Finally, just as Russ was exiting the vehicle and thanking Miranda for the ride and her upcoming help with the exhibition he spoke. “I know you’re antimilitary, but I got the sense that’s not the only reason you think the translating job is not a good opportunity. Am I right?” He handed her the Dragon.
“I’m not antimilitary,” Miranda protested. “I’m antiwar. Especially this one. But since you’re asking, yes, I don’t believe it’s in your best interest.”
“Why?”
She inhaled, braced herself and said, “Because, in my opinion, this job is just another way to hide.”
Russ looked her straight in the eyes. Miranda waited for a response but he simply took the Dragon from her, opened the door, climbed out of the vehicle and walked away. He didn’t look back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DARCI BECKER WAS STUNNING. Miranda took one look at the perfectly coiffed dark brown hair and the porcelain complexion and inwardly groaned. After a long day of teaching that had primarily consisted of showing kids of all ages how to jump, spin, shuffle and pound the floor with their heels while singing “Revolting Children” from Matilda, Miranda felt like—and was fairly certain she resembled—the used side of a scouring pad. The finishing touch was her partially blue hair, courtesy of paint flying from the shop where flats for the upcoming productions were being assembled. Miranda had been amused but pleased that Yasmin Durani had been an instant hit with the designer, who recognized a workhorse when he saw one and had bestowed upon the girl the responsibility for creating four flats depicting the sun and the sky.
Darci Becker was extremely curious as to the precise nature of Russ Gerik and Miranda Nolan’s relationship. Miranda worried the woman’s head was going to spin off her neck since she kept turning from Russ to Miranda and back again like a demented fan watching a championship Ping Pong match.
Russ had nailed it when he’d told Miranda that Darci was impatient and intolerant regarding his inability to hear. She rattled off her suggestions for the Durani exhibition too fast for the Dragon recognition software to catch her words. Miranda was forced to repeat whatever Darci said, slowing down the woman’s nonstop patter in an attempt to say something semi-manageable for Russ and the high-tech equipment to understand. Miranda was amazed Puff hadn’t started blowing smoke and fire while screaming “Error! Error!”
Darci didn’t seem to care whether Russ caught any of what she was saying. She wasn’t being deliberately nasty; she was merely indifferent to his uneasiness and annoyance. Either way, neither Russ nor Darci was happy with the time it was taking and ten minutes into the tour of the Becker Gallery, Russ had had enough.
“You two go on. I’m going to hang out in front of the ‘new, new’ Impressionists and see if I can be impressed,” he growled.
Miranda followed the fast-moving, fast-talking Ms. Becker while she considered the merits of straying from her lifelong adherence to nonviolence in favor of smacking Darci and telling her to quit behaving like a spoiled pre-adolescent and show some empathy for other people. “Other people” in this instance being Russ, who had obviously clamped down on his own temper by remembering that he needed Darci in order to achieve a wonderful exhibition of Kam’s works for the Durani family.
Miranda held off from ranting or physical violence by remembering the same thing. It was quickly apparent that the Becker Gallery was a fantastic venue. It was spacious yet intimate. The colors on the wall did not distract or detract from the artwork. Miranda wasn’t thrilled with the paintings Russ had called the new, new Impressionists but the arrangement of the works and the background made her want to stop and give each painting a second or third glance.
Even the benches had been carefully placed so they wouldn’t turn into obstacles for art lovers who wanted to tour while other guests took the time to sit and chat. The gallery’s peaceful quality—amazing since the owner and designer, Ms. Darci Becker, was anything but calm—would offer the perfect backdrop for pieces like Silent Sunlight.
Miranda also conceded that Darci’s organizational skills could whip a small country into shape. The two women discussed the details of transporting Kamyar’s works and the way she intended to publicize the exhibition, beginning with a gala opening just before the Fourth of July weekend. Darci told Miranda who would print the invitations, who would cater and who would play music. Miranda came close to asking if Darci intended to include a color code for the women’s dresses but thought that might come across as sarcastic and while she had no desire to make Darci a best buddy, she didn’t want her for an enemy.
Darci was a smart, interesting person. She was actually starting to make Miranda’s “likable acquaintance” list until she began the barrage of questions about Russ. Russ had called her inquisitive. Miranda would have said nosy.
“So what’s it like working with Russell on inventory while fighting over ownership?”
“We’re not fighting,” Miranda replied. “There’s no point in fighting. The lawyers are fighting.”
Darci’s smile held a hefty dose of skepticism. “Give me a break. I already know Russ would kill for that house. He told me about the situation with the wills when he emailed to set up this meeting. He’s an emailing guru, but I have to wonder about his common sense. Two master’s degrees, one doctorate, speaks more languages than most people even know exist, and he nearly gets himself blown up. Now he delivers furniture and writes emails. A terrific way to spend his life, don’t you agree? Although, I guess if he gets the house he can stop delivering furniture and just hunker down and write emails all day.”
Miranda hadn’t spent four years in a college drama department and six years in professional theater circles without learning a thing or two about divas. They wanted confrontation regardless of reason and they would continue to hound and harass until that confrontation exploded and the opposition surrendered. However, Miranda was also aware that she needed to maintain a degree of diplomacy in order not to jeopardize the exhibition.
“No offense, but why did you bother to ask? I mean, about how we’re getting along?”
Darci’s elegant eyebrows rose. “I wanted to see how much you want that house—which you’ve been very good at hiding. I find that quite intriguing.”
Miranda took a breath and counted to a fast ten. “Well, you may find it intriguing but it’s not. I want the house—I adored Miss Virginia. So, apparently, did Russ.”
“Yeah. Right. Whatever. So, how long have y’all been dating?”
“We’re not dating.”
“Oh, give it up, girl. I see how you look at him and how he looks at you.”
I don’t know how you can see anything, Miranda thought. You’re too busy rattling off whatever comes into your mind to notice what other humans are doing.
Aloud she repeated, “We’re not dating. We’re doing inventory and arranging for Kam’s exhibition. Period.”
Darci switched to a slightly new tack. “Inventory. Now that truly is interesting. I heard you all were searching for an Auttenberg which, if found, would rock the art world to its greedy core. Don’t worry, Miranda, I may be a fast talker but I’ll keep mum on that possibility. Although from what I hear it isn’t exactly news. I think half of Birmingham knows. You do realize that everyone and his brother wants to get his hands on an Auttenberg—including me? I stand a better chance of snagging it if one of you guys finds it. Believe me, I’ll give you a great price.”
Miranda was glad to leave the topic of her relationship with Russ—whatever that was—but she wasn’t thrilled to know another party was keeping tabs on the hunt for an Auttenberg. Virginia’s house was becoming even more vulnerable to treasure hunters. If someone was determined, he or she would find a way in even if it meant short bites at the apple. A thief could set the alarm ringing but do a quick search before the police arrived. She tried to push that thought out of her mind.
“So, Darci, since you doubtless know a ton more about Auttenberg than I do, has there been any talk in art circles about what he might have painted in the camps? I know his earlier work—before he was imprisoned—was saved. A buddy of mine who manages a gallery in Manhattan told me that five of Auttenberg’s paintings are in museums and he’d heard that a private collector owns two. But anything Auttenberg painted at Terezin is a mystery. I did see a very poor photo of a piece called Performance on a blog but there’s no word on where that ended up.”
Darci nodded. “There’s talk, but it’s purely speculative. I know dealers who spend half their time scouring websites for the latest theory as to where works of any of the concentration-camp artists might be. I may become one of them. This much is certain, Miranda, if an Auttenberg does pop up in that house, you’re set for life. Of course, that works for Russell, too.” She smiled before making a U-turn back to the topic of Russ and Miranda. “If you win, I’d suggest you immediately sell and get a loft in Manhattan. I’m not quite buying this tale that there’s nothing going on between you and Russ, but take a friendly warning. He wasn’t exactly ready to settle down before he went tearing off to Afghanistan and I can’t see that changing, especially with a woman who’s in theater.” She laughed. “Not to mention how ticked off he’d be if you inherit!”
Miranda didn’t want to continue this conversation but she tried to keep things light. “Well, I could always sell to him, couldn’t I? As a consolation?”
Darci laughed. “I’d buy tickets to watch that negotiation!” She sighed. “I do have to admit Russell is a catch. Honestly, if he ever gets to the point where he isn’t impersonating a hermit, I might consider giving him another run—even with his messy hearing issues. But you, Ms. Nolan, might as well forget any hopes of landing Russell Gerik. It’s too funny. Here you stand...a singer, just like his mom, plus you’re his opponent in the biggest estate debacle of the decade.”
With the conversation going off the rails, Miranda realized that out-diva-ing the diva wasn’t going to work. She was already tired of trying to figure out what game Darci Becker wanted to play, and she was in no mood to argue or spend the next hour avoiding verbal traps. But those last comments about Russ couldn’t be left standing.
“Um, excuse me, Darci, but aren’t you engaged?”
“Oh, I’m always engaged,” she said, smiling. “Engaged isn’t married.”
“O-kay. Well, not to sound defensive where Russ is concerned, but ‘giving him another run’ sounds like hauling a horse to the racetrack and slapping on the saddle. I can’t see Russ taking to the bit all that readily.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m pretty good at lassoing ponies who try to escape into the hills.”
Any response Miranda might have made to this outrageous and nonsensical statement was derailed by the sound of the 1812 Overture blasting from Darci’s cell phone. Miranda bit her lip as she listened to the cannons and brass section blaring the finale. Trust Darci Becker to choose a ring tone that evoked armies reigning victorious.
Miranda’s own cell phone began ringing in the midst of Darci’s unabashedly loud conversation. “I told you not to call when I’m doing business. Do I call you in the middle of surgery? Oh, you’re going into surgery so we’re canceling? Who the heck schedules surgery on a Friday night?”
Miranda had programmed her own phone to play the last eight measures of the sweetest song in Les Misérables—“Castle on a Cloud,” sung by the child Cosette. She smiled at how their choice of music matched their differences in temperament. “Hello?”
Miranda wished she could change places with Darci’s caller when the person on the other end turned out to be Farrah.
“Miranda? I’m just calling to remind you about the get-together this evening.”
“Get-together?”
A sigh from Farrah. “You forgot, didn’t you? I knew it. I told Tim you’d forget.”
“Sorry, Farrah. It’s been a very long week and a very long day and it’s turning into a very long hour.”
“Well, it’s not too late. You’ve got about ninety minutes before anyone arrives. That should be plenty of time for you to get home, do your makeup and find something pretty to wear.”
“Hold up a sec. The one thing I do remember is that this was supposed to be a small get-together as in you and me and Dad and maybe your catering partner. Did I miss something?”
Silence. “Well, yes, it did start out that way, but I found this great new recipe book at a flea market and I had to try it out. Next thing you know I had all this food! I can’t let it go to waste. I’ve been frantically calling people. I’m making these marvelous little cheese appetizers and an Italian crème cake. I just know you’re going to stuff yourself silly.”
“Farrah, I’m in the middle of trying to work something out for a gallery showing and I’m with someone.”
“Well, bring her.”
Miranda inhaled and prayed for patience. “Not her. Him. You and Dad were briefly introduced at the Trussville Fair. Russ Gerik. Miss Virginia’s other legatee in the estate battle.”
“Oh, wow. Talk about awkward! But maybe this is good. You’re welcome to ask Russ if he’d like to join us. Maybe we can soften him up about the will?”
Darci had finished her own call and was unabashedly eavesdropping.
“I don’t think any discussion of the estate is a great idea, Farrah,” Miranda said quietly. “But I might ask him anyway since this has now turned into a party. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”
Miranda ended the call and Darci wasted no time. “Did I hear party?”
“Yes.”
“And you get a plus one?”
“Yes.”
Darci smiled. “I’m free now that my intended is stuck at the hospital for half the night. Do I rate an invite?”
“What?”
“I love parties, and I’ve heard about your stepmom’s talents in the kitchen. They rival mine in the gallery. Actually, this is perfect. I haven’t been thrilled with my current caterer. This would be a nice chance to snag Farrah’s business. Maybe she could do the Durani exhibition!”
Miranda was reeling from the boldness it took to basically wangle an invitation from a person one had just met, but she figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep on Darci’s good side. Not to mention Darci could latch on to whichever eligible bachelors Farrah had invited and let Miranda eat in peace. A win-win.
“Fine. You’re invited. Give me your cell and I’ll type in the address.”
Darci nodded. “Fabulous. Okay, back to business for a few minutes before I run home and find something gorgeous to wear. You’ve seen the space and heard the who’s who and the what’s what for the reception. I guess we can call it quits once you tell me whether this is what y’all had in mind for Kamyar’s works.”
Miranda pushed all thoughts of the evening ahead out of her head and was absolutely honest. “I think the Becker Gallery will be perfect and I’m sure the Durani family will be really pleased with all the arrangements.”
She and Darci headed back to the bench where Russ was still sitting, gazing at a work that appeared to have been finger painted by a manic five-year-old. He glanced at the two women and stood, shaking his head in sheer disgust. “I don’t get it. Really. I thought the world of art had gotten beyond this kind of junk. This sells?”
Darci grinned at him and for once spoke slowly enough so that the Dragon could translate. “You’re very astute. It is junk. But I’ve got a buyer who’s about to shell out two-hundred grand for it so I’m keeping that opinion to myself.”
After handshakes all around, Miranda and Russ left the gallery. Miranda was exhausted and irritable from her conversation with Darci and unsure about whether to ask Russ to come over to the Nolan house. She stayed silent until she and Russ were in her car, then turned to him. But before she had
a chance to say a word, he said, “She’s a trip, isn’t she. And no, that was not a question. She’s annoying and tiring and she also has the best eye of anyone on the planet for what works in that gallery. It’s like watching someone with multiple personality disorder run for president. Believe it or not, when she’s holding an exhibition she’s quite professional and almost as snooty as an auctioneer at Sotheby’s. Did she drive you completely crazy?”
Miranda nodded. “She did. But she had some truly brilliant ideas for how to best show Kam’s work. Abra and Yusuf will be thrilled.” She inhaled.
“But?”
“Oh, well. Semidifferent topic. It’s just...my stepmother was supposed to be having a small family dinner but it’s turned into one of her bashes and Darci just wangled an invitation. Farrah wanted me to ask you but I’ll admit, I’m hesitating.”
Russ scowled. “Why? Afraid the fine folks there won’t be able to deal with the deaf guy and you’ll be embarrassed?”
If Miranda hadn’t been tired and cranky after teaching and dealing with Darci she might have provided a more diplomatic response. Instead, she angrily burst out, “What is it with you? I was hesitating because I didn’t want you to have to deal with what you call ‘fine folks’ who, knowing Farrah, will be some of the most boring, egotistical people on the planet. And now they’ll be joined by the tempestuous Ms. Becker. But you, Russ Gerik, are too touchy to even contemplate the possibility that I might be shielding a friend from having a miserable time. You really need to get over yourself!”
Miranda stopped, horrified that she’d let her temper rule her words. She glanced at Russ, sitting silently in the passenger seat, his Dragon software picking up each word. She tried to figure out how best to apologize.
He stared at her for a long moment while they waited at a red light. Finally he said, “It’s green. You can go.”
Legacy of Silence Page 11