Sex, Lies & Serious Money

6

Laurence got out of the car in front of the armory and went inside. He picked up a catalog and was told that the sale would close the following day. It was a show of American art and furniture.

He began at the aisle on his far right and made a quick tour of the show, making notes on his list along the way, then he backtracked to the displays that interested him. His first purchase was a federal dining table with a spectacular breakfront in matching wood, the two pieces offered at $500,000. He haggled and lost, then bought both of them. He continued, buying end tables and odd pieces, including a table for the small dining room, plus pieces to be used as side tables in the bedrooms. He also bought four Milton Avery landscapes and a number of small sculptures, including a first-century head of Zeus in alabaster and a larger, Greek head, perfect, except for the all-too-typical broken-off nose. Finally, he found a large coffee table, made by a fine craftsman from antique walnut. He paid for each purchase with either his American Express card or a check, and his total came to a little under $7,000,000. He reckoned he had saved $250,000 because the show was about to close and the dealers didn’t want to truck everything home. He arranged for everything to be delivered the following day at the close of the show.

Back in the car, he Googled a London shirtmaker, Turnbull & Asser, used by his stepfather, and discovered that they had a New York shop, just around the corner from his new apartment, on East Fifty-seventh Street. There he was fitted and ordered two dozen shirts to be made, then he bought some pajamas, more neckties, and some pocket squares. That done, he went back to Stone’s house and found his new attorney still at his desk.

“How did your shopping go?”

Laurence told him what he had bought.

“Sounds like you now have everything a man needs.”

“Not quite. I still have to go car shopping.”

“For your Porsche?”

“Yes, and I quite like your Bentley Flying Spur. Today has taught me how nice it is to have a car and driver in the city.”

“Good. Herb Fisher has found you a prospective secretary. You’ll meet her after the closing tomorrow.” He told Laurence what he knew about the woman. “And would you like to join some friends and me for dinner this evening?”

“I’d be delighted.”

“We’ll leave here a little after seven.”

“I’ll be ready. I hope you don’t mind if I wear the same suit — it’s my only one, until tomorrow.”

“Of course not.”

“I’d better go and freshen up, then.”

Farther uptown, Theresa Crane came home from work and found, to her alarm, that the door to her apartment was ajar. She was certain she had locked it securely, and it was not the maid’s day. Her first instinct was to call 911, but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself if there was nothing wrong. She pushed the door open another foot and peeked inside. She could see down the hall and into her living room, and as she watched, she saw a puff of smoke drift across the room. She got out her phone to call the police, and as she did, a man appeared in the hallway.

“Sis?” he said.

She stared at him in shock. “Butch?”

“Give me a hug,” he said, his arms spread wide.

She moved into the hallway and hugged him briefly. “I thought you had at least another year to go. How did you get out? My God, you didn’t break out, did you?”

Butch shrugged and steered her into the living room and onto the sofa. “Maybe you’ve read in the papers that there’s a move on, nationwide, to rid the prisons of first-time, nonviolent prisoners? Seems they’ve run out of cell space.”

Harold F. Crane, her younger brother, had been doing five to seven years in a minimum-security prison upstate for forgery, money laundering, and theft, and those were just the things he had been caught doing; she suspected there were more crimes in his past. “So,” she said, “what are your plans?”

“My parole officer seems to think I might find some work in New York, given my winning nature and handsome mien. Can you put me up for a while?”

“Put out that cigarette,” she said. “There’s no smoking here, ever.” He went to the powder room, flushed it down the toilet, and returned. “Sorry about that. I picked up the habit inside. There was nothing else to do, except read.”

“I don’t want the smell in here. How did you get in?”

“I knew you always hide a key somewhere, and I found it on the ledge over the door. I didn’t want to call you at work. How’s it going there?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“The apartment is smashing,” he said, looking around.

“I get a discount at the store, and I’ve been buying floor pieces whenever the designs change. I’ve done a lot of work on the apartment myself.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Perhaps I’ll treat you to a suit tomorrow,” she said. “There’s a sale starting. God knows, you’re not going to get work in that.”

He plucked at his lapel. “It’s what I was wearing when I went in, and I’ve lost some weight.”

“I noticed that.”

“Prison food is lousy, and I worked out a lot, too.”

“All you need is some sun on your face, and you’ll look like a real person again.”

“Do you think there might be something for me at the store? Remember, I worked at a men’s store in college.”

“I don’t know, but I’ll ask at the personnel department. Don’t get your hopes up, they’re very picky about who they hire.”

“Groton and Yale aren’t good enough?”

“Well, that’s not all that’s on your résumé, you know, and you can’t lie to them. I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Nah, I would never do that.”

“Butch, you’ve been a liar all your life, and I don’t expect that to change. Just don’t foul my nest.”

“I put my stuff in the spare room,” he said, changing the subject. “I hope that’s all right.”

“For one week,” she said. “After that, it’s the Y.”

“So, are you the store manager yet?”

“No, but I had the biggest sale of my life this morning — over a hundred and sixty thousand.”

“Wow! How does somebody spend that much in a morning?”

“He buys a complete wardrobe, half a dozen pairs of alligator shoes, and the most expensive luggage in the store. It adds up.”

“How about we go out to dinner tonight?”

“I’ve got some leftover spaghetti sauce in the fridge — how about we eat that?”

“Sure, that would be great. I’ll do the dishes. Are you off tomorrow? I’ll take you to a movie.”

“No, I’ve got to deliver everything from today’s big sale and put it away in the customer’s new apartment. If you want to help me, I’ll pay you for your time.”

“Yeah? How much?”

“Minimum wage, pal, get used to it.”

“I guess I’ll have to, if I’m going to be an honest working stiff. You want to buy a guy his first drink in three years?”

“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to a cabinet. “Get me a scotch on the rocks, too.”

They settled down to catch up, watched the news, then had dinner. By bedtime, she was feeling more confident about Butch. Maybe she really could get him a job at the store.