Heart Of Stone (2 page)

3

Donnella sat the lounge of the Hotel Wyatt-Arms, her father having bought it almost thirty years prior, it was one of the few places that still understood discretion. She threw back her fourth apricot brandy sour of the hour as she watched the door nonchalantly. She’d made the rounds saying her hellos and carting the man of the hour Claude Gentry around. Now Claude was probably balls deep in a cocktail waitress, but she didn’t really care anymore. He wasn’t her problem. As of six O’clock that evening their deals were done and he was on his own. If he had not learned anything from her in their time together and blew his budding career that was his own fault, and again, no longer her problem. When she’d met Claude he was trying to break into the music scene. He had talent but no connections. A year after meeting Donnella, and being under her influence and he was just coming back from the Summer fests and on his way to head line for the likes of some heavy hitters, to finish up with his own world tour set to start in April. If he didn’t fuck it up. Donnella warned him about the groupies, but he was going to do as he pleased. No matter, tonight she was looking for something
different
. A passionate photographer, who may just be standing her up. Then she spotted him, towering over the crowd.

“Boy has got to be six- four, maybe six- five.” She mused, standing abruptly. Her balance just a bit off, but she recovered quickly. He looked about, seeming to appear ready to bolt at any moment.

***

“She must be in here somewhere.” Matthew whispered, looking over the tops of many a head in the crowd. His stomach was twisted in knots. Getting to the door was easy, the guards there had his name on the list. He’d never had his name on an actual list before. It was sort of pleasing to him and at the same time made him wan to upchuck right on his shiny new shoes. Which were truth be told a little too tight. Raj told him to suck it up for fashion which he did, along with the off the rack chinos that they had to let the hem out of, which he was used to having to do anyway, but Raj insisted on an Armani Jacket. Not letting Matthew see the price tag on it, demanding that he shut up and wear it. Matthew had to admit, it looked good with the white shirt and skinny navy tie. He just felt out of sorts. Then he saw her, crossing the sea of people, her copper hair pulled up with curls falling down about the top, her hand upstretched to get his attention.

She wore an emerald green off the shoulder cocktail dress that hugged the curves of her body graciously, with side running pleats for a modern fit to her form, the hem ending just above her knees. Her heels were again ridiculously high, and silver, open toed to match the clutch in her hand and the diamond solitary pendant she wore which matched her earrings perfectly.

“Matthew!” She purred, as though she’d known him her entire life, as he approached her, she reached for him. “You finally made it. What took you so very long?” She asked in a whisper.

“Train was delayed. Then couldn’t catch a cab.” He half laughed, nervously.

“Come, let me introduce you around before we go.”

“
Go?
Where are we going?”

She laughed. “I sent you here to get me out of here, silly.” She poked him on the nose playfully, pulling him forward.

***

“Well that was an experience.” Sitting in the back of her Stretch Lincoln Towncar, Donnella kicked off her shoes, rubbing the back of her heel a moment. Matthew sat across from her staring at her with a look of utter confusion and brimming anger.

“What? Was meeting the Mayor of New York not an experience for you? Did you not get a chance to schmooze properly?” She laughed. “Do you know how many people would have killed to be on that guest list tonight and get in for even half the time you got?”

“Yeah? Well I don’t like being used. And what was all that I found him, bull shit. I recall I walked into your gallery with an earned appointment from my University’s allotment. I’m not just some rat off the street like you were making it sound.”

“Semantics, my way sounds better.”

“Your way sounds like we have an agreement, which as you so poignantly put it last night, you’re not taking on photographers, or are you too smashed to remember?”

“You’ve got some balls on you, boy. That’s twice you’ve insulted me to my face, in as many days…” Her eyes darkened as she crossed her legs tapping the glass. The car stopped. The door opened, and to Matthew’s surprise it had begun to rain. “Now you have a choice. Mister Mayfield. You can apologize for your rudeness to me, and hear what I propose to be a very good thing for us both, or you can get the
fuck
out of my car and take your chances in the cold.”

He stared at her wide eyed a moment looking outside at the two men in suits waiting for his decision, he looked back at her, she did not look at him, merely picked at her manicure with a shake of her foot.

“Time is money, Mister Mayfield and you are costing me both. In or out, final offer.”

I’m going to regret this.
He thought to himself as he reached out grabbed the car door pulled it closed and locked himself inside with the dragon.

***

They drove for about an hour in silence, long enough to be well out of the Village and into the City of Manhattan proper. The car stopped and the door opened, the men in suits reappearing with a large umbrella to shield Donnella from the onslaught of rain, They made Matthew wait in the vehicle while she was escorted safely to the entrance of the building then one of them left her returning with the umbrella for him, which he in turn took being the taller of the two of them.

“Can I ask where we are?” He leaned toward the man in the suit.

“She keeps an office here.”

“And here is?” He looked up, he was standing outside the Stone Tower. A high-rise that catered only to the elite of the city, it was rumored that Harmon Stone had built it so that his wife and daughter could have the best views of the city without ever having to leave it. The Penthouse was said to have a balcony that wrapped perfectly around the entire building, but Harmon never allowed the press upstairs so no one could vouch as to ever having seen it.

“Doesn’t she live here?”

The man shook his head no, almost violently.

“Okay…” He looked up seeing her reach out for him only to push him through the door.

“I can take it from here. Go get a late supper. If I need you I’ll buzz.”

“Ma’am, I would rather we were-”

“Cordell, my sweet boy. I’m just fine I promise.” She winked. Shooing him and his partner away, back out into the cold city air.

***

Matthew stood staring at the plaques on the walls, names of different politicians and philanthropists, who had frequented the halls of the Stone Tower over the years, even a couple of Presidents of countries he’d read about in school, but could scarcely pronounce.

“Impressive.” He smiled as she came up next to him.

“In its heyday it was. Now it’s left to rot for the old fogies and their bastard children who can still afford it. It’s disgusting.” She pushed her key into the elevator console, bringing it down to them. “After you.” She put her arm out before him.

“Ladies first, I insist.” Matthew put a hand on the small of her back urging her inside, she let him lead her. “Are you going to tell me what we are doing here?”

“I have a proposal for you. That requires a bit of discretion, I understand if you will want to have it looked at by a third party, but I can assure you that it is all in perfect order.”

“Uh, huh.” He watched tentatively as the numbers on the wall above him rose as fast as his heart.

The doors opened and they were greeted by Harold and an open floorplan. The floors were high shined oak in front of him, down a small set of stairs was a large fireplace that one could see through to a balcony, which overlooked the Hudson River. He spied boats as they tugged along, their little lights wisps in the night. Two large white couches sat to the left and right of the fireplace with a black furry rug filling the space between them. 

“Welcome back, Miss Stone.” Harold smiled, with a tray holding two brandies and two bottles of water.

She nodded taking a brandy, Matthew shook his head no, saying nothing as he looked around.

“Christ you could fit my whole apartment just in these two rooms…” He mused seeing the formal dining area that appeared to get little if any use from the bits of dust on the fake flower centerpiece. The table was made of mahogany with a granite top, the chairs studded with leather were clean but appeared to also see little use.

“This way.” Harold urged him, past the industrial sized kitchen with its double ovens and glass counter cooktops, which made Matthew green with envy. As much as the man loved his art, he loved to cook. He was rather proud of his talents in both areas equally. They approached an open set of doors to find Donnella sitting on the edge of yet another large sparingly covered desk. It occurred to Matthew that for a woman who owned an Art Gallery her offices and home like areas were surprisingly devoid of anything resembling something remotely artistic.

“You can go Harold. If I need anything more…”

“You’ll buzz.”

She nodded, picking up a packet of papers from the desk. “So, what do you know about my relationship with Claude Gentry?”

“Nothing? Why would you ask me that?” He shifted in his space between her and the door. He did not know why but he suddenly felt very small, as though the room were closing in on him. It was something in the way she looked at him. As though she could devour him in an instant. While not the most unpleasant way to go, he thought to himself he wasn’t quite ready to push off this mortal coil, just yet.

“See that’s my point.
Nothing
.
I
build careers, and ask for very little in the long run. Very little indeed.” She traced the first page of the papers in her hand. “See I have what everyone wants Mister Mayfield. Money. Power. Connections on both sides of the law… Do you know what I don’t have?”

“Your own private island?” He mused under his breath watching her sip her drink.

“A man I can trust.” She put down her drink, and crossed the distance between them, her movements graceful and filled with a purpose he was still very unsure of as she held out the papers. “I can’t just trust people you see. Not when I know what their motives are. Everyone has them. You have, I have. So why not be open and honest about them?”

“What are you driving at, Miss Stone?” He stared down into her eyes which had a glint of mischief in them as her lip curled upward.

“I don’t do relationships because I don’t believe men can be trusted in them. You cheat, you lie, you manipulate. I will not have that in my life. I do not have the time for it frankly. But what I do have time for and enjoy most are mind blowing orgasms. My last few lovers came up short in that area, and I am in the market for something,
someone
new.”

“That involves me how exactly?”

She ran a finger up his bicep. “Have a seat and give that a read. I’ll be just outside. Let me know what you think…”

***

He sat at Donnella’s desk, the
rules
in his hands. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A shot at the galleries. An opportunity to make a name for himself without having to resort to dropping the name that could open every door he could dream of without showing a single piece. She was offering him
opportunity
, not promises. It clearly stated that in exchange for his services to her she would make the introductions to the art world that he needed to get his foot in the door to the people he wanted to make contact with, Marc Turner, the owner of
Verve
, the high end gallery on the Upper East end. He’d already met the Mayor who could open doors for the wounded warrior’s he so wanted to help. Granting access to the hospitals and the programs that could aid them. All Donnella Stone seemed to want was a companion. An attentive and accessible lover who would attend functions and bed her when she saw fit. For this she would provide everything he needed to take the steps to get out of his dingy apartment in Westport, Connecticut. Giving him a new address, a monthly stipend and time enough to work on a project of his choosing to showcase at
The Keynote
by the end of the contract. To sink or swim as the saying went, with her aid concluding the night of the showcase. During the six months which was the length of the term he was not allowed to see any other women except those that were vetted and approved for appearances. Whatever that meant, and he was to keep in the lifestyle that Donnella felt he should become accustomed. He was also not allowed to tell anyone of the arrangement. Should Donnella choose to end the relationship early Matthew would be given a lump sum equal to but not to exceed the cost of completing the costs of finishing the Showcase which would then be moved to another gallery at his discretion. Should Matthew choose to leave the relationship early he would agree to no further attempts at showing in New York City for up to one year, and to never step foot into
The Keynote
again.

His mouth was dry. She was a beautiful woman, he’d be out of his mind to say no. But he’d also be trading one shackle for another. His father was a man with a name. A man whose name could open doors, but he gave up that name. Taking his mother’s years ago, because he wanted to make it on his own. Wouldn’t taking Donnella Stone’s help be the same thing? He needed to think. He spun around in the chair, seeing the doors to the terrace behind him. Taking the papers with him, he opened the doors and stepped outside. The rain had stopped. The chill in the November air was crisp but not unpleasant. As he overlooked the skyline he noticed Harold standing at the edge of the railing not too far from him. He took the moment to cross to him.