smile.
I sighed. “But Vlad is the real collector.” Bill grinned like the Cheshire cat, to underline my meaning: He was the one with the money. “He gets bored easily. He’s only interested in what’s flashy and new.” I looked Shayna up and down, then gave Bill a smile sweet enough to cause a toothache. “Our focus is contemporary Chinese art. Because that’s what Vlad loves.”
“Oh?” Shayna said in a totally different tone, swiveling back to Bill.
“Dat’s right.” Bill winked. “Lydia doesn’t like it, but I can’t get enuff.”
“Is that so?” Shayna eyed me with pity. “Well, many people are skittish. Unhappy with anything outside their comfort zone.”
“Absolutely,” Bill agreed. “But dey don’t know vat dey’re missing. Me, personally, I don’t care about comfort.”
“No?”
“Not exciting, comfort.”
“I can hear the passion in your voice.” Shayna swept her glossy hair. “I feel the same way.”
“Dah. I tink I could tell dat as soon as ve came in.”
“The edgy, the transgressive. The very newest. That’s what I love.”
“Iss dat so?”
Their eyes met with a spark that made me want to remind them they were talking about art.
“Vell,” Bill smiled, “iss possible you could help me out vit something.”
“I’d certainly like to try.” Shayna shifted her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other, thrusting forward, ever so slightly, the hip that came between me and Bill.
“Sveetie,” Bill said to me, “dis von’t interest you. Ve came here so you could look at dis stuff.” He waved a vague hand. “Take long time, look at vatever you vant.” His hand came to rest on Shayna’s elbow. He steered her across the prairie of gleaming floor, toward her desk, where he, with no hesitation, slipped behind the counter to sit beside her as though he were working, too.
Which he certainly was.
* * *
I spent twenty minutes wandering lonely as a cloud, absorbing ten centuries of my heritage. What Bill was absorbing, I didn’t know. Or Jack either, until the rear wall swung open and he emerged with Jen Beril. They were both smiling, though her smile tightened as she glanced around the gallery and took in the situation. Jack’s smile, on the other hand, widened.
“Shayna?” Jen Beril’s voice rang across the oak-floored miles with the silver sound of tinkling icicles. “Have you shown our guests what they wanted to see?”
Shayna’s head, and Bill’s, popped up, both with guiltier looks on their faces than the situation seemed to warrant.
“Absolutely,” Bill answered.
“Yes,” I agreed from beside a shelf of snuff bottles. “We’ve seen more than enough.”
I wouldn’t have been surprised if my words had just echoed and faded away; by now I’d concluded I might be invisible. But Jen Beril said, “I’m glad,” and Bill stood, though he didn’t look happy about it. I waited, kind of icily myself, until he walked over to where I was. Just as he reached me I turned and stalked away, to the door. I yanked it open and strode with great majesty down the hall, where I punched the elevator button. Before Bill and Jack had left the gallery I’d stepped through the closing doors and started my descent.
6
Bill and Jack came out onto the sidewalk laughing. I was behind them, sitting on a planter near the door. They stopped and looked around; I let them be confused for a minute, then I spoke up.
“All I want to know is, did you see the photos on her phone? The rest can stay in Vegas.”
They spun around like a two-man dance routine. “Awesome,” Jack grinned. “I wish I’d seen the whole thing. Do you guys run that gag often?”
“It changes,” Bill said. “Sometimes she’s the boss, and I’m all crude and Neanderthal.”
“It’s easier that way,” I said. “Closer to reality.”
“I was expecting the art-consultant routine that you pulled on Nick Greenbank.”
“One look at Shayna, I could tell this would get Bill next
I sighed. “But Vlad is the real collector.” Bill grinned like the Cheshire cat, to underline my meaning: He was the one with the money. “He gets bored easily. He’s only interested in what’s flashy and new.” I looked Shayna up and down, then gave Bill a smile sweet enough to cause a toothache. “Our focus is contemporary Chinese art. Because that’s what Vlad loves.”
“Oh?” Shayna said in a totally different tone, swiveling back to Bill.
“Dat’s right.” Bill winked. “Lydia doesn’t like it, but I can’t get enuff.”
“Is that so?” Shayna eyed me with pity. “Well, many people are skittish. Unhappy with anything outside their comfort zone.”
“Absolutely,” Bill agreed. “But dey don’t know vat dey’re missing. Me, personally, I don’t care about comfort.”
“No?”
“Not exciting, comfort.”
“I can hear the passion in your voice.” Shayna swept her glossy hair. “I feel the same way.”
“Dah. I tink I could tell dat as soon as ve came in.”
“The edgy, the transgressive. The very newest. That’s what I love.”
“Iss dat so?”
Their eyes met with a spark that made me want to remind them they were talking about art.
“Vell,” Bill smiled, “iss possible you could help me out vit something.”
“I’d certainly like to try.” Shayna shifted her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other, thrusting forward, ever so slightly, the hip that came between me and Bill.
“Sveetie,” Bill said to me, “dis von’t interest you. Ve came here so you could look at dis stuff.” He waved a vague hand. “Take long time, look at vatever you vant.” His hand came to rest on Shayna’s elbow. He steered her across the prairie of gleaming floor, toward her desk, where he, with no hesitation, slipped behind the counter to sit beside her as though he were working, too.
Which he certainly was.
* * *
I spent twenty minutes wandering lonely as a cloud, absorbing ten centuries of my heritage. What Bill was absorbing, I didn’t know. Or Jack either, until the rear wall swung open and he emerged with Jen Beril. They were both smiling, though her smile tightened as she glanced around the gallery and took in the situation. Jack’s smile, on the other hand, widened.
“Shayna?” Jen Beril’s voice rang across the oak-floored miles with the silver sound of tinkling icicles. “Have you shown our guests what they wanted to see?”
Shayna’s head, and Bill’s, popped up, both with guiltier looks on their faces than the situation seemed to warrant.
“Absolutely,” Bill answered.
“Yes,” I agreed from beside a shelf of snuff bottles. “We’ve seen more than enough.”
I wouldn’t have been surprised if my words had just echoed and faded away; by now I’d concluded I might be invisible. But Jen Beril said, “I’m glad,” and Bill stood, though he didn’t look happy about it. I waited, kind of icily myself, until he walked over to where I was. Just as he reached me I turned and stalked away, to the door. I yanked it open and strode with great majesty down the hall, where I punched the elevator button. Before Bill and Jack had left the gallery I’d stepped through the closing doors and started my descent.
6
Bill and Jack came out onto the sidewalk laughing. I was behind them, sitting on a planter near the door. They stopped and looked around; I let them be confused for a minute, then I spoke up.
“All I want to know is, did you see the photos on her phone? The rest can stay in Vegas.”
They spun around like a two-man dance routine. “Awesome,” Jack grinned. “I wish I’d seen the whole thing. Do you guys run that gag often?”
“It changes,” Bill said. “Sometimes she’s the boss, and I’m all crude and Neanderthal.”
“It’s easier that way,” I said. “Closer to reality.”
“I was expecting the art-consultant routine that you pulled on Nick Greenbank.”
“One look at Shayna, I could tell this would get Bill next
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