Marise was looking across the room at Dinah. “Well, it’s a fairy story, but it may not be Sleeping Beauty, it might be Rapunzel. I think he is keeping her locked up, although it’s obviously a gilded cage. She should be famous by now. She made the highest grades in our class at the Institute of Fine Arts, and she’s very talented. This little out-of-the-way gallery is no place for her.”
Coleman nodded. “Dinah was a star in high school and at Duke, too. She deserves a much bigger stage. But back to Jonathan: why is his sister talking about all this now? The divorce was years ago.”
Marise made a tiny moue. “Something’s got her stirred up. Maybe she’s seen Judy recently. She’d hate anyone Jonathan married, but I think she has a sneaking admiration for Judy, who’s said to be beautiful, and wicked. I went to Miss Porter’s with Alice, and I saw her at a school function last week. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t spend five minutes with her—she’s ghastly—but I’m fond of Dinah, and I thought you should know what her sister-in-law is saying. She loved telling me all about Jonathan and Judy, and didn’t care who heard. It’s bound to reach Dinah eventually—Miss Porter’s has lots of alumnae in New York.”
Zeke Tolmach, color high, eyes sparkling, pushed through the crowd towards them. Marise saw him coming and excused herself to look at the exhibition and to congratulate Dinah.
Marise was barely out of earshot when Zeke said, “I’ve found the link between ArtSmart and the Artful Californian. You were right—the spy is Chick O’Reilly!”
“Oh, hell. How do you know?” Coleman had continued to hope against reason that the leak wasn’t Chick. She didn’t want to lose him as a writer or a friend.
Zeke glowed with pride. “It’s Chick’s partner, David Edwards. You told me he sells paper, so I called the Artful Californian’s purchasing department, pretending to be a salesman with Great Mountains Paper. They said they buy their paper from Johnson and Gray, and I called J&G, and asked for Edwards, and he works there. He’s bound to know everyone at Artful, and everything Chick knows.
“It’s a link, but not proof that Chick’s done anything wrong. Maybe Chick confides in David, and David is selling the information,” Coleman argued.
“I’m afraid you’ll never get proof, but if you ask Chick about it, you might be able to learn something from his reaction,” Zeke said.
Coleman sighed. Zeke was determined to prove he was a great detective. Well, she’d asked for his help. It was irrational to be annoyed because she didn’t like what he’d discovered.
“Oh, I’ll talk to him. He should be here tonight. He’s working on the Print Museum story, and Heyward Bain—” she broke off, and stared towards the door. Zeke followed her gaze to where Heyward Bain stood. Bain caught Coleman’s eye, smiled, and moved through the crowd towards them.
“Hello. I hoped I’d see you here,” he said.
“Hi,” Coleman said. “You know Zeke Tolmach, don’t you?”
“Of course.” They shook hands, and Bain looked at the prints on the wall nearest them. “You know, these really are beautiful prints. I must look at them, and congratulate Dinah. Nice to see you both.” He nodded, and moved away into the crowd.
“You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?” Zeke said.
“I think he’s very attractive. Does it show that much?”
“To me it does. But I’ve known you a long time. I doubt if anyone else has noticed. How does he feel about you?”
“He’s never asked me out, and you saw how much he wanted to talk to me just now. Listen, Zeke, I’ve got the miseries because of this business about Chick. I think I’ll turn in early. But I better look at the prints before I go, or Dinah will never forgive me.”
When Bain completed his circuit of the gallery, he joined Dinah, who was still greeting newcomers. “Congratulations! It’s a wonderful show, and the catalog is excellent,” he said.
“Thank you! It’s been great fun—I’m thrilled with the size of the crowd, and I’m so pleased you’re buying the prints I proposed. Thank you again.” She heard herself babbling. She wished Bain didn’t make her nervous.
“Will you have lunch with me tomorrow or Thursday? I’d like to talk to you privately.”
His brilliant gray eyes were fixed on hers, and she looked away. Why should he want to see her alone? If he wanted to talk about prints, why privately?
“Well, sure, I mean—I’d like that. Thursday would be best. Where would you like to m-meet?”
“How about Michael’s at twelve thirty?”
“Yes, I know it—West Fifty-Fifth Street, right?”
“Good. I’ll see you there!” He lifted her hand in his, kissed the air slightly above it, and was gone.
Dinah stared after him until she became aware that both Coleman and Jonathan were waiting to speak to her. Oh, God, had they overheard Bain inviting her to lunch?
“What was that about?” Coleman said.
“He was congratulating me on the proposal I put together for the museum, and on the show—polite platitudes. You’re pale. Are you okay?”
“I’m just tired—I’m on my way to an early bed. Congratulations on the show—it’s great. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Coleman said, and headed towards the door.
“We’ll talk later,” Jonathan said, his tone frigid. The muscle in his cheek twitched. Dinah had a horrible feeling he had heard her make the lunch date with Bain.
Bethany, smiling, took a break from working the room to whisper to Dinah. “We’ve sold more than half the prints already, and Ted Wolfe says he’s goin’ to review the show for the New York Times. We could sell out the show.”
“That’s great! Thanks, Bethany.”
“Some of the clients are tellin’ me they’d like to come in extra early tomorrow to look at the Rists that haven’t sold. Can we open at eight?”
“Sure. We can’t afford to miss any opportunity.”
Bethany moved back into the fray, and Dinah greeted Zeke, hovering nearby. “Who’s that?” he asked, staring at Bethany. Dinah followed his gaze. Bethany wore a long slender dress in a golden brown, a few shades darker than her skin. Her earrings were tinkly golden bells, and she wore armloads of thin gold bangles, and gold sandals.
She turned back to Zeke, who looked dazed. Dinah wasn’t surprised. Men—except Jonathan—found Bethany devastatingly attractive. “That’s my assistant, Bethany Byrd. Do you think she’s pretty?”
“Gorgeous. Maybe I’ll ask her out for supper.”
“I think you’d enjoy it. She’s great fun.”
It would be wonderful if Bethany and Zeke hit it off. She was tired of Zeke mooning over Coleman. He’d had a crush on her since college, and it was time he got over it.
Coleman unlocked the door of her apartment, unzipped Dolly’s pouch and set it on the floor. She kicked off her boots and flung herself on the sofa. Dolly scrambled out of the carrier and onto Coleman’s chest. She licked Coleman’s ear, and Coleman rubbed her head. “Oh, Dolly, Heyward Bain is the most attractive man I’ve met in years, and not only is he totally uninterested in me, I think he’s fallen for Dinah, and Dinah for him.”
Dinah must really like Bain. She not only hadn’t told Coleman about Bain’s invitation to lunch, she’d lied about it. And Dinah never lied to Coleman. Why would her lunch with Bain be a secret if it were business?
Coleman got up to look in the refrigerator, which, as usual, was empty of everything but vegetables and low-fat yogurt. Just as well. If there’d been anything tempting available, she’d have gobbled it down. She settled for a cup of diet cocoa, gave Dolly a dog biscuit, and went to run a hot bath. She needed to do some serious thinking.
Seventeen
Tuesday night
When the last guest had departed, and Jonathan and Dinah had disappeared upstairs, Bethany and Zeke walked the few blocks to Sabor, a Cuban restaurant where Bethany said they’d be able to get a good meal without a long wait.
“I’m told the empanadas are the best appetizer here, but I’m havin’ the fritu
ras—they’re all vegetable,” she said.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Zeke didn’t know many vegetarians, and those he knew disapproved if anyone else ordered meat. He didn’t want to offend her.
“No, but I grew up in the South, and we were poor, so I’m used to not eatin’ much meat. Meat was more like a condiment than a course.”
“Uh—aren’t you Indian? I mean isn’t your family from India?” Zeke asked.
Bethany laughed. “Oh, no! I reckon the census classifies me as African American, but my family is a mixture of everything. We’re not black, at least not to look at. We have Native American blood, white blood, and goodness knows what else.”
“How’d you happen to come to work for Dinah?”
“My family’s from the same part of North Carolina as the Greenes, and the head of our family, Aunt Mary Louise, was great friends with Dinah and Coleman’s grandmother. We played together as children, went to the same school.”
“But most of the time you don’t talk the same way they do—and sometimes, like now, you sound like the BBC. What gives?”
She emphasized her crisp accent, “Oh, I can talk either way. I change according to what I’m talking about, or to whom I’m speaking. I had a teacher who told me everyone should be able to speak standard educated English and Southern dialect. I use Southern dialect. When I talk to my family and friends, and sometimes in New York—it’s a conversational stimulant. People always ask where I’m from, and before you know it, we’re friends—and they’re buyin’ a print.”
He laughed.
The food arrived and between bites he drew her out on her background. They ate sea bass in a garlicky green sauce, and a delicious coconut dessert. Bethany told him she studied commercial art at Eastern Carolina University, and after graduation worked for a printing company in Charlotte, but she’d been bored and decided to come to New York. She’d fallen in love with the New York art scene and had been with an East Village gallery when Dinah had offered her a fabulous deal to work with her.
“At least, it would be a fabulous deal if the gallery were in the right location, which it isn’t, and if it had decent sales, which it doesn’t. As it is, it’s a disaster—I’m goin’ to have to get another job, or starve,” she said.
She scraped the last of her dessert from her plate and sat back with a contented sigh. Zeke smiled. She wouldn’t starve tonight. He liked watching her eat. She was so full of—what? Gusto, that was it. Her enthusiasm was infectious.
He asked why Dinah didn’t move the gallery to a better location. He was sure he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear what Bethany said.
“Jonathan writes the checks, and Jonathan doesn’t want her to move—it’s as simple as that. I think he’s afraid if she’s successful, she might leave him. God knows, I would, he’s so bossy.”
“If she moved to a better location, you’re pretty sure she could make a go of it? And you’d stay with her?”
“Oh, yes. I’d rather do that than anything I can think of. If Dinah will just stiffen her backbone a little, it might happen. I’m keepin’ my fingers crossed, ’cause it’s not in her blood to let a man walk all over her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her grandmother was a Slocumb, and the Slocumb women are famous in the South. Seems like there’s a Slocumb heroine in every war. There’s a statue of one of them near where we live. Just as well those girls are strong—by the time they came along, the family had nothin’. They managed, but it was rough. Dinah knows how to work and to fight.”
“And Coleman?”
“Coleman doesn’t know the meanin’ of words like ‘surrender’ or ‘quit.’ She’s the toughest little thing you ever saw, and scared of no one and nothin’, includin’ the Devil himself. People say she met the Devil more than once, and the Devil ran away with his tail between his legs.”
“Have you met Heyward Bain?” Zeke said.
Bethany grinned. “I saw him tonight, but I haven’t met him. Why? Do you think he’s the Devil?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t like him, but I think Coleman’s got a thing for him. They make a good-looking couple. He even reminds me of her—I guess it’s because they’re both so small. Do most women find short men attractive?”
Bethany laughed. “I can’t answer for most women. But I do—some men, anyway. Alan Ladd. Paul Newman. Humphrey Bogart. Steve McQueen. Tom Cruise. Heyward Bain is handsomer than any of them, except maybe Newman.”
She looked at her watch. “Oh, drat. It’s late. I’ve got to try to get some sleep.”
He signaled for the check. “What do you mean, ‘try’?”
“I’m a terrible sleeper, and since I’ve been worryin’ about my job, it’s been worse. I hardly ever sleep through the night.”
“May I take you home?” Maybe if Bethany couldn’t sleep, she’d like some company.
“You can walk me home. It’s only a few blocks. But you can’t come up. I’m exhausted.”
But she let Zeke hold her hand, and when they said good night on the sidewalk outside her building, she kissed him back.
Dinah sat at her dressing table brushing her hair, while Jonathan, the tic in his cheek worse than she’d ever seen it, paced the bedroom and harangued her about Heyward Bain.
“Are you going to have lunch with Bain?” he asked again.
“Yes, Jonathan, for the fifth time.”
“Doesn’t it matter to you that I don’t want you to see that man?”
Dinah turned and faced him. “Jonathan, ‘that man’ is an important customer. He just b-bought a bunch of p-prints from the gallery—the p-portfolio I offered the P-Print Museum. I d-didn’t tell you before, because I d-didn’t want to have another row. He’s a major f-figure in my f-field. ‘That man’ has asked me to have l-lunch in a p-public p-place. Why shouldn’t I g-go?”
“Isn’t the fact that I don’t want you to go reason enough?”
“Jonathan, I d-do everything you ask that’s reasonable, and a lot that isn’t. I d-didn’t promise to obey you when we g-got married. We t-took that phrase out of the ceremony—remember? And you must s-stop trying to tell me what to do about my b-business.” She kept her voice level, and forced herself to hold back tears.
Jonathan stalked out. She supposed he’d sleep in the guest bedroom, as he’d done when he had a cold. She didn’t care. She was sick of arguing. But she felt guilty, she wasn’t sure her lunch with Bain was all business. She hated to admit it, but she found Bain attractive. She’d never have dreamed that only five months after her wedding she’d be having lunch with another man against Jonathan’s wishes.
Jonathan started in again about Bain as soon as Dinah got up Wednesday morning. When he paused to breathe, she told him she had to go to the gallery early, and went in to shower. When she came out, he’d left for work. She dressed and hurried downstairs to the gallery. Customers poured in all morning.
Around noon, when no one was in the gallery but Bethany, Dinah ran upstairs to get leftovers from the opening for a quick lunch, and took Baker for a walk.
When she returned to the gallery with the tray, she said to Bethany, “Sorry about this, these sandwiches don’t look too great. I didn’t want to take the time to fix anything—someone will probably come in any minute.”
“I’m so hungry I could eat anything that didn’t bite back,” Bethany said, gobbling a handful of tiny sandwiches with curled crusts. After she’d swallowed the last scrap, she said, “Dinah, why don’t you quit arguin’ with Jonathan and just move the gallery? You can fight about it forever, but he’s winnin’ because you’re still here.”
Dinah stared at Bethany. “You know, you’re absolutely right. Coleman doesn’t argue with him, she ignores him, and does whatever she was going to do. I should learn from her.”
“Yes, but don’t just stop arguin’—act! Where would you rather be—Midtown or Chelsea?”
“Chelsea’s hot, but I’d rather be in Midtown. Other areas come and go, but there’ll
always be galleries in Midtown—and I don’t want to have to move again,” Dinah said.
“Last night I heard there’s good space available in 20 West Fifty-Seventh Street. What do you think?”
“Oh, Bethany, that would be grand, I love that building. But what about the space here?”
“You can rent it—lots of small businesses would like it,” Bethany said.
“But Jonathan won’t like people being here on weekends—”
“Well, he can afford to leave it empty—he doesn’t need the money. But it’s not your problem, is it?”
“I guess not, but what about the cost of Fifty-Seventh Street? He won’t pay for it.”
“No, and you shouldn’t let him. Didn’t Miss Ida ever tell you, ‘He who pays the piper, calls the tune?’ If you want Jonathan to stop tellin’ you what to do, don’t take his money.”
The gallery bell sounded, and Bethany pushed the buzzer to let two customers in. Dinah brushed away the crumbs, thinking about West Fifty-Seventh Street. Bethany was right. She would look at the space, and if she liked it, and could come up with the money, she’d take it. She’d had enough.
Bethany had arranged to meet Zeke at O’Malley’s on Perry Street for supper after the gallery closed. He was at a table near the fire, reading the New York Times. His face lit up when he saw her.
They sipped beer and ate peanuts from the big barrel in the middle of the room while they waited for their hamburgers. The floor was littered with peanut shells, and a huge marmalade cat slept on a pillow near the fire. The room smelled of fried onions, beer, and wood smoke.
Bethany, as usual, was starving. When the burgers came she wolfed hers and ate a great pile of french fries. When she’d finished, she took a deep breath and let it out. The tension she’d felt all day while dealing with customers was draining away. “I nearly canceled, I was so tired after the openin’ last night and workin’ today, but I’m glad I came,” she said.
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