She blinked a couple of times then gazed at the display and took another sip of champagne before responding honestly and emphatically, “I have no clue.”
He tilted his head down slightly, raised his eyebrows and pointed at her. “You are not only honest ... you’re not alone.”
“So you’re in the jewelry business?”
Kirkland shook his head then took a sip from his drink. “No ... not really, no, most of my clients are involved some way or another with the insurance business,” he answered with deliberately incomplete honesty.
Elanore thought about that for a moment and noting the onyx-inlaid gold stud set he was wearing she came to a conclusion that while he was terribly attractive and obviously well off, his line of work must also be terribly dull. “Umm,” she said while nodding then asked, “If I get too nosey, you just please tell me—”
“Oh, no, no ... not at all—”
“Whereabouts in New York?”
“Long Island – Cove Neck.” When he saw it didn’t seem familiar to her he added, “About forty-five clicks east-north-east of Manhattan.”
Clicks? She thought and paused only for a second before asking, “You’re a pilot?”
He looked quite surprised as he asked, “And you?”
“Single engine, instrument rated,” she said proudly.
Instead of appearing astonished he made a point of noticing the rings on her left hand. “Is the lucky man a pilot as well?”
The compliment wasn’t enough to make her blush but she rolled her eyes slightly. “I only share Al with a bunch of pilots and old airplanes ... come with me, Michael,” she said as she took his arm and began guiding him in the direction of a group that included her husband. “You have to meet Al ... we have to get you properly indoctrinated.” Through the sleeve of the tailored tuxedo jacket she noticed his arm felt as unyielding as the neck of a horse. And he works out, too, she added to her assessment of the new stranger in town.
Moments later her husband saw them approaching and recognized the slight tip of his wife’s head that called him to break away from whatever it was he was engaged in. With a well-practiced look and a quick “excuse me” he moved away.
“Al,” Elanore said, “you have to meet Michael – he’s just gotten into town and before any of these cougars get to him I have managed to pry out of him that he’s an insurance appraiser and ... better yet, he’s also a pilot.”
“That’s a good sign ... Alex Calder,” the fiftyish-looking man said warmly, extending his hand. “Welcome to Houston.”
As they shook hands Kirkland realized the man wasn’t what he had expected for a chief executive of a giant technology company and museum trustee. A quick study first convinced him Calder had spent a lot of time outdoors – the tanned, somewhat rugged complexion made him look older than he probably was. The receding, thinning, salt-and-pepper hair swept straight back didn’t exactly subtract any years from the image, but the firm grip and the lack of a gut behind the cummerbund told him Calder was more interested in being fit than trying to appear younger. “Michael Kirkland,” he said pleasantly.
“Well, I see you’ve fallen under the spell of Houston’s most determined hostesses,” Alex offered warmly with a slight tip of his head toward his wife, then added conspiratorially, “I should warn you she has a reputation for introducing couples.”
Kirkland looked as if he had been duly alerted but said, “Well ... maybe it’s time to—”
With widened eyes and a slight wave Alex cut him off. “Let every eye negotiate for itself ... and trust no agent; for beauty is a witch against whose charms faith melteth in blood."
Kirkland couldn’t help chuckling at the quote he struggled to recognize – but especially at the change in the man’s accent which had switched from obvious Texan to stage-worthy Shakespearean English. “I’ll try to be less gullible than poor ... poor ...” he said then shook his head and snapped his fingers. “Ah ... what’s his name—?”
“Claudio,” Alex interjected.
Kirkland nodded then made a toasting motion toward Elanore. “I’ll take your word for it ... despite that, being the newcomer, I believe I should place myself at your mercy, Mrs. Calder.”
She gave her husband a fleeting, almost petulant smirk then said graciously, “Well, I’m off to do what I do while you boys do whatever it is you do when I’m away doing what I do ... it was nice to meet you Michael.”
“The pleasure was mine,” Kirkland replied genuinely.
A moment after she swept away her husband mused, “A woman on a mission.”
“What mission is that?”
“You married?”
“Oh no, no, no.”
“Ah – well then, I’d say sometime in the next half-hour or so you’re going to be introduced to one Catherine Cruz.”
Kirkland smiled in anticipation. “I suppose I should be looking forward to it.”
“I’ll let you be the judge of that ... let’s get a drink.”
- # -
Elanore Crawford found her way to the side of her former sister-in-law and asked very quietly without turning, “Did you see him?”
Accustomed to that kind of question from her best friend and confidant, the younger woman swept her eyes back and forth. “Him? Who?” she asked then casually turned and glanced around, trying to not be obviously on the lookout for what must have been someone impressive enough to garner Elanore Calder’s attention; the bar her friend set was high. Lesser mortals need not apply she reminded herself.
Elanore scoffed – but subtly. “Your radar must be down ... come on ... tell me you really haven’t seen him.”
The somewhat shorter woman with almost black hair and large, dark-brown eyes finally looked at her former sister-in-law with a ‘no more bullshit’ expression. “Okay, El. Straight up. Where is he?”
There was a quickly-issued whisper in response. “Don’t turn around – he’s looking this way ... he’s behind you over by the icons, talking to Al and the Engles and what’s his name ... the pizza guy.”
“Pizza guy?”
“What’s his name ... the one with the ads—”
“Oh, I know who you mean—”
“Hell, I should know this,” Elanore said, chastising herself then remembering what she had approached Catherine about. “Oh, but, he’s over there by—”
“I’m supposed to have seen this guy but I can’t turn around to see him?”
“Give it a bit,” Elanore said instructively. “I’m gonna go talk with Al.”
“And just leave me to keep looking around like an idiot?”
“Not for long,” Elanore advised then set her drink flute down on a tray that was passing by. She smiled and waved faintly to another couple she knew then turned back to her friend and quietly fired off a rapid but detailed assessment: “Black tux, expensive tailoring ... six two and without boots ... dark hair a little on the short side, he knows how to shave ... blue-grayish eyes ... ah, he’s from Long Island, no wedding ring, about five thousand bucks worth of studs, has manicured nails and arms like iron. He’s also a pilot.”
After several casual glances at the men in the immediate area Catherine was still at a loss. “Who is he?”
“He says he’s an appraiser.”
“Not what he is ... who he is.”
“Michael Kirkland.”
Catherine turned as casually as she could and froze when she spotted the man her friend had described.
Elanore saw the look. “Honey, he’s pretty, but—”
“Damn,” Catherine interrupted admiringly then turned back to her friend before he might catch her looking. “But what?
“His line of work sounds really dull.”
- # -
With guests drifting around and enjoying – or in some cases tolerating – the event to one degree or another, Catherine Cruz was in her element, fulfilling not only professional but social obligations as Curator, talking to anyone and everyone; making sure all the right p
eople were getting the attention they expected; answering questions and circulating. Trying to keep an eye out for the striking man Elanore Calder had pointed out could only be done in a haphazard fashion in the expanses of the museum.
While talking with a couple she had known for several years she saw her friend break away from another group and subtly motion her over with just a faint lift of her chin. A funny sense of anticipation made her feel a little bit like a schoolgirl as she graciously excused herself. Oh shit, here we go.
“Cath,” Elanore began confidentially as she turned and took her aside, “we need a huge favor.”
After listening for a moment and considering the request, Catherine’s response was a definitive and incredulous, “No way ... there is no way we can let him do that ... the Russians would—”
Never one to see ‘no’ as anything more than a temporary annoyance, Elanore interrupted and played her trump card. “Just spend a few minutes with him. He’s very convincing.”
“Convincing—?”
“That too.”
Catherine shook her head dismissively. “About what?”
Elanore fixed her friend with an almost stern look and turned up the dial on the normally subdued southern-belle drawl. “Hon, I don’t pretend to know a whole lot about the history wrapped up in here, but I think I know when somebody does know what they’re talking about and the most gorgeous, seemingly unattached man to walk in here in a long, long, long time is holding court over there with some people who account for a large chunk of the annual budget ‘round here and ... well ... just trust me on this one,” she said then took a breath, sighed and lowered her voice even more, “they’re lapping it up and y’all don’t want to miss this. Or him ... this first, then if things work out ... well, then you can tell me all about him.”
Catherine couldn’t keep from grinning even as she tried to appear disapproving. She sighed heavily. “He actually wants to examine some of the exhibit pieces?”
Elanore nodded reassuringly. “Uh huh.”
“As in open them ... take them out of the displays?”
“Uh huh ... not during the show ... tonight, after the crowd’s gone.”
“Está fuera de su mente,” (he’s out of his mind), Catherine whispered sternly.
Elanore smiled at her. “Not hardly.”
In a whisper Catherine asked, “You don’t think so?”
“Come on. Let’s let him make his own case,” Elanore said and turned.
As they deliberately wandered toward Kirkland and the small clutch of people he was talking to Elanore said to her quietly, “Please tell me you know something about this, this, ah, what the hell, this ‘war of the great patriots’.”
“The war of—that’s the great patriotic war,” Catherine corrected on mental autopilot.
At that Elanore paused and turned, looking and sounding thankful. “Oh, good ... that’s a relief.”
As they got closer one of the men participating in the discussion recognized them and turned to make introductions. “Dr. Kirkland ... this is Elanore Calder—”
“Yes, we’ve met,” Kirkland said smoothly.
Doctor? Elanore wondered.
“—and Catherine Cruz, our Curator,” the man added.
Before Kirkland took her outstretched hand he immediately realized he had noticed her during the evening; any man who hadn’t would have to have been blind or on a very short leash.
From a distance it had been the long dark hair partially tied behind her head and the soft but definite curves of her figure in the fitted yellow gown. Close by, the large, dark eyes were captivating, set above high cheek bones separated by a narrow nose over wide and slightly lush lips. At a rare loss for words, the only thing Kirkland could come up with was, “Curator?” Without letting go of the gorgeous woman’s delicate hand he turned slightly to Elanore Calder and said, “Your museum has the world’s most beautiful curator – and I know a lot of curators.”
“You didn’t tell me it was Doctor Kirkland,” Elanore admonished slyly.
With his eyes back on Catherine, Kirkland suggested, “It tends to distract people from more consequential things.” After saying it he regretfully let go of her hand before it might appear awkward. I should have come here a long time ago, he told himself.
Elanore saw the twinkle in his eye then the look on Catherine’s face and her worries and hopes for her friend ratcheted up equally. Good Lord, The Great Leslie has come to Houston.
- # -
Instead of getting to know more about the beautiful woman on a personal level, Kirkland soon found himself participating in a back-and-forth kind of panel discussion with her before a growing group of guests who found themselves unexpectedly fascinated and entertained.
The impromptu, unscripted and enlightening dialogue ranged across centuries and continents and through wars, uprisings, natural disasters, marriages, infidelities, intriguing crimes and even conspiracy theories. Along the way they also exposed some of the not-generally-known character flaws of important historical figures and artists which resulted in even more questions.
At some point Kirkland finally suggested they may have monopolized too much of the guest’s time and to the disappointment of some the show quickly wound down.
For Elanore the results were interesting to say the least; one woman touched her shoulder in passing and whispered, “Sell tickets for a rematch,” then a man who had served with her on a local educational television board offered in confidence, “We need to get them on PBS, El ... this is too good to pass up,” and told her he’d see her the following week; a slightly inebriated but brutally honest woman she had known for many years made Elanore nearly burst out laughing when she brushed by and whispered, “Get ’em a room, honey.”
Watching the two for another few moments Elanore leaned closer to her husband and whispered, “Okay, tell me I’m right ... he’s not gay.”
Alex Calder snorted a short, quiet chuckle that nearly made him spill the drink he held. “You gotta be kidding,” he said derisively. “Geez, El ... look at how he looks at her.”
“But he just sounds so—”
“It’s the British accent.”
Elanore shot a hopeful glance of realization at her husband. “You know him?”
Alex shrugged. “Not a whole lot longer than you. Somebody ‘round here knows him or he wouldn’t have been invited.”
Elanore was surprised she hadn’t thought of that. Then the sudden feeling she had somehow been left out of the normal social loop that mattered in such things she said, “Okay, you’re right. But who?”
He ignored the question. “You want my opinion they look pretty damn good together.”
A more serious, protective tone materialized in her voice. “We need to know more about him ... I feel like I introduced them and we don’t know diddly squat.”
Alex took the opportunity to tease his wife about her mission to get Catherine Cruz connected to the right man. “You mean ... what you really mean is, now that you’ve seen them together ... now you need to know how we protect Cath from the dashing stranger who might ride off into the sunset with her ... or in his case, the sunrise.”
She glared at back sternly. “Well, maybe ... okay ... yes.” Her apparent displeasure with her husband’s ignorance about the importance of such things dissolved as Kirkland and Catherine approached.
“So,” Elanore began, trying to catch Catherine’s eye to get a reading, “does Doctor Kirkland get to take a closer look?” Instantly recognizing the possible double meaning she deftly added, “At the jewels?”
Catherine was only momentarily caught off guard. She had forgotten what Elanore had originally requested and the issue of looking at the items after the show hadn’t come up in talking with the Professor. After thinking for only a second she said, “Well, if I can convince Matt—”
Alex interrupted, “Know what ... I’ll go talk to Matt,” he said instructively, then rattled the ice in his empty glass and looked for a
place to put it. “I saw him a minute ago,” he said as he stepped away.
Catherine was relieved as she concluded the matter was about to be settled without her even having to ask. Alex Calder was not only a major benefactor and trustee he was in no small way responsible for Mathew Dunlap’s longevity as Executive Director and the resulting success of the museum. “If you’ll excuse me I’ll go down and make the arrangements with security.” With that she turned and walked toward the nearest staircase.
“I cannot thank you enough, Mrs. Calder,” Kirkland said sincerely.
He looks very pleased, she thought. “I figured they’d let you have a private viewing once the crowd’s gone.”
For a few seconds Kirkland looked confused. “Oh, that. Yes ... yes of course.” His gaze was still on the woman now across the room at the opening to the stairs. “But especially for introducing me to Ms. Cruz.”
- # -
With the crowd and the catering crews gone and only the cleaning staff finishing up in various places, Kirkland was being escorted through the exhibits by Catherine Cruz and two armed security guards. He had immediately realized the pair wasn’t the stereotypical retiree or bumbling fat-guy type; poised, athletically built and in tuxedos that were tailored to conceal their weapons, the only things that gave them away other than their watchful demeanor were the special high-grip soles of their dressy-appearing shoes and the subtle earpieces for communication. Earlier in the evening, unless one knew what to look for it would have been hard to point them out among the crowd.
Kirkland had introduced himself to the two men and to put them at ease he played the role of the inquisitive academic. He had already determined that the lengths the museum and the Russian team had gone to protect the collection were impressive; short of a massive, all-out armed incursion, their arrangements were fool-proof without a conspiracy of absurd proportions.
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