“Not really.” And Gideon was fascinated. “You know Cleo. She tends to skim over the details.”
“Wouldn’t have run off with that rat bastard, excuse my French, if her daddy hadn’t told her, again, how she was wasting her time, how she was embarrassing herself and the family.”
“How?”
“Dancing. Theater.” He said it with a deliberately dramatic air, doing a fluid leg extension as he got down coffee mugs. “Fraternizing with people like me. Not only a black man, but a
gay
black man. A gay, black, dancing man. I mean,
really.
Cream, sugar?”
“No, thanks. Just straight.” He winced. “That is—”
Mikey let out a rollicking laugh. “Me, I like a whole
lot
of sugar. He wouldn’t like you, either,” Mikey added as he handed Gideon a mug. “Our Cleopatra’s daddy.”
“No? Well, fuck him.” Gideon lifted his mug in toast, then drank. “Ah, God be praised.”
“Drink up, honey.” Mikey dipped thick slices of sour-dough bread in the egg batter. “You and me, we’re going to get along just fine.”
And they did. Plowing through half a loaf of bread, a pot of coffee and nearly a quart of the orange juice Mikey squeezed fresh.
By the time Cleo staggered out of the bedroom, Gideon no longer found anything odd about the gold briefs, the tattoo of a dragon on Mikey’s left shoulder blade or being called honey by another man.
PART TWO
Measuring
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
T. S. ELIOT
Ten
“S
UGARPLUM, I’m not sure you’re doing the right thing here.”
“I’m doing the smart thing,” Cleo insisted. “The smart thing’s always the right thing.”
“Whatever’s going on between you and Gideon is going to get screwed up.” Mikey shook his head as they hit the bustle of Broadway and squeezed through the eastbound crosswalk traffic. “I’ve got a good feeling about you two, and you’re going to fuck it over before you get it started.”
“You’re too romantic for your own good.”
“Can’t be,” he disagreed. “Romance turns sex into art. Without it, it’s just a messy, sweaty business.”
“That’s why you get your heart broken, Mikey, and I don’t.”
“A little heartbreak would do you good.”
“Don’t sulk.” Because she knew he would, she slid an arm around his waist as they turned on the corner of Seventh and Fifty-second and headed north. “Besides, I’m doing this for him as well as myself. Once Anita’s got the Fate, she’ll leave him alone, and he’ll have a big fat pile of money out of it. The statue
is
mine, after all. I don’t have to share, but I’m going to.”
She gave him a quick squeeze as she swung into the bank. “Let’s make this as fast as we can. If I don’t meet him by one, he’s going to ask questions, and,” she added, dropping her voice as they stepped into the quiet lobby, “he’s got something going himself right this minute, or he’d never have agreed so easily to me heading out to run some errands without him.”
“Your trouble, Cleopatra, is you’re a cynic.”
“You try working a few months in a strip club in the Czech Republic,” she chided. “We’ll see if you come out of it with a Pollyanna complex.”
“You didn’t go into this with one,” he pointed out, and she gave him a smirk as she stepped up to a teller.
“I need to get a safe-deposit box.”
WHEN SHE WALKED back out on Seventh, the Fate was safely locked in the vault. Both she and Mikey had keys. That, she’d calculated, was the smartest move. If there was any trouble, which she didn’t anticipate, he could retrieve the statue in her stead.
“Okay, now I make the call, set up the meet. Someplace public,” she added as she held out a hand for Mikey’s cell phone. “But where it’s unlikely anyone we know will come by and recognize us.”
“It’s like a spy thriller.” And because he loved a good melodrama, Mikey grinned as he handed her his phone.
“It’s business. And I’ve got the perfect spot for it.” She pulled out the scrap of paper on which she’d written the number for Morningside, and dialed as they walked toward Sixth. “Anita Gaye, please. It’s Cleo Toliver. I think she’ll recognize the name and speak with me. Now. If she doesn’t, just tell her I’m calling to discuss the price of fate. Yes, that’s right.”
With her destination already in mind, she turned south on Fifth. And lost Mikey briefly when he glued himself to a jewelry store window.
“Stay with me, and don’t be such a girl.” She gave one of his dreads a tug. “This is serious business.”
“Ooh, you sound all cold and tough,” Mikey commented. “Like Joan Crawford or—no, no Barbara Stanwyck in
Double Indemnity.
A woman with balls.”
“Shut up, Mikey,” she ordered and bit back a snicker as Anita Gaye came on the line.
“Cleo.” The voice didn’t sound cold or tough, but soft and warm as velvet. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am to hear from you.”
Cleo considered it a good sign Anita had agreed to the terms of the meeting without hesitation. She thought of the wild race across Europe and shook her head. Men, she decided. They had to flex their muscles, turn a simple business deal into an altercation.
No wonder the world was so screwed up.
SHE FELT A little foolish with her choice of arenas. But Mikey was getting such a kick out of it all now, she deemed it worth it.
“
An Affair to Remember.
Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr.” He stood on the observation level of the Empire State Building, arms spread, dreads flying. “That’s romance, baby.”
And the difference between them, Cleo mused, was that the spot reminded her not of poignant romance but of King Kong’s fatal obsession with Faye Wray.
She considered Faye Wray’s character a moron. Cringing and screaming on the ledge—waiting for the big, strong man to rescue her, Cleo thought, instead of getting her ass moving when the idiot ape set her down.
Well, it took all kinds.
“You go stand over there, keep me in sight. When she shows, I’ll give you a sign if she gives me any grief. Then you can hulk over and help me out.” She checked the Wonder Woman watch Mikey had lent her. “She’ll be here any minute. If she’s on time, we’ll stay on schedule. I’ve got a good half hour before I’m supposed to meet Gideon.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“Same old, same old, until I have the cash in hand. I can stall him for another twenty-four hours, and that’s the deadline I’ll give Anita.”
“A million smackeroos is a lot to put together in a day, Cleo.”
“We’re talking Morningside here, and that spells beau-coup
dinero.
She wants the Fate, she’ll find a way. I’m going to stand over there and practice looking bored.”
She wandered to the safety rail, leaned back on it and watched the elevator through the glass. Tourists swarmed the souvenir shop inside or stood outside snapping pictures, shoving coins into the telescopes.
She wondered if anyone who lived in the city ever came here unless they were dragged along by out-of-towners. And she wondered why anyone felt compelled to come all the way up here when all the action, all the life, all the meaning was down on the streets.
Her belly tightened when she saw the spiffy-looking woman step out of the elevator. Anita had said she’d be wearing a blue suit. The number was blue all right—smoke blue with a long, sleek jacket, a tube of a skirt cut at a conservative length.
Valentino, Cleo decided. All richly understated and whispering of class.
She waited while Anita slipped on dark glasses and stepped out into the wind. Watched while the woman scanned the area, the faces, and honed in on her.
She shifted the slim leather portfolio bag on her shoulder and crossed over. “Cleo Toliver?”
“Anita Gaye.” Cleo accepted the handshake while the two women measured each other.
“I almost expected to have to exchange passwords.” There was a trace of humor in the tone as Anita glanced around. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been up here. What
is
the point?”
Since it so clearly mirrored her own sentiments, Cleo nodded. “You got that right. But it seemed like a good place to do a little private business in a public place. A place where we’d both feel comfortable.”
“We’d both feel more comfortable at a table at Raphael’s, but I imagine Gideon’s filled you with trepidation about dealing with me.” Anita spread her arms, looking chic, attractively windblown and amused. “As you can see, I’m no threat.”
“The muscle you had chase us down in Prague didn’t seem very friendly.”
“An unfortunate miscommunication, which often happens when you’re dealing with men, doesn’t it?” Anita tucked her hair behind her ear. “My representatives were instructed to stop by your place of employment and speak to you. No more, no less. Apparently Gideon, and they, became a little overexcited. In point of fact, Cleo, my representatives thought you were being abducted, and pursued.”
“Is that right?”
“A miscue, as I said. In any case, I’m happy you’re back in New York safe and sound. I’m sure you and I can discuss the matter without the histrionics.” She glanced around again. “Gideon’s not with you?”
“I brought someone else, in case of histrionics.” She could see Mikey over Anita’s shoulder. He stood several feet away elaborately flexing his biceps. “First, what made you track me down and instruct your representatives to speak with me?”
“A hunch, after considerable research. Both are vital in my business. This meeting today makes me assume both were accurate. Do you have the Fate, Cleo?”
If there’d been more time, Cleo would’ve made her work harder, for form’s sake. “I’ve got it in a safe place. I’m willing to sell it. One million dollars, cash.”
Anita let out a laughing breath. “A million dollars? Gideon certainly told you some fairy tales.”
“Don’t try to hose me, Anita. You want the statue, that’s the price. Nonnegotiable. That gives you two of three since you’ve already stolen one from Gideon’s brother.”
“Stolen?” Annoyance flashed through her as she turned to pace. As she paced, she scanned the others on the deck, trying to pick out Cleo’s backup. “Those Sullivans. I should sue them for slander. Morningside’s reputation is above reproach. And so is mine,” she added tightly as she stopped to face Cleo again. “I
purchased
that statue from Malachi Sullivan and will be happy to produce the signed receipt. For all I know he may very well have told his brother some trumped-up story and kept the money for himself. But I will not have them spreading vicious lies about my company.”
“How much did you pay him?”
“Less.” She seemed to draw herself in. “Considerably less than your asking price.”
“Then you got a bargain first time out. You get number two, you pay. You can have her in your hands tomorrow, three o’clock, right here in this spot. You bring the cash, I bring the girl.”
“Cleo.” Anita’s lips curved thinly. “I’ve dealt with the Sullivans. How do I know you’re not as underhanded as they? I have no assurance you actually have the Fate.”
Saying nothing, Cleo reached in her bag and took out the photograph.
“Lachesis,” Anita murmured as she studied the photo. “How do I know this is authentic?”
“I guess you play your hunch. Look, my grandmother gave it to me when I was a kid. She had a couple of loose screws and thought about it like a doll. Up until about a week ago, I considered it a sort of good-luck charm. A million buys me a hell of a lot of luck.”
Anita continued to study the picture as she considered her options. The rundown confirmed what Cleo’s father had told Anita during a long evening of perfectly prepared coq au vin, a superior Pinot Noir and mediocre sex. Interestingly, the man hadn’t known that his daughter was in New York, or had been in Prague. In fact, he couldn’t have been less informed or concerned about his only child’s whereabouts or well-being.
Which meant, handily, no one was likely to look if Cleo Toliver suddenly disappeared.
“I assume the Fate is yours, legally.”
Cleo arched her eyebrows. “Possession and all that.”
“Yes.” Anita smiled and couldn’t have agreed more. “Of course.”
She took the picture back, tucked it in her bag. “Your call, Anita.”
“That’s a lot of money in a short amount of time. We can meet tomorrow—that table at Raphael’s. You bring the statue so I can examine it, I’ll bring a quarter million as deposit.”
“All, straight exchange, right here at three. Or I put it on the open market.”
“I’m a professional dealer—”
“I’m not,” Cleo interrupted. “And I’ve got another appointment. Fish or cut bait.”
“All right. But I’m not carrying that kind of cash into this place.” She looked around, a faint line of annoyance between her perfect eyebrows. “A restaurant, Cleo. Let’s be civilized. You pick the spot if you don’t trust me.”
“That’s reasonable. Teresa’s in the East Village. I’ve got a yen for some goulash. Make it one o’clock.”
“One o’clock.” Anita offered her hand again. “And if you decide to give up the theater, I could use someone like you at Morningside.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stick with what I know. See you tomorrow.”
She waited until Anita was back in the elevator. Then she counted to ten, slowly. When she turned to where Mikey was waiting, she broke out in a grin.
She did a quick tap-shuffle in his direction. “Kiss me, baby, I’m rich!”
“She went for it?”
“All the way. Put up a struggle, but not much of one. Overreacted to some stuff, underreacted to others.” She hooked her arm through Mikey’s. “She’s not as good as she thinks she is. She’ll cough up the dough because I’ve got what she wants.”
“I never got the chance to hulk and look mean.”