Chapter 26 – Chess Sex
We’d hardly had time to set up the board, make our first moves, and finish our cappuccinos before one of the other staff squealed to the Director, who came storming into the gallery. He looked at us, at the Curator, then at the Faberge table, then back at the Curator, and then back at us. “What the hell is this?”
I could have frozen his ass with a stare but decided I’d let Tommy handle the dork. I needed to decide on the Sicilian Defense or the Stonewall Attack. Tommy didn’t even look up at the guy, just said, “It may not look like it, but I’m working on the case.”
“What?”
“I’m working on the case. The painting. Don’t worry about anything.” And he moved his second pawn, which showed me his opening gambit. Ok, so it’s the Sicilian for me.
“How are you working on the painting theft?” The Director looked at the Curator and said, “You let them do this?” Looked back at us, recognizing the table, screamed, “The Faberge! The Faberge. Are you crazy? Do you know what you’re doing?”
Still not looking up at him Tommy said, “The only known Faberge piece in existence. Insured by us for twelve million. Very nice table. We’ll be careful of it.”
I looked up from the board and said, “This table is worth twelve million?” and he nodded, not looking up from the board. I thought, ‘If I’da know that, I would’ve pinched it along with the painting.’
The Director sputtered more, at us and at the Curator, poor baby, caught in the line of fire, not fair to him, not his fault, Churchill would have cracked under the wave of Deneuvian vibes I had sent his way. The Director told us to stop, stop, get up and out, what the hell did we think we were doing; which got annoying quickly. I kept quiet, head down, finally Tommy looked up, sighed, stood up and took the Director by the elbow, walked him over behind the case that held the silver service Gale coveted, said a few words to him, came back and sat down, not looking at me but back at the board. The color of the Director’s face was lighter than when he was sputtering, and his hands and arms had ceased their gesticulations. He stood looking at us, then looked daggers at the Curator, and then walked out of the gallery.
Now Tommy looked away from the table and said to the Curator, “Don’t worry, you’re cool. Thanks.”
“What’d you say to the ole boy?” now making my second move, committing to the Sicilian.
“Just told him again I was working on the case.”
“What else?”
“I mentioned his policy was up for its annual review soon; if he didn’t want to see his premium double, he might want to let me do my job the way I see fit.”
“That all?”
“Mentioned you were friends with the Curator. Told him you are involved in the case. Said you might take offense if he gave the Curator any shit about letting us play here.”
“That was nice of you, to protect him.”
“He didn’t deserve to get into trouble over us; over our little date here. He didn’t have much volition about that, did he? Not after what you did to him.”
“Me? What’d I do?”
Tommy didn’t answer or even look up from the board, knowing I was fishing for a compliment. I went back to studying the chess pieces, letting one part of my mind work out the next move while another part thought about what Tommy had said to the Director. A minute later I moved my third piece, a rook, then said, “Tommy, am I involved in the case?”
He looked up at me and smiled. “Was Noah involved in the flood?”
Gwenny June's Tommy Crown Affair Page 26
