She continued through the firm, pressed a door latch button and stepped into the lobby. The door swung closed behind her and when the elevator arrived she stepped in wearily.
Outside, Wall Street was nearly as quiet as the halls of Hubbard, White & Willis. This neighborhood was a daytime place. It worked hard and curled up to sleep early. Most of the offices were dark, the bartenders had stopped pouring drinks, cabs and cars were few.
Occasionally someone in a somber overcoat would appear from a revolving door then vanish into a limo or cab or down a subway stairwell. Where, she wondered, were they going? To one of Sebastians clubs, to pursue some private lust like Ralph Dudley, to plot a coup like Wendall Clayton? Or maybe just to retreat to their apartments or houses for a few hours' sleep before the grind began again tomorrow?
What a place this was, the topsy-turvy land at the bottom of the rabbit hole.
But, Taylor considered, was this her land? Alice 's trips to Wonderland and the Looking-Glass world had, after all, been dreams and the girl had eventually wakened from them.
She couldn't, for the moment, say. Taylor flagged down a cab, got in and gave the driver the address of her apartment building. As the dirty vehicle squealed away from the curb she slouched down in the seat, staring at the greasy Plexiglas divider.
Thank you for not smoking 50-cent surcharge after 8 P.M. The cab was a block away from her apartment when she leaned forward and told the driver she'd changed her mind.
Taylor Lockwood sat in the spotlight.
Dimitri twisted his curly hair and leaned over the microphone (His habitual suspicion left when she told him, "I'll play for free. You keep the receipts – all of them – but the tips're mine. And, Dimitri. No satin touch. Not tonight, okay?")
"Ladies and gentlemen…"
She whispered ominously, "Dimitri."
"…it is my pleasure to present Miss Taylor Lockwood at the piano."
He hit the switch controlling the faux spotlight. She smiled at the crowd and touched the keys, cold and smooth as glass, enjoying their yielding resilience as she began to play.
After half an hour Taylor looked out into the cockeyed lights, brilliant starbursts beaming at her, so bright she couldn't seethe patrons. Maybe the wobbly tables were completely occupied. Or maybe the place was empty In any event, if anyone was in the audience they were listening in absolute silence.
She smiled, not to them but only for herself, and swayed slowly as she played a medley of Gershwin that she herself had arranged, all revolving around Rhapsody in Blue. Tonight she improvised frequently, playing jazzy harmonies and clever riffs, allowing the music to carry itself, the notes soaring and regrouping, then flying to risky altitudes. But Taylor Lockwood never let go completely and was careful to alight at regular intervals on the theme, she knew how much people love the melody.
Jeffery Deaver
