Branch Contemporary would host a single artist exhibition after the gallery was refurbished, a public relations pro who owed her a favor would be brought in to handle a decent campaign and a top catering operation hired for opening night. She’d pay all of the incidental expenses in return for ownership of five of the paintings she’d seen plus an open-ended right of first negotiation and last refusal on any examples that were consigned to the gallery. The agreement between them would be committed to writing but would be held in the strictest of confidence.
“Curtis was sobbing like a baby before I’d finished the pitch. But,” she continued, mimicking the Wicked Witch’s cackle, “these things had to be handled delicately.”
Her new partner said he could pull it off in a month but she insisted that no less than two, if not three, were probably wiser.
“Oh, wait a second! I remember this…about that first exhibition. Wasn’t that when…”
She shook an index finger slowly.”My house. My rules. My story. May I continue, s’il vous plais?”
He nodded.”Sorry.”
The scheme got off to a slow start but soon developed a momentum that surprised even the PR firm spreading the word. Between stories planted in newspapers, magazines and the social media, adverts in the trades and a fortuitous lead article in the Wall Street Journal’s Friday Agenda section, written by editor Jason Gay, who predicted Combat Art was soon to become the next big thing, the coming tsunami was gaining strength. The Biograffairs saga began gaining hundreds then thousands of followers each day, the site itself slowing to a crawl at 7:00 Mountain Time every evening when JLD posted a few thousand new words like clockwork.
Then, 38 days before opening night, it happened.
“The Rangers found his car near Chimney Canyon. On the front seat was an unread copy of The New Mexican, indicating it had been parked there for a week. Three hikers later found a pair of prescription sunglasses, a bloody monogrammed handkerchief and an opened snakebite kit in some virtually inaccessible brush, all of which obviously belonged to him.” She sighed.”Mountain lions, coyotes, jaguars, vultures.” She sighed again.”The serpents.” Now she shook her head.”Six point nine earthquake that same week which took down a ridge about a mile from where the hikers found his stuff.”
The internet exploded as soon as the news was made public. JLD had been murdered. JLD had faked his death for the publicity it would bring to the exhibition. JLD couldn’t be dead because he’d never existed, one popular theory holding the art was actually created by a group of disabled veterans. From conspiracy buffs, head cases, imitators and wannabes to serious commentators and critics, increasing gallons of gasoline were tossed onto the flames, the CA Obsession blooming in earnest.
“To say we were in panic mode would be an understatement. It seemed like I was on a different conference call three times a day.”
The biggest question facing the team was whether or not the show would go on as scheduled. On one hand, the demand for a chance to purchase one of the 40 pieces that were to be displayed was beyond fever pitch so striking while the iron was red-hot presented an opportunity that might never come again. On the other, charging ahead could, and likely would, be seen as an unforgivably crass money grab following so closely on the heels of the artist’s death, magnified by the tragic nature of the event. Bomb threats had already been made and a riot or something worse was certainly a possibility. The fallout from a miscalculation could prove catastrophic.
“We were about split down the middle. Either resolution carried serious risks though potentially serious gains.” She sighed again, this time deeper than before.”Then 14 days before ground zero I got an early morning call from Garrison.”
The contact she referred to was Garrison Hanson, one of the best-connected and most admired attorneys in New Mexico. His 30 year career, documented in flattering detail on his law firm’s website, was outstanding in both its depth and breadth. Government positions including Assistant Attorney General, stints on the Appellate and Supreme Courts and six years in the legislature, two of those as Speaker of the House.
In the private sector his star had shown even brighter. The firm Hanson Associates LLP with offices in Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Las Cruces and Taos boasted some of the state’s top specialists in disciplines ranging from complex corporate litigation and regulatory compliance through personal injury, criminal defense and estate planning. Its pro bono practice was unrivaled and Hanson, along with many of the senior partners, were highly admired for their involvement in civic, charitable and non-profit endeavors. His most recent achievement had been the successful defense of the previously convicted master currency forger Lenny Lee, an acquittal that nobody had thought was even a remote possibility.
“I’ll never forget that call. His voice was thick as honey with just a touch of that…southwestern accent?” She cleared her throat to help imitate it.”I trust I am not disturbing you, Miss Lane. My name is Garrison Hanson. I have been retained by a Mrs. Roberta Davidson to represent the estate of her child James Lisle Davidson, with whom I’ve been informed you have a business relationship.”
She had no idea who Davidson was but that issue was quickly settled when the attorney suggested she might know the deceased by his initials. He stressed that it was critical the two of them meet at her earliest convenience to discuss a plethora of topics in which they had substantial mutual interests. Failure to arrange a prompt face-to-face would result in his unfortunate duty to proceed alone without her valued counsel and insights. There were some items she needed to see in situ in order to have a firm understanding of the magnitude of our parallel conundrums. And by the way, if she was wondering, he’d already met with Mr. Branch and there would be no exhibition; having accepted a generous finder’s fee his services would no longer be required.
She said she could probably catch a flight late that afternoon or early in the evening and meet him the following morning. He replied that his private jet was currently in your approximate neighborhood and about to deadhead back so stopping to pick her up would certainly be my pleasure, and hopefully yours.
She arrived at Santa Fe Municipal just after 1:00, met by a driver with a stretch who advised he was at her disposal as long as he delivered her to La Fonda at 4:00 for Cocktails with the boss. She instructed him to take her home where she took a shower, changed into an appropriately casual outfit, then spent the rest of her free time in front of the computer looking for things she didn’t know but thought she should.
Arriving at the hotel, she took the elevator up to the Bell Tower Bar. Hanson recognized her before she did him, stepping to the entrance and greeting her warmly, expressing his gratitude and complimenting the turquoise necklace that fetchingly matched her Getalano blouse. He guided her to a small table in a corner of the outdoor patio and after her drink arrived, she toasted his choices of personal transportation. He shrugged humbly, then began, “Allow me to outline what I see as our current status, the ambiguities we may be facing and possible resolutions that might be acceptable to my client and yourself.”
The contract JLD submitted regarding the works formerly in the possession of Branch Contemporary, he assured, was worthless for a number of reasons, not the least being a clear and convincing lack of competence on JLD’s part. This, he stated, based on the Biograffairs writings and what my valued curatorial consultant deems Jimmy’s final works could be established by a first year law student with a fourth quartile LSAT composite.
The trickier issues, though, concerned the agreement entered into between her and Curtis. Concerning the five paintings she’d chosen, he had no quarrel with the fact she was likely the owner. It was the first negotiation-last refusal wording that was open to interpretation.
“Are you up on contract law?” she asked.
“I know the basics,” Stonetree replied.
“So do I. But obviously he knew them better. He started running through hypotheticals and logical outcomes. He wasn’t trying to shade them one way or another,
not arguing against my interests.” She smiled knowingly.”Just the facts, Ma’am.”
In the best case scenario for her, he said, that part of the contract was also valid as to the additional works she had seen assuming she’d acted in good faith. The questions of when or if Curtis had legally accepted Jimmy’s offer regarding representation, along with a few other tangential difficulties with both of the contractual transactions could be left for other discussions another day. Right now he simply wanted to get things wrapped up so he could administer the estate without complications.
He then pointedly asked that if she exercised her negotiations option, where she would get the money to back up any offers. Not pleased with this perceived affront, she replied that she could afford to. He nodded pleasantly, then suggested the funds in her three Wells Fargo accounts, the equities in her former condo and recently purchased property—the latter of which he complimented her on—her salary, her expected future earnings including bonuses and a couple of IRAs she’d forgotten existed wouldn’t buy much at the prices his friends and acquaintances at Christie’s and Sotheby’s had estimated.
“But he said he wouldn’t make a move before hearing from Saatchi.”
“Saatchi?”
“Charles. Advertising legend. Archangel guardian and elder statesman of all things touching contemporary art. Hard guy to get hold of, I hear.”
Certainly, Hanson admitted, she could borrow the money or no doubt had relationships with well-heeled business associates who might be interested in secondary acquisitions, though doing so could lead to dilemmas, entanglements, conflicts and jealousies she could probably live without. Then he named a few, including Picard, Tessler, Santana, Wexford, Quinlan and Smite.
“I was speechless. This guy was so smooth, so…usually I can hold my own but Jesus! Gary was playing on a whole different level. The man did his homework. He had the goods.” She paused.”Plus he was easy on the eyes. Had sort of a reincarnated Clint Eastwood thing going on, though not as good looking.” She paused again.”Almost…like I wanted to sit in his lap and tell him all my secrets.”
“So then what happened?”
She smiled, enjoying the memory and the retelling.”I was expecting a coup de grace. You know, just put me out of my misery. But he had other ideas.”
Downstairs they got into the limousine and he instructed the driver to take them to The Vault. Twenty minutes later they arrived at a three story, nondescript commercial building south of town near I-25. After he coded open the front door, they stepped to a reception platform manned by a young woman and an armed security type. She greeted Hanson by name, then offered a tablet, requesting he enter the usual. He did, then motioned for his guest to follow him down a corridor where he was acknowledged by another armed guard seated at a desk. Again, the code was asked for, then provided. Satisfied, the sentry raised a remote control toward a facing door which clicked.
The open room, which she described as bigger than the one they were sitting in, was brightly lit and smelled very fresh as if recently scrubbed down with bleach. Two wide industrial tables occupied the center, a pair of desks and a few folding chairs off to the side beside a cubicle. Large humidifiers and fans rested on trailers, whirring softly. Plywood covered the windows and two tall Winchester gun safes were lined up like steel soldiers at attention. But it was the walls that drew her gaze.
“Behold, he said,” she mimicked with a dramatic sweep of her hand.”The primary assets of the estate of James Lisle Davidson.”
Reaching to the table she lifted the stapled document and handed it to him. Titled Curator’s Notes & Combat Art Inventory, it consisted of 20-some pages listing by number every one of the works Hanson controlled, broken down into 11 sets and preceded by the author’s lengthy comments. After she excused herself to answer the ringing red phone he browsed through it, astonished by the amount of works contained in the collection but more so by the detailed analysis that ranged from a creation timeline to highlighting certain paintings to the suspicion that some major canvases had gone missing. Addressed to Hanson and signed Respectfully submitted, Julia, parts of it read like mystery novel, others like an accounting exercise, others like a marketing pitch and still others as if the writer was gazing into a crystal ball. Some of her asides seemed a tad too personal for a business memo, even…
Returning, Trisha glanced toward the kitchen and asked “About ready for dinner?”
“Hang on here,” he said in a mock plea.”You can’t stop now.”
“I’ll finish later. How about if we move on to some other conversational topics.”
He nodded, scanning the room.”Okay. Tell me more about this place. Why all the empty rooms?”
“Just moved in a while ago. I haven’t had the time to get around to serious furniture shopping. All the stuff I had before has to suffice for now.” She paused.”Funny, but it just occurred to me that perhaps I should refer to it as combat casa.”
“How’s that?”
“When I was negotiating the purchase, I went out for lunch with Rae Wilson, the woman who built the Towers. During our conversation, about lighting, I mentioned it was very important as I really wanted to highlight my collection.” She raised a hand to her shoulder and began to massage it.”Rae asked what I planned to display, she’s a collector herself, and when I got to the Combat Art pieces she reached for her wine glass and knocked it over.” She grinned mischievously.”Offered me the east penthouse in exchange for just one of them.”
“You didn’t take it?”
“You’re not in the east penthouse, David.”
He looked around the room again. She was right. We are not in the east penthouse. And, he mused, Toto? I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
They remained on the couches for a bit chatting about the insignificant and the informational. He was surprised to learn she’d been engaged briefly in college and that both her parents were dead. She saw her older brother one holiday a year and talked to a younger sister every month. The only sports she enjoyed were tennis and horseback riding but hadn’t done either in years. He asked if she danced and she replied she hadn’t since high school.
She didn’t like pets, never had one, never wanted one. She thought learning how to pilot a helicopter would be interesting but doubted she’d ever have the time. Her favorite thing to do when she was frustrated was work. If she ever left SUE, or more accurately when she left SUE, she wanted to travel and consult on a part-time basis as she was growing tired of the corporate grind. Finally, she said she was getting hungry.
Most of dinner was already prepared: salads, an appetizer of chilled jumbo shrimp and a main course of tarragon salmon with sides of fried asparagus tips and artisanal glazed apple slices.
After holding her chair, he poured a glass of the wine for her, then moved to the other end of the table where he did the same for himself.
“This is exceptional,” she said, setting the glass down and applauding lightly.”Great choice. I think it’ll go very well with the food.”
“Dolce e l’alba che illumine gli amanti,” he said, lifting his glass to her.”Pretty good, huh?”
She sipped, letting the rim linger at her lips, regarding him with a mixture of…a mixture of emotions he’d never seen in his life. Setting the goblet aside she placed an elbow on the table then rested her chin on the heel of her palm, drawing a deep breath.
“Am I missing something, David?” She paused.”Who are you referring to?”
“We’re the only ones here.”
“I see.” She lifted the glass and took a gulp before setting it aside again.”And is there a…a point you’re trying to make?”
“Just for you to have a happy birthday.”
“By having sex with me?”
He froze. Solid. She cocked her head then blushing, looked away.”That’s an old Appenine saying. Where did you learn it?”
“My Uncle Chuck?”
She looked back.”Do you know what it means?”
�
��I…he told me it was a special way to wish you happy birthday.”
Her laughter lasted long enough for him to take three deep breaths.
“It…,” she began, but started in again.”It means sweet is the sunrise that shines light on the lovers.” She hesitated, trying to control the giggles.”A guy at a disco in Milan tried that out on me one night!”
He gazed down the long table at her, the candlelight softening her angular features making her seem younger, more innocent than beautiful.
“However, I never rule out any possibility no matter how remote it might seem.” She paused.”But how about a birthday kiss?”
For a brief moment he felt the tug of his rational self. He knew involving himself in any way with her would bring him nothing but trouble. He was simply wasn’t in her league, wasn’t the type who’d fit in the circles she seemed to enter and exit so easily. She might have use for him as an administrative assistant, and she might have use for him as in-home entertainment on a birthday she decided at the last minute to celebrate, though that was as far as it went. He was nothing more than another item in her collection of accouterments, another cog in the machinery that made her life a little easier and unrehearsed.
She could have pop stars, she could have chairmen of the board, she could probably, even without her position and her power, have any man she wanted if she put half a mind to it. By some quirk, some odd set of circumstances and an unpredictable combination of events he now found himself no more than a nod away from the lips of a woman he’d lusted after since the day he saw the horseback photo. Why had she picked him for the passage?
Like many others he’d spent maybe 30 seconds a few days a month mesmerized as she walked through the cafeteria or passed in the hall. He had one of those sets of eyes that tracked her when she was within sight, her effect on all of them that of a massive oscillating fan blowing through a forest of tall thin pines.
Maybe it was only a kiss she wanted and nothing more. If he gave it to her there wouldn’t be any harm done, no cause for alarm. But if there was something more she wanted, it could certainly end badly. He was always true to Sharon; never cheated, never wanted to or even had a passing desire. Well, maybe the desire but not the urge. She was the one who said all bets are off after her sisters died, not him. Saturday loomed in the distance but was still part of the future, not the present.
Camden's Knife Page 20