I showed them the second picture, the one of Lilith standing in front of the tomb of Christopher Columbus with the man I assumed to be Zan. ‘Do you know who this is?’ I asked, tapping the man’s face.
Elspeth studied the image for a few seconds, nodded in recognition, then shared that photo with her sister, too. ‘He was the love of Lilith’s life,’ she told me, looking wistful. ‘Claire, what was that man’s name? Something Japanesey, as I recall. Zen?’
‘No, it wasn’t Zen.’ Wrinkles furrowed Claire’s brow and she stared up at the massive stone archway that dominated the park, deep in concentration. ‘No, it was Zan. Zan something.’
‘Did Zan have a last name?’
Elspeth laughed. ‘Of course he had a last name, dear! Something foreign with little squiggles on it. Claire, do you remember?’ Claire shook her head, her gray curls bouncing against her neck. ‘I can’t remember if I ever heard her say it. Lilith always referred to her boyfriend simply as Zan.’ She handed the picture back to me. ‘Lilith kept pretty much to herself. Didn’t talk much about her private life, but whenever that man was in town…’ She tapped the photo with a neatly manicured index finger. ‘Well, whenever Zan showed up, that girl simply glowed.’
Claire brightened. ‘Lilith had a studio somewhere down on West Broadway. She was an artist, you know.’
‘I did know. I have some of her work, in fact. She was into photorealism back then, wasn’t she?’ I said, drawing on information I had gleaned from one of Zan’s letters.
Claire nodded. ‘She even had a picture in a group show at the Meisel Gallery on Prince Street. We went to see that show, didn’t we, Ellie? It was a painting of sunlight shining on broken glass vases. She was very talented.’
‘Is that how Lilith made a living?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Claire said. ‘She was always most reluctant to part with her work. I often wonder what happened to all those beautiful paintings when she moved away.’
‘When was that?’
‘About the time the building voted to go condo,’ Ellie cut in. ‘That would have been, let’s see, 1986.’
‘No, that’s not right, Ellie. She moved away in April, or maybe May, of 1987. Remember? They’d just put up the scaffolding in front of the building. The movers had to work around it.’
‘I distinctly remember it was 1986, Claire. The year Pedro died.’
‘Pedro died in 1987.’
‘Oh, well she left in ’87, then.’
‘Who’s Pedro?’ I asked.
‘Our dog.’ The sisters said it in unison, setting off a fit of giggles.
‘He was a chihuahua,’ Ellie explained. She held her hands in front of her, palms facing, about eight inches apart. ‘He was that tiny.’
I pointed at the German shepherd who was lolling in the dirt with his playmate and raised an eyebrow.
Ellie laughed. ‘Well, we’ve super-sized it, haven’t we? Meet Bruno.’
Long, lean, strong-boned and muscular, Bruno was my kind of dog. Bruno was a dog’s dog. Yappy purse-sized dogs left me cold.
‘So Lilith didn’t have a job? A real job, I mean.’
Ellie thought about my question for a moment while lacing the end of Bruno’s leash around her fingers. ‘No. I gather she had money, though. She told me that her parents had been killed in a plane crash when she was still in her teens. She had a trust fund administered by some doddering old uncle in Switzerland. Zurich, I believe. Lilith didn’t spend money willy-nilly, mind you, but I don’t think money was a particular issue for her.’
‘Remember what she said, Ellie? About the magic credit card?’
‘What’s a magic credit card?’ I asked, intrigued that there might be such a thing and wondering where I could apply for one.
‘She’d charge things on it,’ Ellie explained. ‘And every month it would get paid off by some bank in Switzerland, no questions asked.’
‘Where do I line up to get a credit card like that?’
‘We’ll be right in line behind you!’ Claire chortled.
‘Do you know where Lilith went when she moved away?’ I asked.
‘First, she was going to stay with that uncle I mentioned in Zurich. I remember that plainly, because she said she was having her things put into storage for six months.’ Claire looked thoughtful, then raised her eyebrows and her hands in unison. ‘Until the cottage was ready! That’s what she told us, didn’t she, Ellie? She was going to move into a cottage!’
‘What cottage? Where? In Europe?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t remember, dear. I’m so sorry. My son says it’s CRS. Can’t remember shit.’
I handed Ellie one of the business cards that I’d printed out on our home computer, a simple sailboat graphic with my name, address, phone number and email. ‘If you think of anything that might help me find Lilith, please give me a call. We’re having the reunion next spring. It’s our fortieth, can you believe it? I really would love to get back in touch.’
While eyeing my brace, Ellie tucked my card into the pocket of her sweater. ‘Can I ask what happened to your arm?’
‘Fender-bender,’ I fibbed, not feeling up to revisiting the ordeal. ‘Airbag broke my arm.’
This launched Claire on a lengthy monologue about the dangers posed by airbags to short, elderly drivers, copiously illustrated with hair-raising examples from among her own circle of friends.
When she wound down, I offered to buy the sisters lunch, but they demurred, claiming they had to get Bruno home for his nap. I bid them thanks and goodbye, then wandered across the park, heading south down West Broadway into Soho proper.
West Broadway between Broom and Prince used to be prime Soho retail space. Sadly, it seemed to have fallen on hard times. Storefront after vacant storefront made my leisurely stroll unexpectedly dreary. RIP Rizzoli’s Bookstore, Sigrid Olsen and Té Casan. I poked my nose into a few shops and wondered, as I walked, which of the studios I was passing might have been Lilith’s.
On a hunch, I popped into the Louis Meisel Gallery, but the black-garbed Twilight wannabe manning the desk had never heard of a Lilith Chaloux, nor was she listed among the artists who had ever shown there. Puzzled and disappointed, I walked a few blocks further and cheered myself up at the Apple Store by taking an iPad for a test drive.
Before heading back to Penn Station, I picked up a carry-out sandwich at Olives – smoked turkey, bacon and avocado on sourdough – then caught a cab that got me to the station well in time to catch the 5:39 back to BWI. I sat in the waiting area, ate my sandwich, powered up my new iPhone 4, and launched the Safari browser.
I was still giving my iPhone a workout three and a half hours later when the train pulled into BWI station. I hurriedly unplugged the charger from the seat-side outlet, snatched up my purse and hopped off on to the platform. When Paul came home the following day, I’d have to confess, of course, but at least I’d have something interesting to report.
TWELVE
Back home in Annapolis, by some miracle, I managed to find a parking spot only half a block from our home at 193 Prince George. After careful backing and turning, made extra challenging by my doctor’s instructions not to twist my arm, I successfully squeezed the Volvo into the narrow space left by two of my neighbors, locked up, then hustled along the sidewalk, stepping carefully on the ancient brickwork that edged the darkened street.
I let myself in the front door, tossed my handbag and the car keys on the little table in the entrance hall, and headed for the kitchen. I flipped on the small-screen television that sits on top of the refrigerator and was pouring myself a glass of apple juice when the sports news came on. Out in Colorado Springs, the Falcons had trounced the Midshipmen fourteen to six, snapping the Mids’ fifteen-game winning streak against the other service academies, including eight wins against Army and seven against the Air Force.