A Postmodern Love

by Nick Totem

  He heard jazz coming from a brightly lit door and went to it. Beyond the door was a short hallway. The floor, the walls, and the ceiling had been painted black and were lit up brightly under white fluorescent lights. Paintings of various sizes busied all the spaces along the walls, the hallways, from floor to ceiling. He detected a smell of turpentine and oil paint. On these canvasses, weird shapes of animals and common daily objects were conjoined into a distortion, a sort of visual profanity, the very same motif Thomas had seen at the Art Gallery. This must be Astrid’s apartment.

  Then French words drifted above other noises toward him, along the short hallway, coming from somewhere inside. Thomas turned toward them. He advanced a couple of steps and stood still, out of sight, listening. The voices of several people, men and women, zigzagged in a conversation, English followed by French. Two women were speaking French, back and forth in a mellifluous flow, but a man’s voice suddenly bellowed, “You should take a chance before she gets famous, before the price is ten times, maybe twenty times. Tell her that. Tell her I bought a number of paintings already. Besides, it doesn’t cost her much except a little money to ship them to Paris, a little wall space.”

  “Please, Lloyd. Let me just talk to her. She’s not concerned with money at the moment. She’s concerned with the artistic merit.”

  Thomas’s heartbeat seemed to stop. He could recognize that voice anywhere, that haughtiness in between the soft words that had been swirling in his head ever since he first heard it.

  Two men and a woman, laughing and speaking among themselves, walked past him and exited the apartment.

  “Not concerned with money,” Lloyd responded loudly; a rough irritability marked his New York accent. “Even artistic merit is measured by money. Even Picasso is measured by money.”

  “The economic standard is an incidental measurement, not a true measurement of the intrinsic value of an art work. It’s what a layman would refer to, who lacks the capability to discuss its true merit,” she said.

  “Kiddo, I know you like your little theories, but please close the deal already, so we can have a little fun. This is a party, isn’t it?”

  The conversation resumed in French. Someone was throwing ice into a glass. Some others had side conversations in hushed voices, laughing occasionally, and some were moving about. But Thomas could no longer hear any of it. The word, kiddo, was sloshing around in his head now. No doubt Lana was speaking, and the man named Lloyd had just called her “kiddo.” Her boyfriend, her co-conspirator, his kiddo—confusion rose and drove him to see for himself, and he stepped forward. Just a few steps beyond the short hallway, a living room unfolded. A couch and several plastic chairs were all occupied. An unfinished canvas hung on the wall, and next to it stood a table with tubes of paint and brushes. With her back to the door, Lana was sitting on a couch, speaking with another woman. The woman looked up at Thomas, and Lana, too, turned. And she saw him. “Excusez moi,” she said as she got up briskly and went to him.

  “Oh, Thomas. I’m glad you came,” she said as she stood in front of him, wavering between shaking his hand or giving him a kiss. In her eyes was a tender recognition as when lovers are reunited.

  His eyes flitted from her to other people, focusing through his glasses to size up the room quickly. Some were sitting, others looking at paintings and sculptures. He saw Astrid, Elizabeth, Dominic, but also people he had never seen before—the woman to whom Lana had been speaking, and a man who must have called Lana “kiddo.” The man was in the kitchen pouring vodka into a glass.

  Thomas turned back to Lana. How beautiful she was; how he wished they could be alone. A dark green dress gave her thin frame an undefinable elegance and accented her pale skin. He grinned awkwardly.

  “Let me introduce you.” Lana turned to other people. “This is my friend, Thomas Wilde. Doctor Wilde. He’s an ear, nose, throat doctor.” And then she turned to the French woman. “Mon ami. Il est un docteur de l’oreille, le nez, et la gorge.”

  The French woman stood up, extended her hand, and said in a heavy accent, “Hello. How are you?”

  “Nice to meet you,” Thomas said as he shook her hand.

  “Her name is Mathilda. She’s a gallery owner from Paris. We’re talking to her about showing Astrid’s and Elizabeth’s work. It’d a great boost to have their work shown in Paris.” Then she turned back to the others. “I’m sure you remember Astrid, and Elizabeth. She’s Astrid’s roommate. Dominic, you must remember him from the art exhibit.”

  Thomas nodded to them, while maintaining a rigid smile.

  The man came toward them from the kitchen. His right eye seemed to be in a permanent state of squinting, giving his face the look of a perpetual grin. The eyelids drooped slightly, projecting a stealthy air. He stood over six feet tall, heavily built, with sloping shoulders. Thinning brown hair was trimmed very close to this scalp, making his entire head oval. His puffy cheeks looked bronzed from sunburn, and week old stubble covered the lower half of his rugged face. He appeared to be in his early fifties. His light charcoal suit gleamed and had been tailored with an English shoulder and a fine cut, though it couldn’t quite hide his abdomen. He extended his hand.

  “Hello,” Thomas said. His hand gripped the man’s.

  “Lloyd Quattelberns. So, you’re the doctor,” he said, his lips moved sinuously.

  “And you are?” Thomas asked, squinting his eyes fiercely at Lloyd, who was at least three inches taller.

  “Investor, Entrepreneur, lover of art and other finer things,” Lloyd spoke with a slow intonation, and his cheeks withdrew into a condescending smirk.

  “Will you wait for just a moment, Thomas?” Lana said. “I’ll just finish with Mathilda, then we can talk.”

  “Sure,” Thomas said. Water droplets had condensed around the plastic glass, dripping down to his hand, and he chugged down his drink. He adjusted his eyeglasses that had begun to feel uncomfortable.

  Lloyd stood there, shifting his weight, and glanced at Thomas now and then. He stared straight ahead, as though seizing the very air with his vision, and then said at last, “So how long have you known Lana?”

  “Long enough,” Thomas replied.

  “A few months?” Lloyd brought up his gold watch to check the time, crossed his arms, and flicked his head back to look down at Thomas with squinted eyes. “I knew her when she was at Stanford.”

  Stanford—the name struck Thomas with an odd sensation, doubling his suspicion, and the surprise showed on his face.

  “Hm, there is much you don’t know about her, Doctor,” Lloyd said.

  “I know her well enough.” Thomas peeked past Lloyd at the others and saw that they were listening and watching them. They ogled him with obvious displeasure, and over their faces hung a general hostility, as if he was interrupting their fun. Lana, even as she was speaking to Mathilda, turned to look at him and Lloyd now and then.

  “That’s obvious.” Lloyd grinned. “I’ve been with her since she was an undergraduate at Stanford. Well before I started my hedge fund. I hope you understand. She was at Stanford.”

  “It’s up to her to choose her friends, isn’t it?” Thomas said.

  “So you’re here because of a certain amount of money.”

  Abruptly, Lana got up and came between them. “Excuse me, Thomas.”

  “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll resolve this.” Lloyd held onto her arm to prevent her from coming close. “I’ll take care of this as we discussed.”

  “No, Lloyd. He deserves a proper explanation.” She flung off his arm, and then she turned to Thomas, “You know the man who was following me . . .”

  “That’s not why he’s here. He just wants his money,” Lloyd said and took out his phone.

  Thomas looked from Lana to the others, who were watching closely. Mathilda appeared startled.

  “He deserves a proper explanation, and I’ll explain it to him,” Lana said to Lloyd.

  “Martin,” Lloyd spoke into the phone. “Will you come up and bring th
e money with you? The bag in the trunk. Be quick about it.”

  Lana went back to the couch for a red hand clutch. She came back to take hold of Thomas’s arm and started to haul him along; she turned to Astrid, “I’m sorry Astrid, I can’t be of anymore help with Mathilda.” Then she said to Thomas, “Let’s find a place to talk, Thomas.”

  Before she could take a step, Lloyd grabbed her arm and held her there. “Please don’t complicate the matter. You don’t need to get him involved further. It always becomes unpleasant for them.”

  Seeing Lloyd’s hand on Lana, Thomas yelled, “Get your hand off of her.”

  Everyone froze.

  Then Lloyd said calmly, as he let go of Lana, “Calm yourself, Doctor.” He didn’t even flinch. “No need to get excited. My bodyguard is coming up with the money. You’ll get your money and you can leave.”

  “Please. Please, try to be civilized.” Lana’s lips trembled visibly and her face turned pallid.

  “I don’t want a penny of your goddamn money,” Thomas said, starring into Lloyd’s eyes, ready to take him on, but he could see clearly that Lloyd was not someone to trifle with, a man who possessed a certain gravitas in matters of life and death.

  “Come, let’s go Thomas.” Lana started to take a step toward the door.

  “Actually, that’s a great idea.” Lloyd followed behind. “Come on gang. Let’s head out to a restaurant or something and we’ll discuss this over drinks. It’s on me.” He looked at Astrid, Elizabeth, and Dominic and said, “It’s a case study for the artists.”

  “I’ll stay behind. Someone’s got to keep an eye on the stuff. And I’ll talk to Mathilda as best as I can,” Elizabeth said.

  Astrid and Dominic got up and headed out the door, following them. The hallway was lively with groups of young people talking, laughing, smoking, and drinking. The smell of marijuana thickened the air. Lana marched straight through the hallway, passing the apartment with rock’n’roll music blaring. “I’m sorry, Thomas,” she said to him as she held his arm.

  Thomas regained a portion of his cool as he walked beside her. He saw that his hand had crushed the empty plastic glass, ready to come to blows with Lloyd. He tossed it into a trashcan as they neared the stairs. Behind him, he heard someone calling out to Dominic.

  “Dominic, you’re not leaving already?”

  “No, no. I’ll be right back, darling. Hold the party together while I’m gone. Won’t you? We’ll party all night,” Dominic said and cackled.

  Lloyd said with exaggerated excitement, “Is anyone hungry? We can get something to eat, too.”

  Down the stairs and through the gate, they exited into the cold air. The traffic had lessened, and along the sidewalk a few people were walking.

  Thomas breathed the chilly air and turned to Lana, “Are you cold?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you . . . The man who was following me was hired by Lloyd,” Lana said. “He admitted that he had wanted me watched. He said he was concerned for my safety.”

  “You’re damn right I was concerned for your safety,” Lloyd said; he had come up closely behind. “If you hadn’t run away, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

  Lana turned back to him and said, “Lloyd, please let me explain it to him. That’s the decent thing to do after what he’s been through.”

  “So be it then. Explain to him and let him have his money so he can be on his way.”

  Lana took a few steps and said to Lloyd, “And stop acting as if I’m yours to do with as you please. It’s not a game anymore. We’ve been over this already.”

  “Where are we going with this, Lana? Kiddo, we have been over this already. It’s déjà vu, wouldn’t you say, Dominic?”

  “If you say so, darling,” Dominic muttered from behind.

  As Thomas listened, chaos crowded his mind, but one thing stood out, a savage force, so different from a thought or a feeling, a strong will to fight whomever for a chance at survival. Turning to Lana as they moved along quickly, he saw her face that was at once beautiful, determined, and anguished.

  With lips tightened and eyes starring straight ahead, Lana quickened her pace. Her high heels expertly avoided the occasional potholes, the uneven cement on the pavement, all the while holding onto Thomas’s arm and yanking him along to prevent him from confronting Quattelberns. Thomas quickened his steps, too. At the corner, she crossed the street and turned right as the light in that direction just turned green. Halfway down the street was a Tango club, and they ran to it.

  The stairs led down to a basement courtyard crowded with tables and chairs, all occupied. They went through a door. Here, loud Spanish music greeted them; the guitars and drums, and trumpets and saxophones, buoyed a Latin voice singing a mournful tune. A teeming crowd of patrons, an eclectic mélange of the young and the middle aged, crowded the bar. Behind the bar, four male bartenders in white shirts and black vests were working fast and burning something that sent up a smell of cinnamon. Behind the bartenders, a wooden shelf with intricate carvings extended to the ceiling and spanned the entire length of the wall and was filled with a bewildering collection of bottles. Soft light attenuated by candles gave the air the color of honey, imparting to it enough texture so that the air itself seemed to vibrate to the sound of the music and ripple from the heads of the people dancing.

  Lana seemed to know the place well. She took him to an area in the back, where there were two billiard tables. At the far end of the room, she turned to face him. Here the music was not so loud. Some people were playing on one billiard table, and they looked at Lana and Thomas curiously.

  Now facing him, she caught her breath and looked at him without saying anything, and the half smile that he had come to know so well crept up on her face. “Thomas, the man who was following me was hired by Lloyd. He wanted the man to watch over me.”

  “Who is Lloyd?” Thomas asked curtly. The vestige of a doubt, that this could still be an elaborate scam, lurked in his mind.

  “He’s a friend. We met when I was a junior at Stanford. It’s a long story that will have to wait.”

  “He acts like you’re his girlfriend or fiancée or something.”

  “It’s true that he has been asking me to commit to a relationship with him. It’s a game of sorts. But that is another issue. Right now, I just want to explain to you that I had nothing to do with that man who took money from you. You must believe me.”

  “Okay.”

  “I will make you whole. Because I feel responsible for what you have gone through. The man is an employee of Lloyd’s business partner.”

  “Business partner? The man who took money from me has a long criminal record; they call him Chau the Dog on the streets. You’re telling me that your friend Lloyd is doing business with criminals.”

  “I’m not privy to his business and it’s not my concern. But as I was saying, Thomas, I want to make you whole. So Lloyd has agreed to repay you the money that man took from you. Twenty thousand dollars.”

  “I’m not taking his money,” Thomas said.

  “Why not, Thomas? Yesterday when I saw you, you were really upset about the money.” Her voice suddenly softened.

  “I don’t care. I’m not taking his money.”

  “I understand. I will repay you with my own money then. Since it was because of me . . . I have some jewelry . . .”

  “Hah, there you are,” Lloyd hollered from across the room, interrupting them. Under the soft light, his eyes opened wide, staring at them. “I got your money. Take it and be on your way. It’s for your own good. Trust me.” Coming up behind him were Astrid, Dominic, and another man dressed in a black suit. Lloyd turned to the man. “Martin, let me see the bag.”

  Martin held up a black leather bag, and Lloyd took out two neat stacks of money. Martin was tall and lean, and had a rough, muscular face. The billiard players, a couple of guys in jeans and T-shirts, watched as Lloyd crossed the room, holding the money in front of him.

  “Here’s your money.
Take it and leave,” Lloyd said as he came up to Thomas.

  “For the last time, I’m not taking your goddamn money,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.

  “Take it. It’s the only thing that’s real here. Besides, I’ll get it back from the Dog. I have good dog catchers. With the money, you got everything back, and considering the time you spent with her, you’ve made a nice profit.”

  Lana stepped up between them. “Only your crassness can exceed your money, Lloyd. I will repay him myself.”

  “Your money, my money. No more of this silliness.” Lloyd beckoned Martin to come. As Martin came to him and took the money, Lloyd turned back to Thomas. “Well. It’s your loss. But if you don’t want the money, you should leave now.”

  “I will leave when I’m ready,” Thomas said, leering from Lloyd to Martin.

  “Martin won’t lift a finger, Doctor. You’re worked up. You should calm down.” His voice was nearly monotonous.

  “Have him try it.” Thomas looked at both of them hard.

  “Stop it already,” Lana shouted.

  “Hm, what do you know, Martin?” Lloyd said. “I do believe the doctor is in love.” Martin’s cheek punched up into a wry grin, and Lloyd continued, “What do you think? Is he going to measure up against Cristiano? Heck, that’d be a miracle. I sure haven’t been able to. I don’t think there is a man alive in the world can match him, let alone the doctor.”

  Not understanding the reference, Thomas found himself glancing at Lana and caught her watching him.

  A waitress came into the room and looked them over. She was a young redhead, with a slightly round face and a tattoo on the side of her neck. “Would you like to order something?”

  Other people nearby were now observing them. Someone was recording the scene with a cellphone, expecting something to happen.

  “Why not?” Lloyd’s voice commanded with confidence. “I’d like a gin and tonic. What will you have, gang? It’s on me. You too, Doctor. You could use a drink.”