A Note from an Old Acquaintance

by Bill Walker

  “You were right,” a voice said behind him.

  Brian turned to find Jason Forster at his elbow.

  “I was?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s definitely something totally different than the other pieces. And it’s terrific. She’s a major talent. Please tell your friend that she’s going to get very prominent mention in The Times this week.” The critic winked, patted him on the shoulder, then melted into the crowd.

  Brian felt a strange mix of emotions. It was obvious he’d never fooled the critic for a moment, but it was just as obvious that Joanna’s art had spoken volumes. And the man was deeply impressed.

  Coming out of his reverie, Brian looked for Joanna, seeing the crowd once again surrounding her, her fiancé standing at her side. The man smiled and nodded in response to something someone was telling him, but his cold eyes were locked onto Brian, boring into him.

  All right, pal, I’m not hiding from you now.

  Brian moved through the crowd, gently pushing past people until he’d made his way to where Joanna stood. He was just behind a middle-aged couple gushing over her art. Brian held Ruby’s gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to let the man intimidate him.

  When Ruby turned to speak to another guest, Brian shifted his attention to Joanna. She looked at him, her eyes shining. “Hello, Brian, it’s so nice to see you again. Thank you so much for coming.” She held out her hand and Brian took it.

  He immediately saw Ruby’s eyes flick from their handshake to the new piece on its pedestal nearby, the light of understanding dawning in his eyes. The older man’s face flushed anew with anger.

  “Erik, this is Brian Weller, Nick Simon’s friend.”

  Joanna’s fiancé tore his eyes away from Communion and offered his hand. Brian took it. It felt cold and clammy.

  “Ah, yes.... Thank you for coming, Mr. Weller,” Ruby said, his voice oily smooth. “We’re so glad you could find the time.”

  The man’s grip became vise-like. Brian kept his expression neutral and applied his own pressure in return, the two of them fighting a silent battle for supremacy. The barest of frowns crossed Joanna’s face and she said, “Erik, why don’t you get Mr. Weller another drink. He’s out of champagne.”

  The man turned sharply toward Joanna, looking as if he might offer a stinging rebuke. Instead, he smiled, the pressure on Brian’s hand abating. “Certainly, my dear, we wouldn’t want our guest to go thirsty, now would we?”

  He let go of Brian’s hand and marched off into the crowd, headed for the kitchen.

  “You look so beautiful tonight,” Brian said.

  Joanna reached for his hand, caressing it. “Oh, Brian, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about how I acted the other night. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Sweetheart.”

  Her smile was radiant. “What do you think of Communion?”

  “It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and certainly the greatest compliment anyone’s ever paid me. I’m humbled.”

  “And you humble me,” she replied. “Every time I look in your eyes. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  For the briefest of moments, there was no one else in the room but the two of them.

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” he said. “And I’ve got some good news for you, too.” He leaned closer to her. “See that gray-haired gentlemen dressed in black over there by the dessert table?”

  Joanna followed his gaze and nodded.

  “That is none other than Jason Forster...from The New York Times.”

  “You’re kidding! My God, you were right.”

  Brian grinned, enjoying the moment. “But that’s not all. We had an interesting conversation, especially after you unveiled Communion.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  “Sweetheart, he all but told me he’s going to give you a rave review. He said for me to tell you to expect ‘very prominent mention this week.’”

  Joanna’s hand flew to her mouth. “Brian, Jason Forster’s their head critic. He only reviews the names. Do you know what this means?” She was trembling.

  Brian nodded, squeezing her hand. “Means you’re a name now, too.”

  “Oh, my God! I can’t believe this. I don’t know what I would have done without your help; you’ve been so wonderful.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, but it’s your talent, not mine. You did it.”

  She started to reply, when Brian spotted Erik Ruby returning with a flute of champagne.

  I wonder if I should worry about drinking it.

  “You’re fiancé’s coming back. And he knows.”

  “What? How?”

  “If you’d seen the look on his face when he saw us shake hands....”

  She gasped. “Communion.”

  “Right.”

  Brian let go of her hand and took a step back, as Ruby rejoined them. He handed Brian the champagne, his eyes once again darting to Communion before coming to rest back on him.

  “So, Mr...uh, Weller, is it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What is it you do? Are you with the press?”

  “Me? No, I’m a filmmaker and a novelist.”

  He caught Joanna out of the corner of his eye signaling him to be careful. She then let herself be led off by someone she knew.

  “Filmmaker, eh? That must be a hard business,” Ruby said.

  “It has its moments.”

  “I imagine it does. I can also imagine that it’s feast or famine—a bit like the hardware business. One day everything’s fine and the next....”

  Brian felt a crawling sensation at the base of his spine. “We’ve learned to roll with the punches, Mr. Ruby.”

  “Please, my father was Mr. Ruby.”

  “Erik, then.”

  “Still, one never knows if one might be out on the street from one day to the next. Am I right?”

  Ruby’s smile reached every part of his face, except his eyes.

  The crawling sensation flashed into a white-hot anger Brian barely managed to hold in check. Somehow Ruby knew about his father’s deal. What else did he know? And did he have something to do with that deal going bad? He didn’t see how, but just the same, his father’s words echoed in his mind:

  “...you never know what a man will do when it comes to his wo-man.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be just fine, Erik. As I said, my partner and I roll with the punches.” Now it was his turn. “And by the way, please congratulate Ms. Richman on her show and especially this new work. It’s a masterpiece. One can tell it comes from a very special place in her heart.”

  Ruby glared at him. “Yes, I’m sure it is a special place, but Joanna is also a practical woman. She knows her limits.”

  “Really? I don’t think she has any limits, not where her talent is concerned, anyway. As for the rest of her life, well, needs can change....”

  “Yes, indeed they can.”

  It was time for Brian to leave. There was no more point to this verbal jousting. “Please tell Ms. Richman that I had a wonderful time and that I wish her well with her career.”

  “Going so soon?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I have an early edit session tomorrow.”

  “Well, it was very illuminating to meet you, Brian. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

  Brian ignored the veiled threat and retraced his way back through the maze, but not before he caught Joanna’s eye. She nodded her understanding and winked at him, the hint of a smile gracing her lips.

  Outside, he handed over his ticket to the valet and waited for his car, his thoughts on Joanna’s fiancé. The next move was Ruby’s. He only hoped that whatever happened would not cause Joanna any pain. That he knew he could not bear.

  Ruby watched the silent exchange between Joanna and Weller, his temper seething. His patience was at an end. When the younger man left, he made his way into the studio’s bedroom, and spoke into the microphone on his wrist. “Did you
hear any of that, Mosley?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. Over.”

  “Good. I want you to bring him to my office at nine.”

  “What if he refuses?”

  “I don’t think he will.” Ruby filled Mosley in on the plan he’d been formulating and the black man chuckled.

  “I’ll have him there, Mr. Ruby. No problem. Over.”

  Ruby lowered his arm, shot his cuffs and gave a quick check to his surroundings. No one had heard a word. Making his way out to the main room, he rejoined Joanna, who was holding court with a few of her friends, students and colleagues from the school. He leaned close to her.

  “Something’s come up. I’m going to have to go to the office in a little bit. I shouldn’t be too late.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, nodding. “I can handle the cleanup here. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Ruby swallowed his anger, giving her a loving look. It was only the thought of what was to come when he had Brian Weller in front of him once again that kept him from losing it completely. He’d have that pleasure in about an hour and a half. He couldn’t wait.

  23

  BRIAN PULLED HIS CELICA into the Danker & Donohue garage and climbed out, leaving the car running. The attendant loped over and climbed in, giving him the high sign.

  “Take it easy, Jimmy,” Brian said.

  The attendant cracked a snaggle-toothed grin. “Sure thing, Brian. And any time you want your old job back, you just let us know. The boys miss you.”

  “You never know,” Brian said, shooting him a salute.

  It was a running joke between the two of them. For nearly a year, not long after he and Bob had started their company, Brian had moonlighted as the night manager at the garage. He didn’t miss the late nights, but at least while he’d worked there they’d let him park for free, and the job had given him the chance to do some writing when things slowed up in the wee hours.

  Out on Newbury, Brian ducked into Bauer Wines and bought his usual six-pack of Samuel Adams, its heft a familiar comfort. He joked with Howie for a few minutes then headed out again, fighting the urge to cross the street and check the office, knowing it was fine. It was his nerves that were not. All the way home, he kept thinking of his conversation with Ruby, and what the man’s veiled words really meant.

  Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions. Yeah, and maybe pigs could fly.

  Ruby knew something he shouldn’t and that was all there was to it. He shook his head and picked up his pace. The temperature had dropped another few degrees, and the wind cut through his jacket, chilling him.

  He paused at the light at Fairfield and Beacon and dug for his keys. Freeing them from the confines of his pocket, he stepped off the curb and froze. A red Ferrari 328 sat idling next to the side entrance of his building, white plumes of exhaust billowing from the twin pipes. Leaning against the car, dressed in an immaculate dark-blue suit was the same black man he’d seen guarding the door to Joanna’s building. The man regarded him coolly, inclining his head in a casual greeting.

  Brian crossed the street and approached, his nerves tingling.

  “Good evening, Mr. Weller,” the black man said. “I trust you enjoyed Ms. Richman’s show.”

  “Ruby send you to ask me that?” Brian said, placing his key in the side door lock.

  “Mr. Ruby is concerned.”

  Brian pulled the key from the lock and turned. The black man wasn’t smiling now. “Oh, really? And why would he be concerned about little old me?”

  “I think you know, but let’s just say family ties are important to him, just as I’m sure they’re important to you.”

  Brian’s patience ended. “You know, Mr....”

  “Mosley. Cary Mosley.”

  “Right. It’s cold out here and I’ve had a long day. Tell your boss he should mind his own business.”

  “That’s just what he’s doing, Mr. Weller....”

  I walked right into that one, didn’t I, Brian thought. “Okay, what does he want?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. However, he would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience.”

  “Now?”

  The black man remained silent, his eyes boring into him. Brian felt tendrils of fear creeping up his back. Mosley seemed to sense his unease and cracked an easy grin. “Don’t worry, Mr. Weller, after you hear what Mr. Ruby has to say, I’ll be bringing you back here—safe and sound. Promise.” He held up his hand in a Boy Scout salute.

  “What if I still say no thanks?”

  “That’s your prerogative. I’ll leave and the matter remains unresolved.”

  “And just how does your boss expect to ‘resolve’ it?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  A part of him wanted to send Ruby’s errand-boy packing, while another part—the curious writer—had an overwhelming desire to know what the older man had in mind. It would probably be a complete waste of time, but there was no way he could go inside now and put it out of his mind. Not where Joanna was concerned.

  The smile was back on the black man’s face, as if Mosley already knew his decision.

  Brian shook his head, resigned. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Mosley held open the door and Brian climbed into the Italian car, jarring his back when he dropped into a bucket seat lower down than his body expected. He placed his six-pack of Samuel Adams on the floor between his feet and belted himself in. Looking out the windshield, it felt as if he were seated right on the asphalt. Mosley walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. A moment later, they shot out onto Beacon, then hung a left on Gloucester, the Ferrari tearing through the turns without even screeching the tires.

  Brian watched Mosley shift gears with an effortless ease and felt a pang of envy. “The investigation business must be lucrative,” Brian said. “That is the reason Ruby hired you, isn’t it?”

  Mosley grinned. “I’m not at—”

  “—liberty to say, I know.” Brian sighed. “What can you say?”

  The black man’s smile disappeared. “That after tonight both yours and Mr. Ruby’s problems will be solved.”

  “But I don’t have a problem,” Brian said.

  “We all have problems, Mr. Weller.”

  Mosley was silent for the rest of the short ride to Newbury Street. They parked in the alley behind Ruby’s brownstone and took the cramped elevator to the top floor. Brian’s stomach fluttered, betraying his nervousness. He squared his jaw, refusing to show any sign of it to Mosley.

  When the elevator door opened, the black man led the way. Brian was impressed with the space. It took up most of the top floor with a large plate-glass window affording a stunning view of Newbury Street. The furnishings were sparse and modern looking, which contrasted well with the otherwise Victorian appointments: high ceilings and wide, ornate moulding and mahogany wainscoting. A fireplace was set in one wall. He looked above it, his heart nearly stopping. There, blown up to life size, hung the picture of Joanna, the one they’d pulled from her invitation.

  “Have a seat,” the black man said, indicating a leather armchair facing the steel and glass desk. Brian took one more look around then sat down. The chair, butter soft, gave under his weight with a gentle wheeze, the odor of leather and saddle soap reaching his nostrils.

  “When’s your boss arriving?” Brian asked.

  “Oh, he’ll be here in good time, Mr. Weller. In the meantime, would you like a drink?” Mosley indicated the well-stocked wet bar near the plate-glass window.

  “And I thought this was B.Y.O.B.,” Brian said, pulling out one of the Samuel Adams. “Want one?”

  “Not while I’m working, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah, too bad.” Brian twisted off the cap and took a long draw, making a show of really appreciating the hops-laden brew. It was all a mask to cover the deep-seated unease gnawing at his guts.

  Still, the smooth, cool liquid seemed to calm him and clear his head a bit. He glanced at the clock on the desk, a modern
istic Lucite LCD affair. Even though the numbers were reversed, he could tell it was nearly 9:00.

  The elevator began to whine, and Brian’s body tensed.

  Calm down, Weller.

  A few moments later Ruby strolled into the room, carrying a manila folder, looking relaxed and on top of the world. Brian hated him more at that moment than he’d ever hated anyone in his life.

  The older man took a seat in the swivel chair behind the desk and regarded Brian for a long, silent moment, before turning to Mosley.

  “Pour me a Macallan, won’t you, Mr. Mosley?”

  The black man complied, handing the tumbler of Scotch to Ruby, who sipped it and sighed, his eyes moving to gaze at Joanna’s picture. Brian couldn’t help stealing glances of his own. Ruby smiled.

  “Quite a shot, isn’t it? Draws your eye right to it. I can’t tell you how long it took to get it right. Hours. By the time we were done Joanna wanted to kill me, but—as you can see—it was worth it.”

  Brian sat up straighter in the chair. “The problem is, Ruby, you can’t see it for what it is. She’s nothing like that picture.”

  “And you would know her better than I?”

  Ruby swiveled in the chair and stared up at the photo. “When I first saw her, she was barely out of her teens, yet I could see the woman she was becoming. Before that day I was totally consumed by my ambition. All I could think about was the next deal and the money and power it would bring. But from the moment I laid eyes on her, I realized my ambition meant nothing without her. All I had accomplished up to that moment turned to ashes.”

  Brian stared past Ruby, focusing on Joanna’s face. He understood that feeling all too well. Almost from the moment he’d met Joanna, he found himself drawing inspiration from her.

  Ruby turned from the picture, his expression hardening. “And then you show up,” he said. “I could tell something was different about her from that first night at the party. There was a sparkle in her eyes that was never there for me. I wanted to deny the obvious, but I couldn’t. So, I hired Mr. Mosley to watch the two of you.”