Mary was taken aback. Was it possible Diamond Jim had a crush on her? Hard to believe but if it were so, she would have to come up with a gentle way to refuse him.
Diamond Jim was not a good salesman. He was a great one, and part of his success was due to his ability to know what people were thinking. “No, no, not that. It was Lillian’s idea. A sad state of affairs. She’s turned me into her errand boy.”
Feeling embarrassed, Mary tried to deny what she had been thinking. “I don’t know what you thought, but might I say that many a man would love to be her errand boy. What is this about?”
“First of all, never kid a kidder.”
“A cliché phrase? That’s the message Lillian wanted you to give me?”
“No, it’s my sound life advice to you. Know who you’re talking to so you don’t jump to the wrong conclusions.”
“You’re right. I apologize. I’ve been tense and haven’t been myself lately.”
“And that’s why Lillian’s concerned. Stanford and Jim have nefarious plans for you and she’s afraid that in your state you won’t recognize it.” He then went on to tell her what Lillian had overheard at the gallery earlier today.
“Thank you, Jim. Please tell Lillian I appreciate her concern—”
“You’re going after them, aren’t you?”
Mary paused, then said, “Am I that transparent?”
“Not at all. It was merely an old salesman’s trick to get at the truth.”
“And I’m the chump that walked right into it.”
“I got lucky. You’re no chump and never will be, Mary. I’m sure you have your reasons and a plan.”
She spied White and Breese across the room chatting with each other. They spotted her, nodded, and smiled. She smiled back and decided to head toward them. “Let’s hope they can’t trick me as well as you.”
Diamond Jim felt compelled to speak. “Are you sure about this?”
She stopped and turned toward him. “No, but it’s something I have to try or I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Good luck then.” Diamond Jim wanted to say more, but it was a crowded room with too many business associates present. Otherwise, he would have said, It’s about time someone nailed those bastards.
25
Fuller’s art exhibition at the Mink Gallery had wound down. It was past the allotted time, and the catering staff was cleaning up. Fuller, Mary, White, Breese, and Diamond Jim were the only ones left. All had imbibed several drinks, except for Mary, who had been nursing one all night and acting as if she had drunk more. Mink approached them.
“Congratulations, Mr. Fuller. For any painter’s first showing, it was a smashing success. You sold every painting except one.”
White was feeling no pain, or at least behaved as if he wasn’t. “There’s one left. Outrageous! I’ll buy it.”
“You don’t even know which one it is,” said Fuller.
“Who cares? You’re my friend, you’re brilliant. How much is it?” Mink was about to answer when White said, “Wait, unimportant.” He took a check out of his pocket, signed it, and handed it to Mink. “Fill it in. Whatever it costs, I want it.”
“Stanford, I can’t allow you to do this.”
White snapped back with a sudden serious tone, “You can’t allow or disallow me to do anything, Lance. Can you?” The room became silent. White realized he had put a damper on the evening, something he had no desire to do. He tried to lessen the impact by joking. “Please let me buy the painting, Lance. Please, please, please, old friend.”
Everyone laughed. White seemed to have salvaged what had been an awkward situation, though under Mary’s laugh she had already noted that his first reaction had been more genuine and had merely scratched the surface of Stanford White’s dark side.
Breese chimed in, “You’re not going to put a cherry on top, Stanford? How rude.”
“How could I forget? Yes, that too!”
Fuller decided to play along. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted it that badly, my friend? Of course you may purchase it.”
White hugged Fuller in jest. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! I now own an original Fuller!” He then turned to Mink, “Armen, can you be a sport and wrap that up for me?”
“Consider it done, Mr. White.” Mink headed for his office, stopping for a moment to instruct one of his employees to wrap up the painting White had just purchased.
White turned to the others. “Shall we continue our celebration back at my apartment? I am equipped with drink, much more drink, and snacks galore.”
Everyone quickly accepted the invitation except Diamond Jim. “I’d love to, Stanford, but I need to catch an early train tomorrow for Philadelphia.”
“You poor man. I wouldn’t wish Philadelphia on anyone.”
“Business is business. Mary, can I give you a ride home?”
“Thank you, Jim. No need to bother.”
“I assure you it’s not my bother. It’s my driver’s. He’s the one who will have to drop me at my home on West Forty- Sixth Street then take you all the way to Brooklyn.” His look told her that this was her last chance to change her mind about whatever insane plan she might have.
Mary replied, slurring a few words for effect, “Thank you, but I’m enjoying myself too much.”
Disappointed, Diamond Jim stared at her for a moment, then left.
There was a lull in the activity and Breese decided to salvage the party atmosphere. “Did you hear that, Stanford?” he said. “Mary is having a lovely time.”
“We all are,” White flamboyantly added. “That’s why the celebration of our very talented good friend must continue. To our carriages, gentlemen…and lady.”
The energy in the room picked up again as White and Fuller almost simultaneously offered Mary a ride in each of their carriages. Acting the gentleman, White graciously relented.
“It’s only fitting that you should ride with the man of the hour.” He gestured toward Fuller. “I officially rescind my offer.”
Mink arrived with his employee carrying White’s painting wrapped in paper and tied with rope. “Your purchase, Mr. White.”
“Excellent timing, Armen. Please have your man put it in my carriage.” Mink nodded to his employee, who followed White and Breese to the door, where White stopped and turned back to Mary and Fuller. “James and I will see the two of you posthaste.” In a matter of seconds, they were out the door, with Mary, Fuller, and Mink the only ones left.
“I need to get back to my calculations,” said Mink. “Mr. Fuller, I will send you a check by the end of the week with a complete inventory of what you sold, which, since you sold everything, is not really necessary, but it is my normal business practice.”
Fuller extended his hand and he and Mink shook. “Thank you, Armen, for everything.”
“It is I who should thank you. It was a very profitable night for both of us.” Mink nodded to Mary and was heading back to his office when Fuller stopped him.
“When do you think the reviews will come out?”
“Art reviewers are unreliable. However, I expect they should be out within the next week.”
Fuller moaned slightly. “I have to wait a whole week?”
“Don’t put too much stock in reviewers, Mr. Fuller. They’re a flighty bunch.” Mink continued to his office as Fuller turned to Mary.
“Why would he say that? He thinks they’re going to pan me, doesn’t he?”
“I would take that at face value, Lance, and not try to read too much into it.”
Fuller shrugged as if he barely accepted Mary’s assessment, then indicated the door. “Shall we?” And they headed for his carriage.
During the ride to White’s Twenty-Fourth Street apartment, Fuller divulged more of his insecurity about his art. “My friends buy my art. What does that mean? I’
ll tell you: nothing.”
“At the very least it tells you that you have some very loyal and loving friends.”
“It’s no more than an upper-class version of ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.’ ”
Mary joked, “There seems to be much too much scratching going on. Is there a preponderance of mosquitoes in your mansions?”
“I’m serious, Mary. Contrary to the general perception, we are not a carefree, happy lot. There are skeletons in our closets that we desperately want to keep under lock and key. By supporting one another’s efforts, the hope is to obligate that person to stay quiet if one of those skeletons is revealed to him.”
“I understand, but I also understand that poor people have secrets, too, without the cushion of untold riches.”
“Money is overrated.”
“Only to those who have it. Go down to Bandit’s Roost on Mulberry Street or any of the many impoverished areas in New York or Brooklyn. Then tell me how overrated money is.”
“Things will improve. The economy is doing well.”
“Yes, and all the money is going to your upper-crust friends. Even the middle class, which is much smaller than it should be, is struggling.”
“I’m not one of those people, Mary.”
“What sort of people?”
“The sort who is oblivious to the disadvantaged. I do feel concern, a considerable amount.”
“I don’t doubt you, Lance, and believe me, I’m not trying to be contrary. But I do believe it’s important to count your blessings, so to speak.”
“As usual, you’re right. I apologize for letting my privilege cloud my vision.”
“Actually, I’m impressed. You’re remarkably evolved for your class.”
“Please tell me I’m beyond Neanderthal and not some Darwinian relic.”
Mary laughed. “You have a wonderful sense of humor, so you’re definitely beyond the club-and-stone stage.”
“What a relief.” He also laughed, then got serious. “Mary, I’m going to take you home.”
“I’m enjoying your success. Let’s continue.”
“Stanford and James are my friends, yet I don’t approve of everything they do. There have been times—”
“I’m a grown woman. Believe it or not, I can manage my own life.”
“I’m sure you can. However—”
“I appreciate your concern. It’s sweet. We haven’t known each other very long, so you haven’t had a chance to experience one of my stronger qualities. I’m stubborn. When I want to do something, I do it, and God have pity on the person who interferes.”
“In that case, I officially stand back. I see no possible advantage in fighting with a woman. Even if I win, I lose.”
“Your perception is correct, except that with me, you’d never win.”
“I don’t doubt that, and it leaves me breathless.”
“Do try to keep breathing. I don’t want your death on my hands.”
“I fully intend to now that I’ve met you.”
“Lance, I—”
“I realize how soon it is, but time heals and I have plenty of that commodity. I don’t mind waiting.”
“I’m flattered, and I truly like you, but please don’t have high expectations. I have no idea where my life is headed.”
“Then please think of me as a friend who cares about you.”
“I already do, and I appreciate it.”
“I’m glad. Are you sure I can’t convince you to go home?”
“Positive.”
A solemn look overtook his face. “Seriously, Mary, I hope everything goes swimmingly for you at Stanford’s.”
“It’s nothing you should trouble yourself about. I’m an expert swimmer.”
“You’re bright and fun and flip, but you also need to be careful.”
“About what?”
Fuller struggled with spelling out the problem, and in the end he muttered, “Just be careful.”
They both became quiet and not much was said for the rest of the ride to Twenty-Fourth Street.
26
White and Breese were prepared for Mary and Fuller when they arrived. Spread out on a table with a lace tablecloth were imported cheese, crackers, and fresh strawberries symmetrically placed around a plate at the center of which was melted chocolate, and a bottle of champagne with four champagne flutes. They had already popped open the champagne and the flutes had been filled.
Mary instantly knew she had to avoid champagne or any drink at all that was handed to her. Trying to procrastinate as long as she could, she commented to White, “What a lovely spread. Do you mind if I partake?”
“Of course not. That is what it’s for. And feel free to imbibe as much as you like.” He lifted the champagne bottle. “I have an infinite supply. On special occasions like this one, we guzzle it down like water.”
“How positively entertaining.” She put cheese on a cracker and popped it into her mouth, chewing it slowly, trying to waste as much time as possible while the others chatted away, mostly about the art exhibition and gossip about the people who had attended. Mary didn’t know the people and had little interest in what titillated the upper crust. She moved on to the strawberries, which, when dipped in the melted chocolate, she found quite scrumptious. After she’d had a few strawberries, White and Breese handed out the flutes filled with champagne.
White raised his. “A toast to our fabulous friend and amazing companion, Lance Fuller, on his triumphant night.”
“Here, here,” said Breese as all three men downed their drinks. Mary didn’t.
“Sorry, gentlemen, but would it be all right if I partook of your lavatory, Mr. White?”
“Why certainly, Mary, and my name’s Stanford.”
“Thank you, Stanford.”
He pointed. “It’s over there, through the bedroom on the right.”
Since this was only White’s pied-à-terre, Mary had hoped there would be a communal bathroom in the outside hall so that what she planned on doing would be easier to camouflage. She briefly chastised herself for even thinking that. A man like White would always have the luxury of an en suite bathroom. She carried the flute of champagne with her toward the bedroom door.
When she opened it and saw the green room with the red velvet swing hanging from the ceiling, the red velvet curtains, and the huge heart-shaped bed, everything that Susie Johnson had described to her, she inadvertently blurted out, “My God, Stanford, is this a bedroom or a playground?”
“Truth be told, a little bit of both, my dear,” he answered.
“Stannie has a habit of mixing sleep with pleasure,” said Breese.
White and Breese laughed, and knowing what they were capable of doing, it took all of Mary’s self-control for her to also summon up a laugh so as not to put a damper on the party before she got the evidence she needed.
She entered the bathroom, closed the door, and rested her drink on the counter next to the sink. She then propped her pocketbook up next to it. She had brought a larger one than she normally would in order to achieve what she needed to do. After opening it, she pulled out a mason jar and unscrewed the top. She had been very careful to hold the champagne flute by its stem because White had handed it to her touching the top part of the flute. If it was possible to identify his fingerprints, she didn’t want them blurred by hers. The combination of the drug in her drink and White’s fingerprints on the flute would be hard for him to refute. She put the glass into the mason jar, screwed the lid closed as tight as she could, and placed it back in her pocketbook. She then draped a handkerchief over it to hide it from view in case for some reason the pocketbook was ever opened in front of the others.
The next part was a little tricky. Not knowing what kind of drink White would be serving, she had brought an empty wineglass. It certainly co
uldn’t substitute for the flute, so she had to improvise. She placed the empty wineglass on the floor and stomped on it several times, mashing the glass into tiny pieces that made it impossible to determine what it once had been. She then emerged from the bathroom and returned to the living area, this time acting distraught.
“Stanford, I feel so terrible. I drank the champagne, then accidentally knocked over the flute, shattering it.”
“Don’t give it the least bit of worry. It’s perfectly fine, Mary.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said, fiddling with her pocketbook as if she were about to open it. “Let me reimburse you for it.”
“Mary, please. Accidents do happen.”
“I realize that, and I like to take responsibility for mine.”
“Don’t even think of taking out money. I consider it an insult.”
“Okay then,” said Mary, relieved at not having to open a pocketbook she had never wanted to open. “I certainly don’t want to break your flute and insult you, too.”
As Mary dipped another strawberry into the chocolate in an effort to forestall any more offers of a drink, White got out another flute and smiled as he handed it to her. “I have a dozen more of these, so you would need to be the most accident-prone human on earth before we’d run into an inventory problem.”
Before she knew it, Mary’s glass was full. What was she to do? Taking another trip to the bathroom to break another glass would be too suspicious. She contemplated letting it slip out of her hand but knew that it would just prompt White to get her another flute. Just as her level of anxiety was rising she noticed something peculiar. White was filling Breese’s, Fuller’s, and his own glass with the same bottle. It made her feel comfortable that she could drink away without consuming chloral hydrate. And she did.
Suddenly, Mary started to get woozy. It confused her. She was sure there was nothing in the champagne. If there were, the others would also be affected, but she turned to observe them and they seemed normal.
“Lance, what—” Her vision was getting blurred and her head began to spin. She found it hard completing her sentence.
Near Prospect Park Page 17
