Stori
“HE WANTS YOUR paintings in every one of his hotels? How many are there?”
Oliver gets his money out of his wallet, ready to hand it to the cabbie.
“There’s thirty-four of them. France, Spain, Portugal, Japan, Hong Kong. It goes on and on. Are you familiar with the Imperial name?”
“They’re incredible. Boutique hotels that only the 1% can afford.”
“Piper wants me to look online. Start getting an idea of his esthetic, so when we meet I’ll have a sense of the spaces.”
I take in the enormity of the proposal. What an opportunity.
“I was worried he was going to ask for the same exact paintings in every hotel. I’m not interested in repeating paintings. That’s how you end up in malls selling the same images over and over,” I say.
“You’d never let that happen.”
“He’s one of the most prolific private collectors in the world. And not paintings alone. He collects sculptures too. The pieces in his hotels are first rate. I’d be just part of the whole.”
“My God,” Is the best I can come up with. It’s stunning news.
“We’ve got a meeting with him next Wednesday. He’s coming to New York to meet me and talk money with Piper.”
“This is huge.”
“I know. He was in Manhattan on business the day before we got back from Italy. He wanted to talk with me then, but I didn’t look at my messages. Luckily, Piper covered for me.”
No wonder she was pissed off at him. He could have blown the whole thing, and the hotelier could have moved on to a more appreciative artist.
“I won’t make that mistake again,” he says as if reading my mind.
“I’m so proud of you, Oliver. Just think, your paintings are going to be seen around the world.”
I lean in and give him a congratulatory kiss. Then another.
“I’m not going to tell anyone till it’s a done deal.”
I nod my head in agreement just as we pull up to his parents’ Brownstone. My heart skips a beat when I realize I’ve been here before.
“Your grandparents house! I didn’t know your parents lived here.”
“It was passed down to them.”
He hands the money to the driver and we get out.
“Everyone’s excited to see you. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Standing on the stoop brings me back to my teen years. I remember we spent a few holidays at this house. I feel Oliver’s fingers entwine in mine. He squeezes my hand and gives me a peck on the cheek. The door opens.
Mr. and Mrs. London wear the last hard seventeen years on their faces. But it’s a kind of beauty because they still look happy in spite of their trials. It looks like their relationship has beat everything that was thrown at them.
“Stori!” His mother says, taking me in her embrace.
I forgot how tiny she is. I don’t specifically remember her hugging me much, but she must have because it feels so familiar.
“Mrs. London!”
She doesn’t let go. “Maggie. Call me Maggie.”
“Come over here and give me some of that, pretty girl.”
Oliver’s father always called me that name.
“Hello, Mr. London. It’s so nice to see you both.”
“Think we can go by first names now. It’s Joe.”
“Hey, don’t I get a hello?” Oliver says.
His mother wraps her arms around his waist and leans into his chest. He kisses the top of her head. His father pats his shoulder and I see him give it a gentle squeeze.
“Come in. Grace is waiting,” Joe says.
We walk into the old Brownstone and I’m transported. I remember the squeaky wooden floor in the narrow hallway. I purposely step in the right spot just to hear it sound. Behind me Oliver chuckles when he sees my move. I follow Maggie into the charming kitchen and see the old wooden table we used to sit at playing UNO.
And then there’s Grace. She stands waiting for us to enter. She’s a woman now, but I still see the girl. When our eyes meet, her hands lift to her mouth, and hold back the emotion that overwhelms her. Her eyes fill with tears and so do mine. Oliver told me about the affect 9/11 had on her, and it broke my heart. I know not to approach her too quickly, but she comes to me.
Taking her in my arms we rock our hello. I smooth her hair and think back. No one says a word for few moments.
“Hello, Grace. I’ve missed you.”
I don’t expect an answer because Oliver has explained her unpredictable ways. But Grace has a surprise.
“Where were you?” she says. There’s no irony in her question, and it reminds me of what Oliver said that first night.
“I was just finding my way back. It took me a really long time.”
I think she’s satisfied with my answer because I get a smile. And then Oliver gets one too.
“I brought you a present from France,” I say.
For the next few hours we sat around the table talking, eating, and laughing our way through the afternoon. I’m so glad I bought Grace the gold bracelet. Even Oliver didn’t know I had. He was as surprised as his sister. It’s made her happy I think, because she kept looking at it on her wrist.
Oliver’s parents remembered stories about us I hadn’t thought of in years. How we used to make out in the garage of their old house and get busted every time by a vigilant mother. Even Grace brought up a memory of the three of us going to the Metropolitan Museum. When I asked if she’d like to go again she said yes, but added a maybe to the end of the sentence.
Everyone here appreciated the day. And I think it’s because each of us has reclaimed something we thought had been lost forever. Oliver and I love, Grace hope, and Maggie and Joe stability. When we leave, I promise Grace to bring my pictures I kept of her and I and Oliver way back when.
Walking down the hall towards Whiskey River it strikes me as funny that this is the first time I want to be somewhere else. That man has put a spell on me. I think back to that first night he came in the bar. That song was playing. I hum it in memory of the beginning.
Earl stands guard at the entry where a man is just now leaving. As he comes closer to me I realize I recognize him. But from where? When he passes we both nod and I’m more certain than ever I know him.
“Evening, Miss Ryder. Welcome back,” Earl says.
“Thank you, Earl. Hey, who was that man? Do you know him?”
He looks at the departing figure as it disappears around the corner.
“I don’t think so. He hasn’t been here before. He didn’t stay long.”
“Hmm. Okay, thanks.”
I rub the Whiskey River name plate and make my way inside as Earl holds the door open. We’ve got a full house tonight. And then it hits me. That was Piper’s father. What the hell was he doing here? He didn’t strike me as a drinker, social or otherwise. He struck me as an asshole. Any father who makes his daughter do cartwheels for his attention has a serious problem.
“Henry! Come over here, Henry!”
I hear the inebriated call of a patron who obviously thinks all bars are alike. He’s somehow missed the sophistication and elegance of Whiskey River. Maybe he thinks he’s in a Hooters. When I look in his direction, I find an over aged frat boy sitting with an embarrassed woman. She’s got a disgusted look on her face. I’d bet two to one they’re on a first date. And ten to one it’s going to be their last. My father’s headed for the table where I know he’ll calm the situation. I give my bartender the signal to cut this guy off. Two fingers for table two, followed by five for a full stop. He nods in agreement.
I didn’t intend on speaking to the man, but as I pass, he calls to me.
“Waitress! Get me another one of these, babe.” He holds up an empty glass.
I catch my father’s eye and signal him with a subtle shake of my head. I can handle this one. I give the woman a warm smile. It’s not her fault she’s with a moron. Then I lock eyes with him. My voice and body language let him know who’s in charge here. I kill him with a steel kindness and give him no room to contradict me.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying my club,” I say not so subtly.
His bloodshot eyes try to focus on me. But they move from my face down my body then back up to my breasts, where they settle. I hear his companion’s chair move away from the table and she gathers her things. I look at her as she stands.
“I don’t blame you in the least,” I say.
“Fucking online matches,” she smirks.
As she walks away, I turn back to the man.
“Let me get you a cab. You’ve reached your limit here.”
My father has brought Earl inside and they approach. Earl takes the man’s arm and lifts him right out of his seat.
“Well, I’m not sure I needz your help,” he says as he tries to steady his legs. “Oh, maybe I do,” he laughs.
My father and I watch as Earl leads the goon out.
“You missed it.”
“What?”
“George Abbott was here.”
“Crap! What did he say?”
“I didn’t know it was him till he introduced himself an hour after he arrived. I tried to engage the man, but he was more interested in showing off to his two young female companions. He left an envelope for you. It’s on your desk.”
“Think he was scoping the place?”
“I think he was surveying the kingdom. Ordered the best. He met with another man. Never seen him before. They sat talking and the guy gave him a business card.”
I get this sick feeling in my stomach.
“Bald, sixtyish, black coat?”
“Yeah. He stayed after George left, watching the room and finishing his scotch. You just missed the guy. Must have passed him in the hall.”
“I did. He’s a developer. A big one.”
I give my father a squeeze of the hand and head for the office. A quick conversation with Julie, who updates me on the week’s business, and then I grab the official-looking envelope. There’s a legal firm’s name in the return address. Oh oh. I open it and the news is in the first sentence. Mrs. Abbott has died. Here we go.