It’s Lauren, our midnight visitor. Her eyes are steely. “You’re having me followed.”
“Just a precaution,” I say. “For your safety as much as for my benefit.”
“Stop it. Just stop interfering. You’re going to get someone hurt.”
“Ian can help you,” Tiny urges. “Let us take care of you.”
“Unless you’re going to buy off a city cop and a probation officer, you don’t have anything on the menu worth my time. Why do you think I’m here? Because Howe wanted to keep an eye on me. Howe commands, and I respond.” Lauren gives us a polite smile. “Does the lady want anything to drink?”
“Yeah, I’ll have what he’s having.” Tiny sighs, her frustration evident in every taut line of her frame.
Lauren gives a short bow and spins away. I glance over to the Howes where, sure enough, Richard is watching the interaction like a hawk. He moves to the side, likely attempting to follow her, but someone interrupts him.
“Is that Steve’s little morsel?” Kaga’s come up behind us.
I nod but raise an eyebrow because these types of events north of, say, 50th Street, hold no interest for him. “Who let you in?”
“Gate crashed,” he responds and swirls some amber liquid in his glass. “This stuff is swill. Peasants shouldn’t even be forced to drink it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say wryly. “I haven’t gotten my order yet since you decided to appropriate it before I could have a drink.”
“It’s better that way.” He sniffs. “I don’t want your taste buds corrupted. I’ve spent years training you to know what decent Scotch tastes like. By the way, do you have the plague? Why is no one talking to you?”
“Poverty is contagious.”
And so is success. Despite his preference for his clubs, Kaga’s cachet with this circle means that him standing and talking to me is effective enough to break the ice. Men and women wanting a little piece of Kaga’s empire drift closer until the invisible line separating Tiny and me from the rest of the crowd is crossed and then rubbed away by the traffic. I draw her close as Kaga and I take turns introducing her.
Society is run by a herd mentality. If the herd fears you, it stays away. If the herd believes you have food and water and shelter, it tramples its own to get to you.
“That’s a Charles James, right?” One young lady dressed in a pastel green gown made up of layered sheer panels asks with envy in her voice.
Tiny nods. “That’s what I was told. I’m not very knowledgeable.”
“Me either, but I went to the Met Gala celebrating him, so I feel like I can recognize his work for at least the next month. Michelle Everly. I’m the Executive Director for the Women’s League for the Advancement of Literary Achievement. Big title, but essentially I’m a literacy advocate.”
Tiny perks up and grabs her hand. “Victoria Corielli. I’m a dispatcher for Jake Tanner’s security company.” Her tone is challenging, as if daring Michelle to be put off by the fact that she’s just a dispatcher, but Michelle responds with ease.
“Oh, I know Jake. Actually, I know his sister Sabrina. My younger sister goes to Columbia with her.”
Tiny nods and some of her tension eases away. “Jake’s dreading her graduation. He complains about it at least once a day.”
Michelle rolls her eyes. “Those two are troublemakers. I’ll have to tell Jake that their graduating and separating is the best thing that could happen for all of us. Together they’re mini hurricanes. Apart, they’re just minor tropical storms. Can I just say your ring is gorgeous. May I?”
Tiny raises her hand, and Michelle oohs and ahhs over it, making me feel good in the process. Their conversation turns to Michelle’s work, and I can tell by Tiny’s questions she’s intrigued.
Kaga raises his eyebrows and then hands me a glass of Kaga-approved Scotch. “Nice,” I compliment after taking a heavy sip.
He grimaces. “It’s acceptable but not by much. Do you realize that this place is devoid of almost any East Asian art?”
“It’s too bad that they don’t have a donor who could change that,” I say wryly.
He’s only listening to me with half an ear. Most of his attention is directed at listening to Michelle and Tiny talk about Jake’s little sister. When Kaga finally deigns to answer me, we’re interrupted by Ross Fairchild.
“Mr. Kerr, I didn’t realize you’d arrived. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. Last minute details.” He shakes my hand vigorously. “No hard feelings?”
Kaga raises an inquiring eyebrow.
“In order to avoid any problems tonight, I donated the full amount in cash, rather than stock options or a gift made over a several year period as we’d originally discussed,” I explain.
Fairchild wilts under Kaga’s stern disapproval. “He should have trusted you.”
“He was doing his job.” I receive a weak smile from Fairchild.
Hoping to change the subject, he turns to Tiny. “Perhaps I can take your delightful companion for a tour.”
“It’s me who’s unfamiliar with your establishment,” I correct.
“That’s right.” Tiny gives a small, sad smile. “My mother and I came here frequently. We weren’t always able to pay, so we really appreciated the pay as you can policy.”
Fairchild beams. “That was the entire purpose of Henry Clay Frick’s donation. He bequeathed not only this residence but the entire collection of art he and his wife curated. They bought all the art with the intention of donating it. Did you know there is another Frick museum in Pittsburgh?”
“No,” she responds with interest.
“Yes, you must go. In fact, call me and let me know when you’re going to be there, and I’ll arrange for my colleague to give you and Mr. Kerr a private tour. Tell me, what is your favorite collection? Is it the Fragonard room? Everyone loves that.”
“That was my mom’s favorite,” I hear Tiny say as they walk away.
“Good call on the museum thing,” Kaga says. “It makes sense now. You’ve never been a big patron of the arts, so the fact that you were donating five million to this racket made me doubt your sanity.”
“I suppose I should be grateful you waited until after my fortune was safe before voicing public concerns about my mental health.”