It’s a warrior’s cuff to be worn by a woman with strength and power. I affix it to her wrist and then lift her ringed hand to my mouth. “You look good in diamonds.”
“I’m doubly terrified now,” she says shakily.
“Don’t be.” I bend over and kiss her bared shoulder, reveling in her hiss as she swiftly draws a breath. “It has no value beyond that it looks good on you.”
Frank sighs. “I want one of you, Ian. Find me someone right now.”
Without removing my lips from Tiny’s shoulder, I respond, “I’m not a matchmaker, but if I find a wealthy guy tonight who looks unhappy I’ll be sure to slip him your phone number.”
“That’s all I can ask for, I guess,” he says grumpily.
In the car, Tiny asks quietly, “What’s this really for?” as she fingers the jeweled cuff.
“Tonight we go into battle. It’s just a weapon to show that you belong there as much as anyone. You may think of yourself as a dyslexic former bike courier, but I know you have the heart of a warrior. A warrior who will fight to the very end for the people she loves. Who will do anything—even go from a mansion to a fifth-floor walkup to be with the man she loves. A woman who means more than anything in the world to me. A woman beyond price.”
TWENTY-FOUR
T
HE
THEME
FOR
TONIGHT
’
S
BALL
is Scheherazade, and the entrance is a red carpet covered by a canopy of gold leaves. Inside we find women wearing filmy gowns which seem to draw inspiration from the cartoon version of
Aladdin
rather than the original tale of
One Thousand and One Nights.
Tiny, in her structured ball gown, stands out, and there are several envious glances tossed her way. In a social setting, you want to be remembered. She’s dressed as if she’s risen to her place on the throne next to the sultan.
And as we walk forward and down the steps into the large atrium lined with columns, I can see her spine straighten and her shoulders go back. Her apprehension at tonight’s events seems to flow down her silk-lined back to fall on the floor, forgotten.
“Game on,” she breathes when we clear the entrance. The Howes are out in full force, standing on the far side of the long, oval reflecting pool that divides the indoor garden. Flowers are perfuming the air, and the tinkle of the central fountain can be heard over the lilting strings of the quartet in the corner. Father, mother, son, and daughter-in-law are talking and smiling as if a thunderstorm isn’t about to break over their heads.
Around us there is a bubble of space. It could be Tiny, but I’m more certain it’s me. Poverty and failure are a disease to these people, and right now—given all that’s gone on in the past weeks—I’m a primary carrier for a dangerous disease. If I was the bitter, vengeful person Tiny met many months ago, I’d be marking down every snub and cut in a mental ledger, so I could punish these slights when my fortunes recovered.
But pursuing revenge doesn’t interest me anymore. After tonight, I want to take a ride out to our estate in Connecticut and shut the gates and the world out. I want to lay Tiny out on the big lawn and make love to her under the moon and stars until she’s full of my seed and replete from my attentions. I want to fill my life with the laughter of our children rather than hate for my enemies. I’ve spent the better part of my life alone with only revenge on my mind.
I’d never go back to that state willingly.
“You have a fierce expression on your face,” Tiny murmurs, brushing the backs of her fingers against my cheek. I catch her hand before she breaks contact and kiss her long, elegant fingers.
At the base, there is a line of hard callouses built up from years of holding on to her handlebars. They remind me of how strong she is and devoted she is. How lucky I am to have her as my own.
“I love you,” I say.
She sucks in a breath and gives me a brilliant smile in return.
“I don’t know what brought that on, but I can’t say I’ll ever tire hearing it.”
“I’m just thinking about what a lucky bastard I am that you’re with me.”
With a shake of her head, she disagrees. “It’s me who’s the lucky one. Look at all you’ve given me.”
She waves a hand over her dress, the cuff bracelet glinting in the lights.
“Is that all I’ve given to you?” I’m taken a little aback that she measures our relationship in objects.
“No,” she says impatiently. “But all the love I have for you doesn’t manifest itself in things. It just is. Like an intangible.”
“You’re wrong. Your love is as real as the bracelet I gave you and longer lasting and more valuable. Don’t get caught up in all of this. It’s meaningless in the end. Look around us. Is there anyone but you willing to talk to me? Do you think that half the women here wouldn’t have left me for greener pastures and half the men wouldn’t refuse to take my calls? Don’t diminish your feelings for me. Or mine for you.”
She flushes and then steps closer to me until there’s virtually no space between us. The front of her red skirt crumples on contact with the black wool of my tux, but she pays it no attention.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Sometimes it is easy to get so intimidated by everything you have that I lose sight of what you didn’t have. We’ve found life in each another. You’ve given me so much that I feel almost too fortunate. Like life can’t be that good to one person. We’ve had the snot beaten out of us lately. Let’s hold on to what we have.”
“Yes.” I want to kiss her until there’s not a speck of lipstick left on her face. But crushing her gown is all that I’ll allow myself.
Finally remembering we are standing in a crowded party, Tiny steps back and tries to smooth out the wrinkles.
“I can’t figure out if it’s me or you they dislike more,” she jokes.
I pluck two glasses of champagne off the tray of a waiter passing by.
“It’s me. They don’t dislike you. They’re afraid that my misfortune is contagious.”
Even when I first came back into the city, hungry and poor, doors weren’t ever really closed to me, I thought. They were ajar, and I kicked them open the rest of the way. But for my mother? The cold shoulders and the unwelcome whispers from previous friends and acquaintances would have burned her deeply. No wonder she tried everything to get back the sense of belonging she had lost. No wonder she gave up when nothing worked. The last of my resentment towards her melts away.
“How’s the tutor hunt going?” I ask. We need to kill some time before the awards part of the ball, and I want to think about something less maudlin than my mother’s untimely death.
She grimaces and takes a sip of the champagne I lifted from a passing waiter. “Not well. Most of them come off as more oriented to kids. I don’t feel like I fit well with any of them.”
“We’ll find someone. Let’s cast our net wider.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look outside the city.”
“I don’t want to move.” She looks alarmed. “And I’m not driving. I don’t feel comfortable with that yet.”
Downing my champagne, I cover a smile. She’s with me but not fully adjusted yet.
“No, they come to us.”
“Oh,” she says. And then, “
Ohhh
, because you’ll pay them.”
“Yes.”
I don’t think she realizes that money means not just fancy dresses but actual meaningful differences in our lives. I couldn’t save her mother. Sickness is the great equalizer, but for now I’ll use everything I have to make her path easier.
After the last of the champagne washes down my throat, I signal a waiter for something stronger. When the waiter appears Tiny gasps in surprise.
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.”
“I’m generous that way.” He slaps me on the back. “So Michelle, is it? You’re part of the Everly family?”
She nods, somewhat dazzled by his sudden attention. “Y-y-yes.”
“And did you go to Columbia like your sister?”
“No, Wharton.”
“Good school,” Kaga guesses. He doesn’t know one U.S. institution from another, unless it’s Harvard or Yale. Nor does he care. “Your sister and her, ah, friend? Roommate? Are they enjoying their last year at college?”