reaction was to protest but at the cross look from Amanda decided he might get the worse of the confrontation.

Marc looked as startled at her action as did the mumbling pile of rags that shuffled off into the crowd. Amanda turned the same determined look on her slack-jawed companion.

“I have listened to you rant ever since you got here. Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself in this city. I told you I saw that large, ugly man leave Pinks. Both Mr. Wilde and I kept an eye out. He was gone.” She waved her hand, dismissing the danger.

“I called and you had left no message on your machine about how to get in touch in case of an emergency. I put Mr. Wilde in a cab; there were people everywhere. The park was only a few blocks away. It made perfectly good sense to me to leave SoHo and come here to try and phone you again. There was no reason for you to get hysterical.” She crossed her hands brusquely and snapped her head away. The slouch hat slid over one eye.

She could feel Marc stiffen, hovering above her, and she could almost feel the added heat from his reddening cheeks. He didn’t like being crossed either.

“I was concerned about you.” The words could barely force themselves through his clenched teeth. “And guys