The Masterpiece

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

December 1974

Virginia ran into one of the phone booths at the end of her lunch hour the Monday after Thanksgiving, and rang the Lorettes to find out what the art expert had said. Mr. Lorette told her that their friend Sammy was quite intrigued by her find, but that it would take a few weeks.

Intriguing. That sounded promising. Newly energized, Virginia grabbed a bottle of Windex and spent the next few hours wiping down the glass windows that encircled the information booth. After all her hard work, the place was looking spiffy, if she did say so herself, and one of the supervisors had even remarked on the difference. Terrence kindly gave Virginia all the credit, and the supervisor had shaken her hand.

She had a final section to wipe down, including Totto’s window, and she worked as quickly as possible. “You’ll like this, I promise,” she said to him. “You’ll be able to see your customers much better.”

“Why would I want to see them better?” He flipped over the WINDOW CLOSED sign and pulled out the newspaper.

“Virginia?”

Virginia froze. She knew that voice anywhere. Betsy.

She turned, clutching the Windex and rag close to her body, as if that would stop Betsy from noticing.

“I thought that was you. What on earth are you wearing? And what are you doing here?” Betsy’s hair fell in perfect sausage curls along her cheeks; her eyelids shimmered a glittery blue. Virginia, meanwhile, was lost in her too-big blazer, her face bare.

“Hi, Betsy.” She accepted an air kiss on one cheek, stammering for a suitable reply to her question. None came. Better to redirect. “What are you doing here?”

Betsy pointed to her umbrella. “It’s pouring out there, and I figured I’d take my chances and cut through Grand Central, try to get a cab on the other side.” She gasped. “Oh my God. Now it all makes sense. I was at the Carlyle over the weekend with some of the girls from the PONY committee and swore I saw Ruby working as a barmaid. I thought, ‘That can’t possibly be.’ And now here you are, a cleaning lady at Grand Central? You must be in terrible straits. Divorced and now this? What can I do?”

“I’m fine. Really.” What else was there to say? Her humiliation was complete. By the end of the day, everyone would know that she’d fallen on hard times. A cleaning lady whose daughter worked in a bar.

“I’m so sorry for you, Virginia. If you needed a cleaning job, I could have used you in the penthouse. Lucinda just quit. With no advance notice, I might add.” She looked about, her mouth curling with disgust. “This place is revolting. I hope you’re careful, with all the rats and roaches and dirty people wandering around.”

“Hey. Watch it, lady. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Virginia turned around. Totto was leaning forward on his counter, his arms crossed.

“What?” Betsy looked from Totto to Virginia. “Who’s that?”

“Get off your high horse, lady,” Totto snapped. “Don’t you come in here with your ugly blue eyeshadow and bad-mouth this place. We’ve gotta work here, day in and day out, and your attitude doesn’t help one bit.”

“Totto, enough,” said Virginia.

“Miss Clay.” Winston had come out of the booth and took the Windex and rag from her. “I’m so sorry to have forgotten these. I hope you won’t tell the stationmaster.”

Virginia stared, speechless.

“Miss Clay is running the whole place these days, you know, as the chief information officer.” Winston addressed Betsy with his laconic southern accent. “She’s a tough taskmaster, but we don’t know what we’d do without her.”

Betsy gaped at Virginia. “Chief information officer?”

“Well, yes.” Virginia tried to sound confident. “Thought I’d see what I could do to help out, something to do with my free time.” She looked over at Winston, who nodded in encouragement. “I decided there should be more to my life than shopping and going out to lunch.”

“Well, isn’t that something? I had no idea.” Betsy nodded at Virginia. “I’ll let you get back to work, then. I’m very impressed. Just wait until I tell the ladies of PONY.”

After Betsy had trotted up the staircase and disappeared from view, Virginia followed Winston back into the booth. “Thank you, both, for that. For standing up for me.”

“I was standing up for the terminal, not you,” said Totto, switching his sign back around. “People like that make me want to scream.”

“And scream you did.” Winston handed back the Windex and rag and climbed onto his stool. “What a horrible woman. Is she one of your friends?”

“Ex-friends. Again, you guys were great.” She kissed Winston on the cheek and patted Totto’s arm. “Now back to work, both of you!”

“Don’t push it.”

Virginia could have sworn Totto smiled.

Grand Central exuded a completely different atmosphere on weekends. The people who wandered through did so at a more leisurely pace, which offered Virginia the opportunity to show off her workplace to Ruby without being trampled by passengers.

“You’re practically giddy, Mom,” said Ruby. “This is hilarious.”

Virginia didn’t care that she was coming off as a train geek. “You have to imagine what it was like back when it opened in 1913. Imagine this railing all painted and clean.” She waited while Ruby snapped a couple of photos of the brass filigree. “And over here, check out the timetable in this waiting room. It’s still a blackboard.”

Ruby stepped back to fit it in the frame. “Those sconces on either side are glorious.” More clicks.

Together, they meandered through the terminal, Ruby shooting not only the beautiful but also the ruined, like a Botticino marble water fountain filled with garbage. To Virginia’s surprise, her daughter stopped a few of the workers, including a train conductor and a janitor, and convinced them to let her take their portraits.

“These doors, you’ve got to see these doors.” Virginia brought her to the entrance to the small police station Dennis had taken her to. She’d read in the trainee handbook that it used to be a grand office called the Campbell Apartment.

In the hands of metal artisans, the heavy wrought-iron double doors looked like Irish lace, with an interlocking pattern of four-leaf clovers. They were massive and solid but somehow came off as weightless and transparent.

A woman’s voice rose from behind them. “It’ll work better close up. You’ll get less reflection.”

“Doris?” Virginia smiled and gave her coworker an awkward half hug. “Doris! What are you doing here on a Saturday?” She introduced her to Ruby.

“Nice to meet you.” Doris looked tired, with dark rings under her eyes. Her wig was slightly askew. “I’m taking extra shifts. My husband got laid off.”

Virginia understood the pressures she was under all too well. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well, what are you gonna do? What’s with the photos?” She gestured toward Ruby’s camera.

“We’re doing a little project. Trying to show the prettier side of the terminal. Ruby’s studying photography.”

“Hey, that’s great. Good for you.”

“Do you know a lot about photography?” asked Ruby. “You’re right, the doors are even better close up.”

“Nah. Just made sense, is all.”

“Can I take your photo?”

Doris put one hand to her hair. “You want a photo of me?”

Virginia cringed inside, hoping Doris wouldn’t lash out or be offended by the request.

“Yes.” Ruby pointed to the wall. “If you stand here, the light is really nice.”

Doris did as she was told, pasting a wide smile on her face, turning into a movie queen for the time it took Ruby to snap a few photos, offering a completely different side of herself from the scowling clerk Virginia knew.

They said good-bye, and Doris tromped off.

“She seems nice,” said Ruby.

“Doris is one of the pricklier clerks, to be honest. A tough nut. I can’t believe she agreed to have her photo taken. You must have the magic touch.”

“You really like these folks, don’t you?”

Virginia nodded. They were decent and smart, each and every one of them. “How about you, do you like the people at Bemelmans?” Since Ruby had started working, she seemed to have a newfound sense of purpose. She took her role as barmaid as seriously as she did her photography, chatting with Xavier and Finn about complicated cocktail recipes over dinner.

“Yes. Everyone’s great. Ryan’s known as the best bartender in all of Manhattan, the master of the martini. The tips are nothing to sneeze at, either.”

There’s an idea. “If the clerks in the information booth got tipped every time they answered a question, we’d be rolling in it.”

Ruby rewound the film, another roll filled. “Hey, you could put out a tip jar.”

“Someone would steal it within five minutes. Unfortunately, Grand Central is no Bemelmans.”

A week later, Finn and Xavier were regaling Virginia with the plot of the opera they’d just seen, something involving a castle and a torture chamber, when Ruby burst into the apartment. “I stayed late at the darkroom at the Photography Institute, and the Grand Central photos are ready. Do you want to see them?”

“That was fast.” Virginia was delighted with her daughter’s enthusiasm.

“I was dying to see how they turned out.” She laid them out on the dining room table, one after another.

In black and white, the original splendor of the terminal reemerged. The ornamental motifs over the doors curved with shadow and light; the bare bulbs on the mammoth bronze chandeliers glowed like fireflies.

“What a shame,” said Virginia.

Ruby turned to her. “You don’t like them?”

She quickly reassured her. “I love every one. It’s just too bad we can’t get them out in the world, as they might change people’s minds about putting a skyscraper over the terminal.”

“Who says no one will see them?” Xavier put his hands on his hips. “Let’s do an exhibit.”

“An exhibit?” asked Ruby. “Where?”

Finn jolted upright. “Right here. We’ll do it in one of the Carlyle’s private rooms on the second floor. Invite everyone we know, and have a party after in Bemelmans. I’ll talk to the manager first thing tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that? You think they’re that good?” Ruby bit her lip. “It’s not like I’m anyone important.”

“Not yet,” said Xavier. “Leave it to us. We’ll aim for a couple weeks after the holidays, when all the Christmas festivities are over with and everyone is bored and dying for an excuse to go out.”

Ruby clapped her hands together. “I’ll mount them on something stiff. That’s easy enough.”

“Exactly. Let’s keep it simple. Let the photos speak for themselves.”

Virginia hugged her brother and Xavier. “The best Christmas present ever. Thanks, guys.”

Holiday madness hit the city, clogging the streets with tourists and shoppers. New Year’s fell on a Wednesday, basically shutting down the entire week to post-revelry recovery while further delaying any update on the watercolor from the Lorettes. Virginia had tried them again after the holidays, only to be told by the maid who answered the phone that they were out of town, returning mid-January.

The morning of Ruby’s exhibit, Virginia called their number. Mrs. Lorette answered, her voice more gravelly than Virginia remembered.

“The Lorette residence.”

“Mrs. Lorette, it’s Virginia Clay. I’m sorry to bother you on a weekend, but I was eager to find out if you’ve heard anything about the painting. I understand you’ve been out of town.”

“Right. Yes.” A pause. She seemed distracted. “I had meant to get back to you sooner.”

“That’s fine, of course. The holidays and all.”

“That’s true. I’m afraid I haven’t been as attentive as I should have been to your inquiries. Mr. Lorette’s been ill. The excitement from your discovery has taken a toll on his health. We had to visit some specialists, see if they could help.”

“Oh no. Is there anything I can do?” A blister of guilt bubbled up inside her.

“My dear Virginia, you’re too kind. But we’re taking it day by day.”

“I understand completely.”

The Sotheby’s auction was in two and a half months. Surely, they had plenty of time. She was saying so to Mrs. Lorette as Ruby walked in the front door, tossed her keys on the table, and rummaged around in her fringed suede purse. Virginia gave her a quick wave before turning away and lowering her voice. “Let me know how it goes, Mrs. Lorette.”

“Of course. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can on the watercolor. You’re a sweet girl, so patient.”

She didn’t have much of a choice, really. Or maybe she did. “Why don’t you give me the number to Sammy, the expert who’s been looking at it? I can deal with him directly and that way you won’t have to be bothered.”

“Lovely idea. Give me a moment.” Papers were shuffled, Virginia heard a drawer open and shut. “Mr. Lorette must have it on his desk. I’ll find it and call you back in a couple of days. Do you mind, dear?”

“No, of course not. Speak with you soon.”

As Virginia hung up the phone, Ruby placed a pile of letters on the table. “I swung by the apartment and picked up the mail for you.”

“Great. Thanks. How’s it looking?” The repairs to the apartment were only slightly behind schedule, and while Virginia would miss Finn, she was ready to be back in her home.

Except for one reason.

“It’s looking good.” Ruby glanced her way before grabbing a soda from the refrigerator. “What’s wrong?”

Virginia sorted through the mail, her heart pounding. She’d received one threatening note a week since the first one. There it was. Her name and address scribbled on the envelope. No point opening it. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Where are Xavier and Finn?”

“They headed off to brunch in Chelsea.”

“But what’s up with you?”

“I’m cool.”

Ruby laughed. “Look at you, trying to be hip. It’s cute.”

“Groovy? Should I have said groovy?”

“Please don’t.” Ruby had a silly grin on her face. “You’ll ruin it for the rest of us.” She twisted the top off her Dr Pepper and took a swig. “Who were you talking to?”

Until now, Virginia had been reluctant to discuss the watercolor with anyone else, figuring she’d wait until she had good news, or at least a great story. But unburdening her anxiety about the watercolor was tempting. Besides, Ruby should know what was going on.

Virginia explained how she’d found the painting at the art school, that it had slipped behind a cabinet and that she’d recognized the image from an auction house catalog. “Hold on, let me show you.”

She grabbed the catalog and opened it to the correct page.

“This blue one?” asked Ruby. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Right. I think what I found might be an early study for that painting, and if so, it could be really valuable.” She described her meeting with the curator at the Art Students League, followed by the one with the Lorettes, before elaborating on the complicated provenance. “What it all boils down to is that it might actually be by a woman named Clara Darden.”

Ruby let out a low whistle. “You’ve been doing a lot of detective work.”

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew more.”

“These Lorette folks, they said they’d get it appraised?” Ruby cocked her head.

“They did. But then the holiday happened, and they’re old and he’s sick. Hey, maybe we can stop by and bring some chicken soup or something?”

“Let’s do it. I’m a mess of nerves with the exhibit tonight. It’d be nice to get out of here and do a good deed.”

After stopping at a deli for a quart of soup, they headed off to the Lorettes’. Virginia didn’t mention the mugging, but she kept an eagle eye out for her assailant. The day was brisk but sunny and the sidewalks busy, which helped calm her nerves.

“Have you seen Libby lately?” Virginia asked. If there were scandalous rumors flying around about Virginia’s new job, Libby—Betsy’s daughter—would have been sure to share them with Ruby.

“Nah, I haven’t seen Libby in ages. She’s hanging with a different crowd. They’re always talking about stuff that I don’t care about.”

“I feel the same way about Betsy these days.”

Ruby’s eyes widened, clearly shocked by her mother’s honesty. “Do you miss her? It’s not like you have a lot of friends, Mom.”

“True. My life is smaller than it was before. But it’s richer, in a lot of ways.”

“Not literally richer, though,” Ruby teased.

“Don’t I know it. Wait. There they are.”

The front door of the town house opened, and Mrs. Lorette stepped out, followed by Mr. Lorette, who turned to lock the door behind him. The two stepped gingerly onto the sidewalk.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Lorette!” Virginia’s voice came out unnaturally bright, like a bad actor in a soap opera. “What a surprise.”

“Virginia.” Mrs. Lorette took a tissue out of her sleeve and sniffed into it.

“This is my daughter, Ruby, who I’ve been telling all about you.” She turned to Mr. Lorette. “I understand you’ve been unwell.”

“Right. I have.”

She could have sworn he hunched over slightly, as if exaggerating his frailty. Mrs. Lorette put her arm through his, and they exchanged nervous glances.

“Well, we brought you some soup.” She held it out, and Mrs. Lorette took the bag but made no move to return to the house.

“Thank you.”

“I know you’ve been going through a lot lately, and I figured I’d get that name and number from you and take over the investigation again. So you don’t have to be bothered.”

“Name and number?” Mr. Lorette looked at his wife, confused. Or was he faking it?

“The art expert, dear. For that watercolor from the art school.” She smiled at Virginia, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“We should have some news by now, I would think.” Virginia took out a pad of paper and a pencil from her handbag. “What was that name again?”

Mrs. Lorette threw Virginia a sharp look. “I’m getting the distinct impression you don’t trust us. First off, let me tell you a little about how the art world works: very slowly. You want something done correctly, you give it to an expert and you wait.”

For a moment, Mrs. Lorette’s withering reply left her chastised. She glanced over at Ruby, who gave an imperceptible shake of her head. Virginia wasn’t imagining things. The woman’s defensiveness was uncalled for. Suspicious. “We’d like the phone number as well, please.”

Mr. Lorette regarded them both. “How dare you speak to us like that? We try to help you, and you turn on us? Not very kind, I must say.”

Neither Virginia nor Ruby spoke. The silence dragged on.

“Fine. Samson Coutan. Works at the MoMA. I don’t know the number offhand, but I’m sure the switchboard will connect you. If you ask politely.”

Virginia’s mind whipsawed with uncertainty. What if Mr. Lorette was right, that these things just took time, and she’d alienated the two people who had offered to help her? But she hadn’t done anything but offer to assist them with the painting she’d discovered in the first place, and her heart raced at the thought of the painting being lost to her forever, after she’d only just rescued it from its hiding place.

Virginia and Ruby hightailed it out of there. In the subway, on the way home, Virginia leaned into her daughter. “They seemed so nice when I first met them. But after how they acted when I was trying to help, I think I’m being played.”

“I got the same vibe. How much did the curator say the watercolor might be worth?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Ruby whistled. “That’s a ton of money.”

“This probably sounds strange, but the painting means more to me than that. What if I never get it back? This Mr. Coutan has no idea who I am; we’ve never spoken on the phone or met. I guess I’ll dash over there during my lunch hour and hope for the best.”

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” offered Ruby. “Monday’s my day off. If you like, I’ll go to the MoMA first thing and track down the mysterious Mr. Coutan.”

No doubt her daughter would have a better chance of getting through to him. He’d smell the desperation on Virginia right off, especially if she was in a rush. “Would you?”

“I’d be happy to be your partner in crime.”

Later that evening, Virginia stood in the corner of one of the Carlyle’s private meeting rooms, where tasteful striped curtains and matching valences added a dash of color in a sea of creams and light browns. Ruby held court in the center of the room, where she belonged, flanked by two classmates from the Institute of Photography, the three of them giggling with delight. Finn and Xavier had outdone themselves, even convincing the manager of the hotel to throw in some champagne and a cheese platter for the exhibition of Ruby’s Grand Central photos, which stood on simple wood easels arranged in a horseshoe pattern around the room. The two men were obviously in their element, surrounded by fabulous New Yorkers wearing leopard print and leisure suits, and Virginia was more than happy to take a back seat and watch the circus from afar.

Finn glided over, offering to refill Virginia’s champagne glass. “The party’s a big hit.”

“How did you attract so many people? You don’t even live here.”

“Bemelmans Bar, baby. I mentioned the exhibit the past week during my show, and of course people jump to do my bidding.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Where are all your coworkers? I imagine they would have loved this.”

Virginia had considered inviting the other information booth clerks, especially with the lovely photo of Doris that was part of the show, but in the end she had decided against it. “I was worried about inviting them. This place is so fancy, then they’d think I was fancy, and that I was somehow treating my job and the people who worked at Grand Central as objects.” She shook her head. “I’m not making much sense. But I didn’t want them to think I was using them.”

He clutched her arm. “Oh my God. Look. Over there.”

A thin woman with dark chestnut hair stood with a couple of other ladies, studying the photo of the water fountain. She wore a biscuit-colored Chanel suit that fit in perfectly with the surroundings.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

Virginia had been besotted with Jackie O since she’d stepped into the political spotlight. Jackie was five years older, practically her contemporary, but maneuvered through the world with a grace and charm that had always eluded Virginia. And now here she was, in the same room as Virginia.

“I can’t believe it. What is she doing here?” Virginia couldn’t help staring, even though everyone in the room was doing likewise, with varying degrees of subtlety.

“I have no idea. Come on, let’s go say hello.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say.” She held Finn back. “Look, she’s approaching Ruby.”

They shook hands, and Virginia swore Ruby did a small curtsy. That’s my girl.

Virginia gathered up the courage to approach, and together she and Finn walked over, arm in arm, like a bride and groom on their wedding day. They were only a few feet away when another woman swooped in and whispered something in Jackie’s ear. In an instant, Jackie and her two cohorts dashed out of the room and were gone.

“What? Where did they go?” asked Virginia.

The other woman, an elegant lady in pearls, overheard and turned to her. “Sorry about this. Apparently, there’s a scrum of photographers staked out in the lobby. We had to get her out the back door fast.” She held out her hand. “My name is Adelaide Parsons, and I work at the Municipal Art Society.”

Virginia recognized the organization, an urban planning and preservation group, from her committee days. She shook hands and introduced Finn and Ruby. “My daughter is the photographer.”

“Indeed? Your photos are glorious.”

“It was all my mom’s idea.” Ruby slung an arm around Virginia. “She works in the terminal.”

“You make a good team. It’s a wonderful exhibition.”

Virginia beamed with motherly pride. “We’re hoping it might help raise awareness.”

“I wish it were so. We’ve been fighting Penn Central on this since the late 1960s. Unfortunately, I don’t believe there’s much chance we’ll win the court case at this point, but thank you for trying.”

“You don’t think they’ll uphold the landmark status?” asked Virginia.

“Not the way things are going. The judge isn’t very sympathetic to our cause. If he rules against us, Penn Central will be allowed to build on top of the terminal, or demolish it entirely.”

She gestured toward the easels, before letting her hand fall limply to her side. “At the very least, we’ll have a lovely record of the past.”