Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

“Of course.”

“How come I doubt that?”

“Probably for the same reason I doubt whether you’ll complete your end of the bargain. We’ve been apart too long, Michael. We don’t know each other.”

“This is some way to get to know each other.”

A shadow of anger crossed Louis’ face. “I never asked you to leave, Michael. Until your first novel came out, I didn’t know where you were living, how you were, or if you were even alive. You dropped me for sixteen years, you changed your name and now, after all this time, you come asking me for help. Don’t think you’re going to get it without helping me. It doesn’t work that way.”

Of course, it doesn’t. “Tell me what you want from me.”

“You already know what I expect you to do to George Redman.”

Michael said nothing.

“But before that happens, there’s something else I want you to do.”

“And what is that?”

Louis locked eyes with his son.

“I want you to marry Leana Redman.”

“If you won’t stay here permanently, then, for God’s sake, Leana, at least let me give you some money. You’ll never find a decent apartment in this city with what little you’ve managed to save over the years. Do you want to live in a dump?”

“If I have to, yes.”

Harold Baines made a face and turned away from the window at which he was standing. The early afternoon sun cast a warm glow against his graying hair, the checked shirt he wore, the khaki pants. He sighed. “This new-found pride and determination of yours is wearing me out. Do you want a drink?”

“Too early for me.”

“Not for me. I’m going to recreate one of your martinis. Sure you won’t join me?”

Leana said she was sure and watched her father’s best friend cross to the bar at the opposite end of the library. He seemed thinner to her. At the opening of The Redman International Building, he looked exhausted one moment, vibrant the next. She wondered again if he was ill or if the strain of acquiring WestTex was just taking its toll on him. She was going to bring it up but then thought better of it and allowed her gaze to sweep the library. This was, by far, her favorite room in this house.

Its great length of floor-to-ceiling windows looked out across Fifth to the entire Met, which was jammed with people on the wide expanse of steps, now golden in the sun. Turning, she noted the many photographs in silver frames that rested on the table beside her. Besides the pictures of his own family, two photographs were of her-one as a child, the other taken last summer at a Paris cafe. It had been just her and Harold on that trip, a long weekend in their favorite city.

Next to the photo was the Degas sculpture she had purchased for him at auction in London. It was of a ballerina, her feet in the fifth position, her hands cupped behind her back, the original pink ribbon in her hair. A week before the auction, Harold remarked that he would love to own that particular sculpture because it reminded him of her when she studied ballet as a child. Now, as Harold took the seat opposite her, Leana realized again just how much he meant to her, and how she felt more at home here than in her own home.

“I want you to see a doctor,” Harold said.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t look well. I told you that the night of the party.”

“And I remember telling you I was fine.”

“Then explain your weight loss.”

“I was getting fat,” he said. “And don’t tell me you didn’t notice. I’m cutting back on everything but martinis and olives. And then there’s the deal with WestTex, which has us all pushed against the wall. Who has time to eat?”

She decided she could believe that and backed off. “I just worry,” she said.

“And I’m glad you do, but now it’s my turn to worry about you. You’re my main concern right now. I want you to see a doctor.”

“He didn't break anything-they’re just bruises. They’ll fade in a week or so.”

He shook his head in frustration. “Are you a robot?” he asked. “Has somebody clipped the wires in your brain? I can’t believe how you’re taking this. The man beats the hell out of you with a belt and you sit there like Little Miss Sunshine telling me the bruises will fade in a week or so. It’s unbelievable. Aren’t you angry?”

The question was ridiculous.

“He tried raping you,” Harold persisted. “Probably would have killed you if you had given him the chance.”

“He also threatened to have a contract put out on me. Do you need to be reminded of that?”

Harold waved a hand. “Eric Parker doesn’t have the balls to do something like that.”

“And what if he did? You weren’t there, Harold. I saw his face. He meant it.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “That little prick's a pussy.”

“Okay,” she said. “You’ve mentioned balls, prick and pussy over the course of ten seconds. Could you pick more agreeable body parts?”

He knew she was trying to lighten the mood, but Harold was having none of it. He stood and fixed himself another drink, even though he hadn’t finished his first.

Leana looked out a window. Why couldn’t he understand? She was trying her best to deal with this. She was trying to do what she thought was right. Harold should be proud of her, not angry. “Eric will pay for what he did to me,” she said. “Celina will see to that. And if she doesn’t, one day I will. But you made a promise and I expect you to keep it. No one, especially my father, is to know what happened to me.”

Harold sat back down. “Your father isn’t a fool, Leana-he saw you. He already knows. But if he asks me if I know anything, you have my word-I’ll play dumb.” He changed the subject. “Tell me about your financial situation.”

“It’s taken care of,” Leana said. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to Mom’s jeweler on Park to sell what jewelry I’ve kept in a safe-deposit box. It’ll be enough.” She thought of her finest piece of jewelry, the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace, and smiled. “Actually, it’ll be plenty. One necklace alone should net a high six-figures.”

Harold hadn’t known about this. “Do you have anything else you can sell?” If she did, it would put his mind at ease. The thought of the girl living someplace unsafe worried him.

“There’s some jewelry back at the house that’s mine-but it’s in Dad’s safe.”

“Do you know the combination?”

“I do.”

“Then I suggest you take a cab there this afternoon and get what you can. The jewelry is yours, after all, and you won’t have to worry about a confrontation with your father. He called earlier. He’s meeting with Ted Frostman this afternoon and hopes to strike a deal with him over a game of skeet. He’ll never even see you.”

“Mom might.”

Harold hadn’t thought of that. When upset, Elizabeth could be more unreasonable than George. “That’s true,” he said. “Maybe you should wait. But not for too long. It would be just like George to put the jewelry in another safe, one you don’t know the combination to. And that, Leana, is something you can’t afford to let happen.”

Later, after lunch, he followed Leana to the door. “Don’t sit in the park for too long,” he warned. “The sun’s at its strongest now. You’ll burn.”

“I tan, Uncle Harold.”

“Not in this heat, you won’t. Now, not another word. I’m your father while you’re staying with me and you’ll do as you’re told.” He winked at her and they stepped outside, oblivious to the photographs being taken of them from the van across the street. Sensitive microphones recorded their conversation.