His name was John, he’d told Bingham, and started to say what everybody called him, and veered in midsentence, claiming that everybody called him Jack. As far as Keller could recall, no one had ever called him Jack. Nor did Sheridan Bingham, who immediately converted Jack to Jackie.
He shook his head. “Never even considered it,” he said. “When you’re a general collector, you don’t wind up with anything exhibit-worthy. Except…”
“Except what?”
“Well, my collection of Martinique is complete, and I’ve been adding minor varieties when I run across them.”
“Sounds as though you’re specializing in spite of yourself.”
“Well…”
“And aren’t there a couple of high-ticket items from Martinique? One or two genuine rarities? My friend, you could exhibit if you wanted to.”
“I suppose I could. I never thought of it.”
“And now that you think of it?”
“I don’t think it’s my style,” he said. “Not that I don’t like to look at what other collectors exhibit.”
“You been to the exhibit room yet?”
“No, I went straight to the auction room.”
“Well, when you get there, you’ll see a couple of frames of my stuff.” Keller said he looked forward to it, and Bingham made a dismissing gesture. “Nothing to make a special trip for,” he said. “Decent material, and well displayed, if I say so myself. And why shouldn’t I? It’s not as though I had anything to do with it.”
“How’s that?”
“There’s a fellow who prepares my exhibits for me. Does the layout and lettering, decides what should or shouldn’t go on display. You ever raise show dogs, Jackie?”
Dogs? How did dogs get into this?
“Never,” he said.
“Well, neither have I, but a cousin of mine wins prizes more often than not at the Westminster Kennel Club show. Got a wall full of blue ribbons. He’s got a guy who tells him what dogs to buy, and a woman who grooms the animals and gets them in peak condition for each show, and a handler who parades around the ring with the dog and makes sure the judges are properly impressed. My cousin’s involvement is pretty much limited to writing a bunch of checks every month, which is something he does reasonably well. And in return he gets the ribbons and the trophies, and he’s so proud of them you’d think he was the one who taught the dog to raise his leg when he needs to pee.”
“I thought it was instinctive.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Anyway, I do pretty much the same thing as my cousin, with stamps instead of dogs. I write the checks and I take home the ribbons. I don’t know why the hell I bother.”
“It’s a contribution to the hobby.”
“You think so? I think it’s a contribution to my own ego and that’s about all. My glass is empty, Jackie, and my throat’s still dry. You’ve hardly touched yours.”
“You go ahead,” Keller said. “One’s my limit, this early in the day.”
Bingham caught the waiter’s eye, motioned for another round. “Easier this way,” he told Keller. “Just leave it on the table if you don’t want to drink it. You know what I’m beginning to do? I’m beginning to relax.”
“Well, that’s what the drinks are for.”
“That’s what stamps are for,” Bingham said. “They take you out of where you are and put you in a nice peaceful place. Lately it hasn’t been working.”
“You’re losing interest in your collection?”
“No, but it’s harder to get away from what’s on my mind.” He fell silent while the waiter brought the drinks, then picked up his glass and stared into it. “I didn’t begin to relax,” he said, “until I got on the plane this morning. I had a shorter flight than you, flew nonstop on Northwest from Detroit, and I started to unwind when we pulled away from the gate.” He took a sip from the new drink. “And this helps the process along. If your limit’s one, well, my limit’s going to be two, because I don’t want to get sloshed. I just want to reach that state where I know everything’s going to be okay.” He managed a twisted smile. “Because,” he said, “it’s not.”
Don’t tell me about it, Keller thought. Stick to stamps, will you? Tell me all about the pressing problem of fake cancellations.
And, mercifully, the man did just that.
Keller ordered dinner from room service.
Which was ridiculous, in a city with such a wealth of restaurants. All he had to do was walk a block in any direction and he’d stumble on a restaurant with food that was better, cheaper, and more interesting than he could expect to get from the hotel kitchen. But for some reason he didn’t want to leave his room, and after the waiter wheeled in the cart and lifted the metal lids off the various dishes, he realized what the reason was. He was afraid of running into Sheridan Bingham again.
Silly.
Still, after he’d eaten, he stayed in the room and watched television until it was time to go to bed.
“Well, good morning yourself,” Dot said. “Although it’s afternoon here. What time does the auction start?”
“It started almost an hour ago,” he said. “But there’s nothing in today’s session that I’m interested in. It’s all U.S. ”
“As in America the Beautiful? What’s the matter with the United States, Keller?”
“I collect worldwide.”
“Oh? And what’s America, stuck on some other planet?”
“No, but-”
“I thought you were a patriot, Keller. Dishing out quiche to the rescue workers at the Trade Center. And now you don’t even think enough of your country to collect its stamps?”
“I could explain,” he said, “but I don’t think that’s what either of us wants.”
“Well, you’re not going to get an argument from me on that score. Did you, uh, establish that our friend made the trip?”
“Oh, he’s here, all right.”
“That sounds ominous somehow.”
“We had drinks yesterday afternoon,” he said, and told her briefly what had happened.
“Not great,” she said.
“I know.”
“Are you going to be able to do what you’re supposed to do?”
“I think so. In one respect it’s easier this way.”
“Because he won’t be suspicious of his new best friend.”
“Something like that.”
“But in another respect,” she said, “it’s got to be harder.”
“Remember when you called me a sociopath?”
“How could I forget? I also remember how upset you got.”
“There are times,” he said, “when being a sociopath would make things a lot easier.”
“What you need to do,” she said, “is meditate.”
“Meditate?”
“Get into a place of quiet stillness and peace,” she said, “and try to get in touch with your inner sociopath.”
He thought about that while he checked out the exhibits. They were more interesting than usual, and, while the overall quality was high, he didn’t think that explained it. He had a different perspective on exhibits as a result of the conversation he’d had with Bingham.
The exhibits were anonymous, presumably to avoid prejudicing the judges, but Keller was sure those worthies were well aware of the identities of most of the exhibitors. He himself could put names on several of the displays, having seen the material before, and of course he had no trouble spotting Bingham’s entry, which he’d already had described to him by the man himself. Three frames showed material from the three German island colonies in the Pacific-the Marshalls, the Marianas, and the Carolines. There were mint and used specimens of all the stamps, including minor varieties, and there were envelopes-covers, collectors called them-and blocks of four and six, and, well, a wealth of material, all artistically arranged and professionally written up. You could see the work of the pro who’d prepared the exhibit, but you could also see the hand of the collector, Sheridan Bingham, who’d tracked down the material in the first place and paid what he’d needed to for it.