Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

“You look terrific,” he said.

Celina thanked him and, as the captain pulled out her chair and she sat down, she noted the expensive navy blue suit Jack wore, his recently trimmed hair. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said. “Harold’s not with you?”

Jack shook his head. “I thought he’d be with you.” He looked at the captain, who was standing beside them, and asked Celina what she would like to drink. “A bottle of champagne?”

Celina regarded him with a smile-this man did not drink champagne. Although he seemed perfectly at ease at this restaurant, she sensed he would rather be dining at a Village cafe, cutting into a thick steak, drinking a cold beer. “I was thinking more on the line of having a beer,” she said. “Does that sound all right with you?”

Delighted, Jack grinned. “Sounds fine to me,” he said. “But I drink from the bottle.”

“Oh," she said, smiling. "I was hoping for a chilled glass."

And it was that simple.

The beers came and they began to talk.

“Why’d you leave Morgan?” Celina asked. “You made a name for yourself. Things were happening. Why leave?”

Jack shrugged. “The pressure wasn’t worth the money and the money wasn’t worth the hassle of putting up with a room full of bond traders-most of whom would kill their mother if they thought her life would cut a better deal.”

He look a long pull from his beer. “Besides, there’s a lot going down that nobody knows about. A lot of inside deals. I’ve been offered an obscene amount of money for a whisper of information, but I don’t want any part of it. These people haven’t learned. When Wall Street collapses again-and it will, before you know it, really-I didn’t want to be anywhere near the place when the concrete begins to fall.”

He straightened. “So tell me about yourself,” he said. “When did you decide that working at Redman International was for you?”

“You’re assuming I had a choice,” Celina said. “When I was a kid, my father used to bring me to each month’s board meeting. I’d sit in a special corner chair while he hammered out deal after deal. He was mesmerizing. The board loved him. At night, I’d pretend I was him. I’d stand in front of my bedroom mirror and mimic the way he stood before the board-arms crossed, feet spaced firmly apart-pretending I was the one in charge. Believe me, I know it sounds cheesy, but at the time I was enthralled. My father was my hero.”

“Is he now?”

Although she said, “Yes, of course,” Celina wasn’t sure. After the incident with Eric Parker and her father’s reaction to it, her feelings had shifted toward George in ways she couldn’t quite describe.

The conversation turned and they laughed and joked about how they met and how Jack was planning on buying a new car. They talked with ease, as if they were old friends catching up over dinner. From time to time, Jack would touch Celina’s hand to make a point. From time to time, Celina would do the same.

When the waiter brought the second round of beers, Celina excused herself and left to use her cell phone. She called Harold at home. It was his wife, Helen, who answered.

“He should be there, Celina,” the woman said. “He left over an hour ago.” A silence followed. Celina could hear the sudden whistling of a tea kettle coming from Helen’s kitchen. “Maybe he’s at the office,” Helen said. “He did mention stopping by there.”

But Harold wasn’t in his office. And he wasn’t with her father.

“How long have you been waiting?” George asked.

“An hour,” Celina said. “And I’m getting tired of waiting. Where do you think he is?”

George didn’t know.

“If this wasn’t becoming a habit of his, Dad, I’d be worried. But it is becoming a habit. First he decides not to show for two board meetings, and now this. What’s going on with him? Harold’s never acted like this before. That man used to be on time for everything.”

“He may have just forgotten, Celina. The deals with WestTex and Iran have doubled his workload. He’s not as young as you.”

“True,” she said. “But my workload has tripled and you don’t see me missing a business dinner.”

“I’m not going to defend him.”

“I don’t expect you to. You know how I feel about Harold. But I do expect you to talk to him. Somebody has to.”

She severed the connection and forced herself to relax. She was damned if Harold’s absence was going to ruin this evening.

She returned to the table. Jack looked up at her as she approached. “We might as well eat,” she said. “It looks as though he won’t be coming.”

“Did you find out where he is?”

“No,” she said. “And at this point, I really don’t care. I’d rather have dinner alone with you, anyway.” She picked up the menu and flipped through it, aware that Jack was looking at her intently. “The filet mignon here is wonderful,” she said. “It's so rare, I think they merely walk a cow past a stove. I’m having that.”

Later, after dessert and coffee, Celina said, “It’s still early. Would you like to come back to my apartment for a nightcap? We can continue the conversation there.”

Jack said he would like that very much.

The evening was so warm, they decided to walk.

“You haven’t mentioned your family,” Celina said. “What do your parents do?”

They were walking up Fifth, stopping from time to time to glance at the illumined store windows. Jack reached out and held Celina’s hand. “They’re retired,” he said. “Dad worked forty years at a Pittsburgh steel mill before he sold the house and moved to West Palm with my mother. They live in this little house near the ocean. My mother calls once a week to tell me that Dad is driving her crazy. My father calls twice a week threatening divorce’“

“So, they’re happy?” Celina said.

“Excessively.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“One sister,” Jack said. “Her name is Lisa. She’s a nurse.”

When they passed 59th Street and her apartment complex came into sight, the first thing Celina noticed were the flashing red and blue lights surrounding it. As they drew nearer, she counted six police cars and one ambulance. A crowd had gathered outside Redman Place and traffic was lined up the street. Sirens gave chill to the warm night air.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked.

Celina said she didn’t know. She immediately thought back to the bombs that exploded on top of Redman International and couldn’t still a twinge of fear. The police still hadn’t learned who rigged the spotlights with explosives.

They hurried up the avenue. Car horns were sounding and people were talking excitedly, their voices rising. Celina tried to grasp what they were saying, tried to make sense of it, but it was impossible in the confusion.

The ambulance was parked in front of the building-lights flashing, sirens now quiet. A team of ten officers kept the crowd at bay. Jack led Celina toward the building’s entrance. His grip was strong, firm, and she was thankful for it.

When they reached the front of the crowd, they were in time to see two paramedics wheeling a man out on a stretcher. Celina knew it was a man by the arm that dangled to one side. It was muscular, bloody, bruised. An IV dripped life into it.

As the paramedics neared them, her stomach tensed and she squeezed Jack’s hand harder. She leaned forward but couldn't see the man’s face as he passed. It was partly covered by a bloody sheet.

She noticed that one of the man’s legs was quivering. She also noticed that the other leg was twisted horribly beneath the sheet.

Celina knew almost everyone in this building. It was here that many of Redman International’s senior executives lived. She turned to one of the officers and was about to ask who had been hurt when, from inside the building, a woman shouted, “Wait!”