“You’re kidding,” said Joey.
“Bye-bye,” said Hadewych, zipping with one hand and waving to Joey with the other.
“He’s staying. Or else,” said Jason.
Hadewych paused at the door. “Or else what?”
“I saw a microphone out there. I could ‘ruin the evening with my theories,’ as you put it.”
Hadewych’s eyes narrowed. He opened the door and nodded.
“Fine. But he’s not sitting at our table.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“The Crane Foundation”
Jason and Joey braced themselves and entered the tent. The reception was already in full swing. Jason had never seen so many Windsor knots in one place. Money mingled with money, swapping mutual interests. Cocktails sloshed, diamonds sparkled, and a jazz trio played “I Loves You, Porgy.”
“That son of a bitch,” said Joey.
“Who?”
“That’s Dave up there. My drummer from Hollow Praise. He left us high and dry. Said he wasn’t taking any gigs this winter. Two seconds.”
“Don’t leave me.”
Joey strode off and Jason wandered the crowd. He snatched a cranberry-duck puff and washed it down with a hunk of lobster.
Kate appeared at his elbow. “Come with me. Now.”
“What’s up? I thought we couldn’t be seen together.”
“No time to explain.”
“Mister Crane!” A black man with a boutonnière in his lapel approached. “Would you do me the honor of an introduction?”
The man had the poshest English accent Jason had ever heard, as if he’d swallowed the entire Royal Family. He extended a hand. Jason’s reached out automatically but Kate took Jason’s hand in her own.
“Mather,” she said, squeezing Jason’s hand painfully. “Why aren’t you with my father?”
“He’s busy with the moneychangers. And you know I love meeting new people.”
Mather waited, his hand still outstretched. He had vivid purple eyes and, though most black men have lighter skin on their palms, Mather’s was darker, as if he’d pressed it to soot. “Mather is like this rock,” Kate had said. “He’ll be able to sense you. If you want to stay a free agent, you need to avoid him.”
“Jason’s got diarrhea,” Kate announced loudly. Several people turned to frown. “Come on. Let’s find you a men’s room.”
“Yeah, sorry,” said Jason. “I’ve got to, uh, run.”
Mather waved. “Feel better. I’m sure we’ll talk!”
Kate led Jason through circles of chatting people. “That was close. Do not let him touch you. He won’t be able to sense what you can do but he’ll know you can do something. Why aren’t you wearing any gloves?”
“How would I explain gloves?”
“I don’t know. Say you’re trying not to bite your fingernails. I can’t keep rescuing you all night.” She walked off.
The trio launched into “Body and Soul.”
Jason checked his pockets for his spare gloves, but they were in his backpack in the car. He considered going out for them, but he’d need the keys from Hadewych. He’d just have to be careful.
He spotted Zef at the oyster bar, surrounded by smiling faces. Jason could feel the wattage of his cousin’s charm from across the room. He’d always considered the Van Brunts to be natural salesmen, but never like this. The men and women gathered around Zef were probably worth the GDP of a small Arab nation, but they stood at rapt attention as he spoke. They weren’t leering. These weren’t lascivious old men or women. No chicken-hawks or cougars ogling a handsome seventeen-year-old. This was true interest and appreciation.
“It’s a philosophical issue,” Zef was saying. “I see the Democrats and Republicans as flip sides of the same coin. The same fallacy.”
“Which is?” said a pale dowager.
“Which party worries about the country’s soul and which worries about the country’s stomach? But that’s the fallacy. We’re not ghosts and we’re not animals. Our leaders have to be concerned with both.”
“Is that what Paul believes?” said a sallow blond man, grinning.
“I wouldn’t presume to speak for Senator Usher, Chairman Stanwick. Only for myself. But I do think he’s the best man we have, don’t you?” Zef flashed a smile and damn near twinkled the place to death.
“And where do you stand?” said the dowager. “With which side of the fallacy?”
Zef shrugged charmingly. “Do I have to choose just now?” The listeners chuckled. Zef nudged an oyster onto a plate. “I’ll stay in the middle, I think. As long as I can.”
“Until he finds out which party has an open seat,” mumbled an old man, waggling epic caterpillar eyebrows.
Zef tapped cocktail sauce into the shell and grinned. “Whoa. Give me a chance to graduate high school, Clarence. I’m just a grain of sand here.”
The dowager took the bait. “Well, I think you’re a pearl,” she said, and kissed Zef’s cheek.
Jason had heard enough. That was Zef? It was not the same Zef who mumbled at his shoes and sulked in his room. Sure, Joey had spoken of Zef as Usher’s protégé, so there had to be something about the guy that Usher liked, especially if he would let his daughter date him. But how was that the same Zef who hung out with Martinez and the Horsemen? Where was the drunk kid who’d cried and thrown bottles across the GM parking lot and beat Jason up after he’d failed to kiss him at the lighthouse? Who was Zef, anyway?
A phony, like his dad, Jason decided. A sycophant who shifts to match whatever company he joins.
He turned away, looking for the bar, and saw Mather scanning the crowd. In an effort to evade the man, he ended up walking straight into Paul Usher, who’d been watching Zef’s performance.
“Sorry,” Jason said.
“Hello, Jason. Having fun?”
“Sure.”
Usher’s eyes never left Zef. “That,” he said admiringly, “is a natural politician.”
“I can tell,” said Jason, with no admiration whatsoever. He tried to slip away but Usher took his arm in a firm grip.
“Are you sleeping with my daughter?” he said, with the same easy smile, eyes still on Zef.
“What? No.”
“Do you want to be?”
“Is that an offer?”
Ushers eyes darted to his. “Don’t be smart.”
“She’s my friend.”
“Just a friend?”
“Just a friend.”
“Glad to hear it.” Usher released Jason’s arm and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Usher walked off. A gaggle of bootlickers followed in his wake, vying for his attention. Jason pushed through them, swimming against the stream.
The trio bounced into a jazzed up “My Favorite Things.”
Hadewych approached from three o’clock. “Quit bothering the senator,” he growled.
Jason pulled away and bumped into McCaffrey, the funeral director.
“Hey there, buddy, how ya been?” McCaffrey drawled. He wore a cheap suit and bolo tie and spoke through a mouthful of lobster. “Some swank, huh?”
“It’s unbelievable.”
“You know any of these people?”
Jason shook his head. “Nope.”
McCaffrey swallowed. “Me neither. But hey,” he pressed something into Jason’s palm, “if you get a chance, pass some of these out?”
Jason’s gift suddenly engaged, and he got a brief flash of McCaffrey’s embalming room. He pushed the vision away with a shudder and opened his fingers. His hand was full of business cards: John McCaffrey—Mortuary Services.
McCaffrey winked conspiratorially. “This place is a gold mine.”
Hadewych joined them and snatched the cards away. “You’re kidding me.”
“Come on, Hadewych. A fella’s gotta make a livin’.”
“This is a private event. I don’t suppose you made a donation?”
“No. I just come in. I figure you owed me an
invite—for that shady business with the tomb.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“And I say you do,” said McCaffrey, raising his voice. “Okay, fine.” He took out his wallet and opened it. “What’s the entrance fee for this shindig?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” said Hadewych.
McCaffrey let out a long whistle and closed his wallet. “You take a personal check?” Hadewych took McCaffrey’s elbow and hustled him away.
Mather approached from eight o’clock. Jason stepped around a row of cocktail tables and found Kate sitting on a speaker by the Christmas tree, an untouched plate of cheese and grapes in her hand. She shook her head, warning him off.
“Just tell me,” he said, “have you seen Joey?”
“No.”
“That’s all I wanted. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Sit down.”
Jason sat on a big wooden box disguised to look like a Christmas present. She offered the plate. He snatched a square of some exotic cheese and chewed it. It tasted like feet. Kate swung her legs restlessly, reverting to her tomboy roots. “Quit looking at me,” she whispered. Jason turned away. He considered telling her what Usher had said but thought better of it.
“How many of these people are, you know… like us?”
“A lot of them. See that woman with the emerald earrings? That’s Claudia Van Helsing.”
Jason frowned. “Van Helsing? As in Dracula? As in the vampire hunter?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So? So vampires are real, too?”
She nodded. “Of course they are.”
“But you said there were no monsters. Only people. People and the spirit world.”
“Vampires are people.”
“No. No. Vampires are monsters.”
She looked at him with sad astonishment. “Don’t be a bigot. Some of my best friends are vampires.”
He stared at her, dumbstruck.
She cracked a grin and started laughing. “You are so easy to bullshit.”
“Great. So that was all—”
“You should have seen the look on your face.”
“And that woman?”
“I have no idea who she is. But yes, there are a lot of us here. Most are normals, though. Well, normal for them. If normal is owning a vineyard then, yes, they’re normal. But ask me later about the others. That’s not something we should be talking about in the open.”
“There you are.” Zef appeared and handed Kate a flute of champagne. “Here. I could get used to this.”
She took the offered glass, then stole his, too, placing them on the speaker beside her. “Watch the underage drinking. You’ll make a stink,” Kate said, standing and slipping an arm around Zef’s back. “Besides. It’s a long time until midnight and I need you speaking English.”
“What were you two giggling about?”
She shrugged. “Oh, you know. Dirty limericks.”
The trio slipped into an arrangement of “Younger Than Springtime.”
Zef turned to Jason. “Why didn’t you join in earlier?”
“Not my crowd.”
“I would have introduced you around. I know just about everybody here.”
“Hi, guys!” said Joey, bounding up to join them.
“What’s shaking?” said Kate.
“I just met Chita Rivera’s piano player. Who wants to touch me?”
“Rain check,” said Jason.
“Sure. I’ll touch you,” said Kate. “I love Chita.” She poked Joey in the navel and he giggled mock-bashfully.
“How about you, Zef?” said Joey. “You like Chita?”
Zef drained his champagne. “Tarzan’s monkey? Of course I do. Come on, Babe, let’s get some food.”
“See you guys,” said Kate. “The more food he has in his stomach, the better.”
They pivoted and walked away, arm in arm.
Jason shook his head at Joey. “Could you be any gayer?”
“Too much?”
Jason adopted a Darth Vader voice. “I find your lack of testosterone disturbing.”
“Sorry,” said Joey, grabbing a handful of grapes.
“I’m fine. You freaked Zef out, though.”
“So sue me. I’m nervous. I’m going to tell him tonight.”
“Tell him what?”
“How I feel.”
“No. No. Such a bad idea.”
“Maybe I’ll kiss him at midnight.”
“Turn it down, son, you’re scaring the horses. Leave Zef alone. It’s not like there aren’t other options.” He cocked an eyebrow at a passing waiter.
“True,” said Joey, putting a hand to his temple. “I sense aspiring chorus boys.”
Mather approached again.
Jason stood. “Crap. Let’s go.”
“Why?”
“Tell you later.”
“Stop right there!” Hadewych appeared and grabbed Jason’s elbow. “We need you.”
“What for?” said Jason.
“You’ll see.”
Joey fell behind as Hadewych pushed Jason up a few steps onto the stage, positioning him like a potted plant at the back, next to the jazz trio, which had stopped playing.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Hadewych’s voice oozed with such sweetness, he might have been trying to caramelize the microphone. “I’m so pleased you could join us. Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year!” the crowd responded, well lubricated by cocktail hour.
“We have some exciting announcements tonight, but first let me turn the microphone over to Mayor Nielsen.”
The mayor of Sleepy Hollow stepped to the mike, and his three little girls rushed the stage, jumping up and down. The mayor praised Usher and talked up the town. Jason tried not to shift too much as the mayor spoke. Sweat was in his eyes from the hot lighting, and the tent heater was blowing right behind him. At last the mayor ceded the stage to Hadewych again, and the little girls clapped over-loudly.
“And now the man of the hour,” said Hadewych, “the man of the future, the next senator from Massachusetts. I’m proud to introduce my friend Paul Usher!”
Chita Rivera’s piano player provided a little march, and Usher ascended to loud applause.
“Thank you, Hadewych. I want to thank you and Mayor Nielsen for that great introduction, and thank all my friends who came tonight. Happy New Year. I’m thrilled to be back home in New York. I may be running in Massachusetts but my roots are here…”
Jason tuned out Usher’s stump speech. He was feeling feverish again. He took a sudden chill, and his nose felt like it was running. He sniffed, wishing he had a handkerchief. He tried to stay still and inconspicuous, hoping he wouldn’t faint or something. He thought uncomfortably of tumbling off the stage at the Spirit Dance.
Dave the drummer was sitting a few feet away. Dave must have been thinking of that night too, because he raised his sticks and whispered, “Wreck my drums again and these are going up your ass.” Jason glanced across the stage. Hadewych’s mouth twitched, signaling him to smile.
“This shouldn’t be a partisan issue!” Usher was thundering. “We shouldn’t be fighting in Washington about this. Our priorities are clear. Congress needs to act now or, by next fall, funding for transportation projects and infrastructure is going to run out!”
The crowd applauded. Jason joined in but yawned with his mouth closed.
Usher’s voice dropped to a casual tone, friendly, like everyone’s next-door neighbor. “Last week I flew in from Boston. I landed at Newark airport, and on the way home I drove over the Tappan Zee Bridge.” He shook his head sadly. “You know what they call the Tappan Zee? The Hold-Your-Breath Bridge.” General chuckles. “Now that’s the longest bridge in New York and one of the busiest bridges around. As any commuter will tell you, it is crowded. It carries a lot more traffic than when it was built back in 1955. At times, you can see the river through the cracks in the pavement. Now, I’m not an engineer, but I figure that’s not good. It’s served us we
ll, but I’m going to push to get the new bridge built. I may be Boston-bound, but this isn’t a local issue. Some things are good for the whole country.”
Applause again. Jason wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“When our landmarks fall apart, it hurts everyone. But there are solutions. When the Old Dutch Church was… damaged…”
Jason looked up. The whole crowd was staring at him.
“…well, no one felt sicker about that than me. But my friend Jason feels the same as I do. He loves our local history—don’t you, Jason?”
Jason swallowed and nodded.
“And that’s why Jason and his guardian Hadewych Van Brunt have endowed the Crane Foundation. Can we dim the lights, please?”
Jason frowned. The what? The lights dimmed, hiding his expression of shock and bewilderment. A projector came to life, and a green logo loomed behind them, with the words THE CRANE FOUNDATION in white lettering.
“Why don’t you take it from here, Hadewych?” said Usher, ceding the microphone. Hadewych made a gesture and the presentation began. Images appeared of Philipsburg Manor, Patriots Park, Sunnyside…
“The Foundation,” Hadewych was saying, “was entirely Jason’s idea. He has committed to finance the restoration and upkeep of all Sleepy Hollow landmarks for the next seven years.” The crowd applauded. “I think it’s a beautiful gesture, don’t you?” More applause. Hadewych waved to someone in the crowd. Mister Smolenski, Jason’s history teacher. The man beamed and gave a thumbs-up. “Let’s have some applause for the head of the Historic Society. And, Jason, would you like to say a few words?”
Hadewych turned and offered Jason the microphone. Jason shook his head.
“Jason’s shy, everyone. Let’s give him some encouragement.”
The applause swelled. Dave the drummer nudged Jason forward. Reluctantly, Jason took the microphone, locking eyes with Hadewych for a moment. Hadewych’s eyes were mirthful, daring. Jason blinked against the light of the projector. An image of the Old Dutch Church loomed behind him. He had a sudden urge to tell this crowd everything. This man killed my grandmother, everybody. He summoned the Headless Horseman and killed her. This is her money, not mine, and it sure the hell isn’t his. I knew nothing about this Foundation. This is a setup somehow. It’s just his next trick. And for my next trick I will shove this microphone down Hadewych’s throat and pull it out his butthole. Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo.
Sleepy Hollow: Bridge of Bones Page 22