“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?
Nothing. He doesn’t like the idea of me doing anything.
“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.
I’m not made for this kind of stuff.
Yeah? Well, why did you take off on your own down here in the first place? Too many Nancy Drew books? You wanna impress the guy you’re smarter than he gives you credit for? Looks like a forger’s ego isn’t the only ego causing trouble.
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.
Where do you want this to go, girl? He was passionate and tender. You couldn’t have asked for a more caring lover. What’s your problem?
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.
I sound like my roommate.
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.”
“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