“Nobody could have guessed Lascaux was holding six greens and two wilds.”
“They probably couldn’t. But that still only comes up to, adds up to eight greens. Chang’s wild tile brings it up to nine. Kerensky’s green makes it ten. Boo needed three more, and Sarah, with her two green and two wilds, would push him one over.”
“All she had to do was say two words. Fourteen green. That would have ended it.”
“But she spaced. I think by that time she’d lost touch with what was going on. If she challenges and Boo’s holding enough, she loses. If she bids fourteen green and doesn’t make it, she still loses. So she could have made the fourteen bid, at least give herself a long shot. If she had, she’d now be fifty million dollars richer.”
“She was close. She got a third of it out.”
“Twice. She said: Four… then paused. Then she said: Four… and paused again. Just as the lights in the Tournament Room dimmed. Must have been a sign she was tapped out. But she really didn’t grasp what she had the opportunity to do. Then she looked up and smiled like she’d just figured out the way to San Jose. I thought maybe she’d locked it down. And then she challenged. They turned over the tiles, Ceriac Boo Lascaux had one more than he needed, and the first World Standoff! World Tournament went into the history books. Ceriac Boo Lascaux, the world champion. And a very wealthy champion he is. Thank you, Boo.”
“And thank you, Richie. I wish you luck, wherever you go. Whatever you do.”
“I told you. Retire.”
“The tournament wouldn’t have been half as enjoyable for me if you hadn’t been here. And I think I can say that on behalf of the entire staff.”
“Even for Mr. Schaffer?”
“And Mr. Dukesbury. Any final thoughts?”
“Yep. I want to get a drink. I want to cash in my bets. I’ll tell you the rest later.”
“You’ll always have a chair next to me, Richie. Anytime. I’ve got to believe we’ll work together some day again. I’ve just got to believe it.”
“Don’t go getting sentimental on me, Phil. Besides, you’ve only got about ninety seconds left. But I’ll miss you, too.”
“Thanks, buddy. I’ll have to shorten my list here because we do want to have you all see the presentation of the trophies and the check. How do you sum up this weekend? I’m really at a loss. We’ve got to thank Franklin Potcheck, Claude St. Honore and the entire staff here at Prism for the hospitality they’ve shown us, the fine work they’ve done to support this monumental undertaking. We’ve got to thank our crew, our own support team, the gang back at Television City, our director Gene Mann, our producer Toby Shober, our executive producer Tim Mundy. It’s been, as they billed it, a singular event. Our hats go off to all the performers for the spectacular show they put on last night. I hasten to add, as we told you earlier, that we’ll be showing that concert again, in its entirety, later on this evening. I’d like to thank all our viewers, but there are a few too many of you to name. Finally, the Final Four - Ronnie Young Chang, Nick Kerensky, Sarah Easton. And, of course, the champion, Ceriac Boo Lascaux, about to find himself a couple bucks to the plus side. It’s been an awful lot of fun for me, and when you come right down to it, for a lot of other people out here. And when you come right down to it, that’s what this wonderful game is all about. From all of us here at Fox, I thank you. I’m Phil Schuster.”
“And I’m Richie Levenfeld.”
“See you around campus, Levenfeld.”
“You won’t see me on Uranus, Schuster.”
“And now, back to Kari Katz at Awards.”
Epilogue
The couple had landed in Oranjestadan hour earlier, completing the inaugural flight of the recently delivered, showroom fresh, tricked-out Dassault Falcon and then been whisked to the newly-constructed villa on Aruba’s northwestern shore which they’d been negotiating over as a potential addition to the four residences already in their portfolios. Rodney had completely furnished it to their specifications and left the walls blank as instructed. Within twenty minutes of stepping through the front door and a brief exchange about which of the three master suites would be chosen as our bedroom, a pair of nods followed by handshakes with the builder, the decorator and the real estate agent sealed the deal. Now they reclined in the late afternoon light on the expansive lanai as waves pounded below them, enjoying the view and their first sips of the of the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay Rod had iced to perfection.
She reached into her oversize purse and removed the transpad asking, “Wanna know what’s going on in the rest of the world?”
“Not especially. I’ve got enough going on in mine.” He paused then grinned. “But if you’d like to provide a narrative, I’ll be happy to listen.”
She powered it up and it opened to Pinkiefinger’s home page. “Wow. That one month-afterstory Jip mentioned is the lead.”
“How ’bout you save that for last.”
She nodded then made a face. “Even though we told him about us... off the record… I hope he keeps his word until… ”
“He will, though knowing him, I don’t doubt he’ll tease it.”
“When’re we supposed to be there?”
He thought a moment.”Pretty sure they’re thinking a week from Thursday, maybe Friday.”
“Where?”
“He texted that they’re building a temp set in Chicago and’ll decide on a permanent studio site later.” He paused. “Franklin told him he could make the final call.” He stretched. “I’ve got a feeling he’ll keep it there.”
“He does love that city.”
“So you were about to… ”
“Yes, siree. Newsglance, then?”
“Just A and E, please.”
The Arts & Entertainment section trumpeted the disclosure that the 21st Century Fox had reversed course and had now agreed to a friendly takeover of its Fox Entertainment Group—including The Fox Broadcasting Company—by a small consortium led by Pinkiefinger’s owner, Potcheck Enterprises Games. While 21sthad turned down three offers and stated the matter was closed, an anonymous source close to the negotiations reported that upon hearing this, PEG’s agent Chucky Tessler had phoned the Fox CEO with a new proposition: his clients would undertake a hostile takeover of the parent company, sack the management team, keep the television network then transfer the film studio to “a philanthropic zillionaire who always fancied being a movie producer might be fun,” this new ally suspected to be Jett Jennings. The writing on the wall, 21stwisely capitulated and accepted fifteen percent less than the highest sum previously offered.
Though it was generally acknowledged that the poshest New Year’s Eve party of the year was the celebration held on the top floor of the Prism Resort and Casino following the spectacular Battle of the Bands/Combined Forces concert at the property, word on the street was that the bash hosted by Pope Peter I at his Sanctuary Creek mansion in northern Illinois was easily in the discussion as runner-up based on the lineup of world leaders and opinion makers who’d been in attendance. And seeing that the host had, the following day, announced that future installments were to become a guaranteed, annual event “as long as I’m wearing the Ring,” requests for spots of the invitation list were already pouring in from everywhere.
At a press conference held at the Institute of American Indian Arts if Santa Fe, New Mexico, Julia Garcy, the newly-appointed Managing Partner of CA/JLD Holdings LLP, the entity which now controlled virtually the entire Combat Art catalogue of the late James Lisle Davidson’s (aka J. Lionne-Demilunes), revealed that the long-sought Missing Fifteen works had been located in a rental storage space north of the city limits. However, the M15 weren’t what the curator had expected. Rather than filling in the space between the paintings numbered 83-99, the M15 were instead adjudged to have been executed after what was thought to be the final painting the artist’s oeuvre, Stencil Madness#2, all of them displaying a previously unseen four line stenciled logo. Also found in the unit were what Garcy termed a Shadow Fifteen, 22x3
0 acrylics on paper meant to compliment the M15by echoing or commenting on their images, along with a number of large works on cardboard, more 22x30s apparently created concurrently with the S15sand other creations executed on a variety of surfaces.
She said that while the first fourteen of the new works again touched on the artist’s interests and commentary on music, literature and his own output, the fifteenth, tentatively titled Almost Everything, was easily the most complex of his hundreds of creations and destined to be the crown jewel of Combat Art. Measuring 68x90 inches and divided into eight separate interior rectangles, it not only referenced the other fourteen paintings in the set but also the eighteen works on canvas or wood preceding the M15. The Shadow of M15, in turn, covered only the previous fourteen.
The Museum of Modern Art had been trying for months to coax the partnership into lending just a few pieces for display in New York but to no avail, Garcy demurring on releasing anything from the collection because everything had been subpoenaed as evidence to be used in the criminal prosecution of United States of America vs. Garrison H. Hanson, et. al. But the M15 and the Shadows weren’t covered by the Court’s order so MoMA had the day before presented an enticing offer. Its third floor Special Exhibitions Gallery’s restoration had been finished three months ahead of schedule so was available, Garcy could be the lead writer of an accompanying exhibit catalogue and all costs of mounting a show - not to mention an unusually generous cut of the proceeds - would be wrapped into any agreement the principals reached. When asked about this possibility, the curator acknowledged that ordinarily she would have jumped at the opportunity, but that there were certain anomalies involving one of the pairs of 15s and Shadows that had to be resolved to her satisfaction prior to them being shown to the public.
“Oh,” the man said as he removed the champagne from its bucket and refreshed their flutes. “That’d be set 14.”
His partner scanned the rest of the story then replied, “It doesn’t say.”
“That’d be set 14,” he repeated.
“What makes you think that?”
“Julia phoned a few days ago to run it by me.”
She studied the photo accompanying the article. “You know her?”
“Sure. Uh, remember telling me how nice the library at the ranch was put out?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Julia… I gave her the budget and she did most all of the leg work.” He thought a moment. “She was the one who tracked down then managed to acquire all of those Elias Rivera paintings you like.”
She studied the photo again. “Very attractive girl.”
“Lemme see.”
She passed the transpad across and he cackled, “She’s much sweeter in person.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning...” She sighed. “I apologize, honey. This is all so new to... I’ll... I’ve just gotta get over my territoriality.”
He smiled. “Well if it helps, there was never any touching below the waist between us.”
She coughed once then made an exaggerated sweep of a hand across her forehead. “Phew!”
“Besides, you’re much sweeter in person than she could ever be.”
She gave a contented sigh then asked, “So what’s the deal with these fourteens?”
He thought it through. “The painting is huge. Something like eight feet by three feet. Starts by listing some names of imaginary bands. Think the first is Firefly Rebellion.”
“That would be a great name for a group.”
“Then at the bottom it reads… it reads Billy… Christie, then Pandora’s Obsession’s blended in, then the line’s completed with The Alliance.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope.”
She hesitated. “But… the guy died, when was it? Last spring?”
“Yup. But it gets stranger.”
She took a sip from her glass. “Share please.”
“Okay, the shadow. First line. L ampersand G.”
She took another sip. “Umm… Ladies and Gentlemen?”
“That’s what I thought. Second line. P followed by a W.”
“Please welcome?”
“That’s what I thought. Then we come to the final line.” He paused. “Care to venture a guess?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Would you believe a C… followed by an F?”
She gasped. “That’s impossible! No way!”
“That’s what Julia thinks, too. But she’s positive it was done by her boy. Something about crosshatching marks or… ”
“It must have been forged.”
“Well, with all she’s been through, that possibility did raise its ugly little head. But I told her, I said Julie? Here’s the thing. You don’t know what else those letters might represent. Might just be some weird coincidence.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.”
“I don’t. But she’s not me.”
She stood and extended a hand to him. “Could you join me inside the... you know, we have to come up with a name for the place.”
“A name?”
“Yeah. Like Tara in Gone With The Wind.”
“Okay. But with a soft i.” He chuckled as he squeezed her fingers. “Liktara? Got kind of a tropical feel to it.”
She chuckled back and shook her head. “I didn’t mean... but that does have a nice ring to it.” She thought a beat. “How about maybe softening the a’s too. Liktahhhhrah.”
“Consider it done.”
She led him to the center of the room Rodney had stated was the focal about which the entire residence revolves then pointed to the wall above a massive sectional festooned with the four primary shades of the tropics.
“Did she describe the main colors?
“Firefly is medium gray with black lettering and a touch of red. Ladies and Gentlemen the same, but with a touch of gold.”
“Big one hangs there. Maybe framed in pink?” Then she gestured to the right. “Little one offset. Yellow, deep yellow, might work.”
He shrugged, gave no reply then returned to the lanai and settled back into the chaise.
“C’mon,” she urged. “They’d be perfect.”
“Monkeys in coconut trees’d be more appropriate.”
“Brat.”
“Can you imagine how much those’d cost?”
“It’d be a good investment,” she replied as she eased into her own lounge. “Plus, sounds like you’ve got a direct line to the merchant.”
“I’m a little short on discretionary funds this week.”
“You? You? Please.”
He motioned to her left hand. “That rock didn’t come out of a Crackerjack box.”
She smiled sweetly and examined the prize. It didn’t take a jeweler’s loop to see the diamond was as good as they came. “So when do I get to see the adoption papers?”
“Soon as GIA sends the new cert without the typos.”
She finished off her d’Abonnay. “When you asked, and it was very touching and generous that you did, I said...”
“You said round, nice clarity and not too big… big meaning nothing larger than three, three and a half carats. Am I correct up to this juncture?”
“Yeah, but… ”
“But you’ve got a problem with spatials so I figured Okay, we’ll just double that for reference.”
“Brat, brat, brat.”
“Hey! I stayed within those parameters. Your little friend is flawless, with a capital F. The examiner’d never seen one like it.” He grinned. “And as you can see, it be round.”
She sighed but said nothing.
“And at the weigh-in, Sparkly tipped the scales at… Oh, no! Folks, it’s a lightweight! No, a featherweight.”
“C’mon. I know you went over. Spatial issues I’ll give you. But I can tell... I mean, if this baby was an ice cube it could cool off a vodka tonic.”
“See? I told you. You’re dreamin’.”
“Well?�
�
“Less than seven carats.”
“You can admit it, ya’ know.”
He shook his head slowly, as if amazed. “Okay. As you’ll see from the documentation, your object of desire… ”
“You’re my only object of desire.” She cackled and scrunched her fingers. “And soon you’ll be mine. All mine.” Then she examined the stone again. “Please?”
“Six point nine eight.”
She smiled, looked out to the waves then stood. “Rodney said that mattress in our room is not to be believed.” She paused. “Think I’ll… ” She looked away. “Care to join me for a nap?”
He thought a moment then asked, “A real nap or a code word nap?”
She glanced back with a lascivious grin. “I’m thinking code word nap.”
“Does that come with a bedtime story?”
She reached for her transpad. “We’ll see.”
Forty minutes later, his eyelids fluttered as he stared at the languidly revolving bamboo blades of the ceiling fan. “How about we change the code word to a code phrase? I’m thinking... nuclear nap?”
“As a longtime fan of your alliterative lyrics, I must agree.”
Now he let go with a deep yawn. “What’re you up for ’fer supper?”
“Maybe just order in?”
“Does El Gaucho deliver? I could really use some major Argentinean protein. One of those, uh, pincho toro calientes?”
“If not, I could just drive over for take away after you,” she chuckled, “fade off into ordinary naptime.”
“I’ve still got a few good minutes left in me.”
“Prime tenderloin rare?”
“Mmmhmm.”
She lifted her transpad from the nightstand and set it atop one of the spare pillows. “Close those baby blues, I’ll read you Jip’s piece then by the time you awaken, dinner will be ready to be served.”
“’Kay.”
Weekend at Prism Page 36