Leaving wasn’t the kind of thing Marc had ever felt comfortable talking about. But he was learning. The last couple of relationships he had been pretty up front. Not too many recriminations. He was growing up and no longer needed the macho posturing of having to stalk away feeling the wounded party.
I must have been one tough son-of-a-bitch to grow up with. David wasn’t one to feel too much sympathy for, but, still…
Amanda had talked about her family back in Pittsburgh. Over the spaghetti and sauce he had helped prepare. They had found candles and sat naked in the candlelight eating and telling their life stories, sipping good red wine and discussing their philosophies of surviving.
Disagreeing-Jeez, Ace can be stubborn and she’s damn hard on her guys at home – then suddenly moving- like quicksilver; uncontainable. She had more than once gotten teary-eyed at some dumb thing he had said about growing up; at some tender thing she had said herself about something.
She would probably make some kid a great mother. All that understanding.
Marc sucked in the cool morning air. The knot in the middle of his chest remained just as heavy.
God damn! It was going to be hard as hell…
He slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. Let her sleep. He had to get ready for the day. Hit the gym. Practice poses- this time he had to come up with something that would nail the perpetrator. Get this case over with.
He had to bring his brother home. Check with the Met. With Cambiare. See if the insurance company had any news about their missing agent. Keep alert. Some hulking bastard was out there looking to do God knows what harm.
He headed into the kitchen and started breakfast. He could make a pretty good omelet. It would be a nice way for her to wake up. He started coffee. The whipped eggs and milk crackled into the hot margarine and he yelped at the stinging pinpoints that hit his naked body.
Amanda came out of the bedroom, dressed in one of his shirts, her dark, luscious hair tumbling about her sleepy head. Jeez, he had hoped she would still be into the naked thing. She looked delectable. His chest hurt even more.
“Watch out what you’re spattering hot grease on, buddy.”
With a macho flourish, he tied a dishcloth around his middle and she slapped his exposed tush. He turned to grab her and the look of surprise and realization- at their comfortable playfulness, at their imminent loss- the look on her face stopped him cold.
They held each other tightly for a moment, breathing deep, forcing reality into their lungs. And then broke apart, smiling resolutely and ready to face the day.
And that was how it started.
Pretty damn grim.
“I AM thrilled beyond measure!” Professor Angeli’s shrill voice cut through the phone wire with an hysterical edge that concerned Amanda. “Mr. Wilde is being dreadfully circumspect. I think he has a most extraordinary session in mind. Complete with props and costumes.
“I hope it won’t be too startling to our young model. Though I suppose he’s been a part of all sorts of artistic endeavors. I can’t wait. I shall be there with poised pen, prepared to be inspired. I hope my feeble efforts shan’t disappoint anyone.” The uncontrolled edge of his forced laughter caused Amanda to ponder the receiver in her hand as its dial tone buzzed annoyingly.
While Marc showered, Amanda continued making her calls. Mr. Wilde was not circumspect at all. He was filled with enthusiasm for the plans he was making. Costumes, indeed, yes. Props, indeed, yes. But the most amazing thing…
“I am supplying you all with paper of the period. And properly formulated ink. Don’t tell. It’s to be a special surprise. I have a special cache and I dole out my treasures very carefully. This is a particularly exciting occasion. Young Antonio has indeed fired all our imaginations and to have him to ourselves… It’s as though we were members of a very special salon in a very special time. I shall say no more.” And with a totally unusual chuckle of satisfaction, he hung up.
Amanda again found herself staring at the phone in disbelief. “Marc, is that possible? Paper of the period? And ink?”
“My, my, breaking out the big guns. Maybe we haven’t been paying close enough attention to the formidable Mr. Wilde. Oh yeah, it’s possible. Difficult, but possible.” He was in his gym shorts ready to go for his workout. It was hard for Amanda to concentrate.
“Old paper gets discovered all the time. Some of it hits the art black market, some of it shows up in legit houses. End papers of books of the period can be cut out. And ink is formulated from organic stuff that’s been around for a hell of a lot longer than five hundred years. Oil is oil. Clay is clay. Even carbon sticks can be made from old wood.” He shoved fresh shorts and socks into the plastic garment bag that held his suit and shirt and shoes and zipped it closed.
“Which makes it impossible to tell by the age of the materials if the art work is faked, because all the tests check out. The paper is old. The ink is old. Then it comes down to artistic judgment and that can cause a drawing’s worth to skyrocket. Nobody’s going to take the chance the thing might not be for real.” He threw the garment bag over his arm, picked up his gym bag and headed for the door.
“The drawing’s history- its provenance- might be fake, but if it looks like a Michelangelo, smells like a Michelangelo, and talks like a Michelangelo, then, by gummies, somebody somewhere is going to cough up the big bucks just in case, one day, it walks like a Michelangelo.”
He kissed her on the cheek; they caught on a longing look; then Marc quickly left.
Amanda continued her phone calls.
Nathan couldn’t have cared less. Or so he said. “Sure, I’ll be there. The guy’s got a great set of muscles. ‘Bout time we got some special treatment. The rest of Parkerson’s class is for the dodos. Wilde and the prof are going nuts. The old guy’s called me half a dozen times. I get dibs on the fancy paper when they croak from excitement. Dress up? Me? Fat chance.”
Fancy paper? He already knew about it. So much for secrets.
Christine was harder to nail down.
“Dress up? We’re going to play dress up? In what? Those Renaissance push-up things? Wonderful. It ought to knock my young stud’s eyes out when he gets a load of these shoved-out knockers reaching out to touch someone. Wilde and Angeli will be properly appreciative, but Antonio is a healthy growing boy and just might shake up my smug, self-satisfied young buck by making a pass at me.”
“Hey, Amanda, you think you could drop a hint? He’s fair game, right? The naked hunk? You’ve staked out Mr. Horn rims, right? Don’t be greedy, now, love.
“See you on the Central Park greensward. Didn’t Cissy tell you? The wicked witches are roughing it today. She packing a picnic basket. Spring has sprung and she’s ready to spring at it.”
And Amanda thought the unusually warm day was just her.
“ISN’T THISwonderful? I’m so clever.”
Cissy shook out the blanket and spread it on the cool ground. Christine, champagne glasses dramatically pressed to her bosom, surveyed the surrounding landscape punctuated with outcroppings of rock and newly-budding trees and sighed deeply.
“Olmstead really knew what the hell he was doing. This place is great.”
Amanda dug out the plates and sandwiches. Cissy’s idea for a spring picnic in Central Park was truly wonderful. Amanda hadn’t tracked down Marc to tell him their plans- and after berating him for not letting her know his exact whereabouts. He expected the ladies to be safely lunching behind locked doors or in some very public place. But Amanda had convinced herself a glowing, expectant spring day in the park would ensure a mass outpouring of winter-wearied New Yorkers and they would be well chaperoned.