Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) (15 page)

In no hurry, she carried two cups of coffee to the table. Joining me, she took the sugar. She tried for subdued. “So. Tell me what’s new in your life.”

I sighed and set my spoon on the table. “Nan. I went out. I came home. I’m going out again. I’ll come back home again.” I mimed this process for her with flapping hands.

“That’s fine. You’re a grown man. I understand completely.” She sipped her coffee, her brow furrowing. “Because I want you to know that whatever you decide to do, it’s none of my business.”

It took a lot of effort not to roll my eyes. I picked my spoon up and resumed eating my breakfast cereal. I added another spoonful of sugar. “Thank you.”

I had a brief flash of Dan uttering those words to me last night. Heat burned my cheeks.

“And if you wanted to bring a new friend here, I wouldn’t stop you.”

A splash of milk covered the back of my hand. I’d lost hold of my spoon again. “Nana. I love you, but I’m not bringing anyone
here
.”

She sniffed. Fortunately, I was saved by the ring of my cell phone.

It was Poppy. She’d taken long enough to return my calls. My texts. Maybe I should have Twittered.

“Ce?”

“Yeah. Where are you? I really need to talk to you.”

“I’m…I’m having some trouble.” Her voice tightened.

That wasn’t right. Poppy didn’t do weak. She didn’t cry. Poppy swore, she broke things, she made people crawl. She didn’t cry. I pushed my breakfast away, concern for Poppy overriding everything.

Nana watched me, keen to horn in. I shook my head, waving her away. “Please, Nan? Just give me a minute.”

“Fine. I need to go tease my hair.” She grabbed her coffee and left to find her Aqua Net.

“Hey. What’s up? What the heck is going on, Poppy?”

“I think, I think…I may need to ask you for a favor. A really big favor.”

I exploded. “Will you stop being cryptic and tell me what the problem is? Is that so difficult? You have no idea what’s going on here. Shep’s being blackmailed, Rachel’s a man, Justin Timberlake is missing, I got laid last night two—no, three times, Peter’s a goddamn clown, and today I’m supposed to throw myself on the mercy of Mallory Albright, who incidentally thinks I’m a circus-art thief, and beg that bitch for a job. I can’t handle this crap. This is supposed to be a brand-new day.” From the other room I heard Nana cough. I lowered my voice. “For fu-reak’s sake, Poppy dearest, if you have something to say, say it. Because Detective Dan thinks you’re somehow involved in this mess. Talk to me.”

Phew. I was glad to get all that off my chest.

“If you’d shut your mouth for a damn second, Caesar Anthony Romano, I’d say something. Jesus. Get a fucking grip. First, who’s Detective Dan? You mean Shep?”

I was all but whispering. “No. Could you please get up to speed? Detective Dan is this dick who’s investigating a stolen painting.”

She huffed at me. “All right. I’m on my way into the city. I have no idea what you’re talking about…but I’m gone thirty-six hours and you got laid? You?”

Now that there was the Poppy I knew.

“That’s what you got out of my rant?”

“Who? If you say Shep, I swear to God—”

“No. Stop asking me that. I…had an indiscretion. Multiple times. What the hell with Rachel, though? I cannot believe you didn’t tell me that.”

“I couldn’t. There’s too much going on. But…you need to know something, okay? Don’t freak out on me. Promise me.”

“What?”

She burst into tears. “I think I’m broke.”

Broke? “That’s impossible. You’re busy all the time. You’re growing.”

“I know. I thought so too, but all these people aren’t paying me—”

“I’m sorry. Was it my thing the other night?”

“No. And you did pay me, I just did that at cost. No. Mallory Albright owes me a lot of money. I’m supposed to do this gig tonight, it’s a big schmooze, and I’m short. Plus…there’s cash missing. I made payroll, but barely.”

“I’ll call Pop. I’ll call Uncle Vito. They’ll lend you some—”

“I asked my parents. That’s where I went. I was in Connecticut.”

“Holy shit.” Connecticut? This was serious. “If someone’s stealing from you, we need my family. We’ll figure it out. Did you see your accountant?”

She hiccupped. “Yeah.”

“Well. You need a new accountant. We’ll call Joey. He’ll know someone. He’s got all those friends at Columbia.”

Her voice got small. “Okay. I’m so embarrassed. I’m heading in right now. I’m on the train.”

“Fine. I’m going to Mallory’s for that job. You know, her assistant, that Stephanie chick, she didn’t say anything about this—that Mallory is tight on cash, or forgetful. That’s weird.”

“Please don’t tell anyone. Trust me, it’s not just the Albright thing. I’ll…meet with the accountant.”

“What you need is muscle to go get your money back.”

“I know. I…thought I had someone, but it’s just a big clusterfuck.”

My phone beeped. “Hold on.” It was Dan. “Hey.”

“Hey. How are you this morning?”

“Fine.”

He cleared his throat. “So look, I’ve got some things to do this morning.”

Well, this was awkward. “Uh. Okay. I’m on the phone with Poppy. Can I call you back?”

Dan barked, “You should ask her about that photo with Pappineau. And tell her about Shep. Ask her about the Circus thing. And, Caesar, brace yourself, but your little blondie is broke. She’s not making payroll. Money makes people do crazy things.”

“I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

I hung up. This new day was turning to crap. I clicked my phone, but Poppy was gone, and she didn’t pick up again.

From the back room Nan called, “You need to drop about ten quarters in that cuss jar, Caesar.”

I took the bus into Manhattan. The sun was shining, the trees were trembling in the spring breeze, the smog was thick, and I was tempted to go back to the gallery. I squelched that impulse. I had my lunch money in my pocket with my cell phone, and a crisp resume printed on good paper in my messenger bag. I figured, if nothing else, I looked damn fine in my new Diesel jeans.

The Albright Gallery was uptown, near the big museums and close to Central Park. The real estate alone gave it clout, but the Albright name lent the gallery serious influence. I guess if I was going to be anyone’s assistant, Mallory would be the one.

It was ten, I’d called Stephanie and she encouraged me to stop by early. So I was halfway down 73
^rd
Street, nearly to the side entrance where the offices were located, when Jean Luc Pappineau and Mallory exited the building in a huff. I stopped dead in my tracks when Shep appeared behind them in a breathtakingly expensive cashmere blazer in the exact shade of his eyes. He had on another pair of two hundred dollar jeans and those silly boots.

Jean’s hands gesticulated theatrically. Mallory’s narrow face was set in her usual smooth, dignified lines. She didn’t look impressed with Jean, no surprise there. Shep followed them in what I read as obedience. I didn’t trust him. And I was more confused than ever. What the hell was he doing here?

They didn’t see me, possibly they didn’t recognize me dressed as a normal gay. The trio turned briskly and headed toward Park Avenue. I followed them. I mean, why not? I needed to speak to Mallory and Jean and…I was curious enough to spy. I hustled to catch them, but they had a quarter-block lead. They walked as if they were late for an appointment. It was ten thirteen.

I jogged when they turned the corner, heading south. I was nearly there, but slowed when Jean Luc stopped dead on the sidewalk. He said, “You can’t pull from this show. I already announced it.”

“You were premature. I lost my assistant this morning and a few things have come up.”

“You owe me this show. I had to suffer through a lot of bullshit all spring. You told me it was a go.”

Mallory laid it out. “Schumacher pulled his funds. Until I can deal with this”—she nodded to Shep crisply—“my hands are tied. If you’d like to attend our meeting, fine, but you need to be circumspect, Jean. Please.”

Shep was going to use his clout with Chad to save the day for Mallory? Why? He didn’t even like real art. He bought prints from Pottery Barn. Mallory’s heels clicked on the pavement. People moved from her path. Pappineau was leaping around like a monkey to follow her, his hair blowing in big chunks around his head. Shep took his iPhone out and fiddled with it. “You should offer a reward for that painting. I bet someone would turn it in.”

Jean clapped Shep on the back. “That’s my boy! Good thinking.”

They turned into an office building where a liveried doorman let them in. The three disappeared. This must be the base of Chad’s empire.

I went back to the museum to drop off my resume and grill Mallory’s assistant. Stephanie sat at her desk, filing. Her neat office was right outside Mallory’s. “Hey, Steph. How did it go this morning?”

A scrappy go-getter from the south Bronx, Steph was a narrow-waisted, bone-thin woman of color who didn’t take shit from anyone, except Mallory. She modeled her dress on her stylish boss—pencil skirt, tailored blouse, minimal jewelry. It seemed a pity that the two of us spent most of our time hiding our personalities for such a small reward. “’Bout as you’d expect. She sucked on her teeth and smiled. I gave her two weeks.”

I handed her my resume. “I had hoped to see her, but she left with Pappineau and, uhm, was that Shep McNamara?”

She nodded. “He came with Pappineau to make nice for Mallory. Huh. What do you think of that Pappineau guy? Cuz he’s a royal pain in my ass. Boss called me Saturday all set to have this damn show, and now she’s pulling the plug. You know how much work I did over the weekend?”

“Yeah. I do know. Firsthand.”

“Mmph. That’s just so typical. These art people are nuts.” She scoped me out. “You look nice. Them Diesel jeans?”

I nodded. “My cousin has a friend in the garment district.”

“Nice.”

“So, does Mallory do that a lot? Pull out of shows?”

“She’s crazy. Look, this gig pays better than most, but I’m sick of it. My best friend from City College got a job for Delta. She’s a flight attendant. I think I’d rather serve peanuts and show people how to click together a seat belt than do this. And it pays better. Plus it has benefits. Dental.”

Flight attendant? She was thin enough. “Well, tell her I dropped this off. Steph, do you know why she hasn’t paid Posh Nosh? I mean, is everything all right here? I don’t want to be in a situation where I don’t get paid. I need to move forward, you know?”

“She didn’t get all her grant money. It’s the economic downturn, I guess. She started acting all bitchy after the last show, and then her nephew walks in the other day, and suddenly my computer is his computer. I’m telling you: I’m outta here. I’m gonna fly me some friendlier skies.”

“Nephew?”

“Yeah. Good-looking man, but nosey. You’d like the look of him. He’s like Gerard Butler hot. Tall, dark, handsome. Muscly. Mmmm-mm. But he was fucking around with my files. Sticking his nose in my drawers. Asking me questions. Looking at my mailing lists. I don’t like that Mr. Dan Man.”

Dan? Mallory had a nosy nephew named Dan. Dan? I blinked to clear my thoughts. It could not be.

“That’s him right there.” She nodded toward Mallory’s desk. I peeked in the doorway. Why was I worried? There were a million nosy, computer-literate Daniels in New York City. I crept into Mallory’s smart office on my tiptoes. What the hell was the matter with me? I’d been in here before. I manned up and turned the tiny Tiffany frame on her desk. It was a photo of two men together on a fishing boat. They both wore floppy hats and ugly vests. I’d had mind-blowing sex with the one on the left.

I started coughing. Wheezing. Choking again.

“Hey, you okay? You don’t look good, Ce.”

I struggled to find my breath. “Hhhh…haaa…”

“You need a lozenge? I’ll get you some water.” Steph dashed to the cooler. Trapped by her narrow skirt, she took rapid baby steps across the office while I stared at the photo of my new pal. She poured me a paper funnel of water and toddled quickly back. I downed water gratefully, my vision blurred.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Dan Green is Mallory’s nephew?”

“Green? Who’s Green? His name is Albright.”

I don’t recall saying goodbye. No. What I remember is hitting the door so hard the metal frame knocked the iron railing with a clang. I cleared the door, hopped the stairs and pounded down the sidewalk with my phone against my ear. People passed me, making way, as I plowed through pedestrian traffic like a human steamroller. Who the hell was Dan Albright? What did he gain by lying to me? He certainly had plenty of time to divulge this tiny detail before last night. That bastard.

The phone rang and rang—at last Dan’s voice mail picked up, and I heaved into the phone, “Albright? Albright? At what point were you going to tell me that?
Albright?”

I snapped my phone shut. That went slightly better than I’d anticipated. I walked, sinking down to catch the subway—the sunshine no longer of any interest to me. I wanted to burrow like a mole into the underground and nurse my black temper. I called Peter before I lost service and said, “I’m sorry to inform you that today I quit.”

I shut my cell phone again and took the yellow line downtown toward NYU. I needed to think, and what better place to organize one’s thoughts than on a stuffed New York subway car?

Since Jean Luc and Mallory weren’t going to have their show, I wasn’t going to worry about finding Justin Timberlake by Wednesday. Scratch that right off the top of the list. I still had his ear on my dresser with that floral wire and hot glue. Now it was Peter’s problem. As was Mallory’s missing painting—which my gut told me Peter had stolen from her because
he was an asshole
. He’d disappeared. Screw him and the little clown car he rode in on. Served him right someone took the damn thing from him.

Shep. He had a connection with Jean Luc—I could imagine exactly what kind. He’d probably come to the gallery Friday night to see him, not me. Maybe he’d hooked up with someone at the party—and he was more embarrassed than upset. Maybe it was Jean he was keeping secrets from, not the public, or Chad, or that yellow-toothed Estelle. I’d advised him to call the police on numerous occasions and he’d declined, so I owed him nothing.