Chapter Two #2
“But Inés and I have been romantically and sexually involved—”
“God, please stop.”
“—on and off for five years. Mostly ‘on’ for the last two. Last night, it really hit me that we aren’t any of us getting any younger. So I asked Inés if she wanted to spend whatever time we have left together, and she said yes.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in an almost bashful show of joy and I can’t help but mirror it.
I truly wish I hadn’t walked in on the result of their engagement—especially when Harold has served such an avuncular role in my life and Inés has always reminded me of my high school French teacher.
And I can’t say I’m not worried about how this might change things around here.
The steadiness of running Virtu exactly the same way it’s always been run that I’ve clung to since Graham’s passing feels a bit shakier as I consider Harold’s reminder that none of us are getting any younger.
It feels undeniable that I will wind up alone here one day, like a stubborn bit of burned food clinging to a pan, the sole bitter remnant of better times.
But, despite the bile in my throat at the thought of what this might ultimately mean for me and the shop, I can’t say I’m not also relieved to learn that Harold and Inés will have each other’s love and support as they enter the winter of their lives.
They are, after all, friends of mine. More like family, really.
And, the state of my stomach when I think about the physical aspects of their relationship aside, I want only the best for them both.
“That’s really great, Harold. Congratulations. I’m very happy for the two of you.” I hold out my hand, then remember what his was just getting up to and instead move to pat him on the back. “Have you set a date yet?”
“Next Wednesday,” he answers, adjusting his belt.
“Oh, um…”
“In Italy,” Harold adds, as if it isn’t particularly important.
“You mean, like, a restaurant in Li’l It’ly?” I ask, the shock of the situation letting the blue-collar accent of my youth sneak into the words.
Harold folds his arms over his chest, staring at me as if he’s wondering if the tens of thousands of dollars Graham contributed to my education over the years might have been better spent elsewhere.
“No, I mean like the country. In Europe. We leave in four days, and we’ll be honeymooning there through the first week of December. Touring the whole boot.”
I pull up my mental calendar to check that I’m not miscalculating.
No, he is definitely telling me that both he and Inés—the only two other regular employees at Virtu—are going to be away from work for an entire month.
“Let me get this straight. You’re…you’re flying to Italy on Thursday the fifth.
And you will not be back until, what, December fifth? ”
He nods. “December sixth, actually. But yes. That’s correct.”
“You are leaving me to run our business alone. During what is always our busiest time of the year.” One person might be able to handle both sales and the actual management of the store most of the time, but during these next few weeks?
That’s a tall order. It isn’t like people get in fistfights over being first in line to snatch up a Wedgwood set on Black Friday, but we do usually have a modest influx of sales in these few weeks before Thanksgiving as customers search out new statement pieces to add to their homes before hosting during the holidays, followed by a noticeable increase in business as Christmas approaches and people scramble for unique gifts.
“Ah, no,” Harold says, removing his wire-rimmed glasses and swiping them on his meticulously creased dress pants. “Not alone. I’ve asked Annie to come help you out until we return.”
“Annie? You mean your niece Annie?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t she still in high school?”
“She’s only three years younger than you, Callahan. She’s thirty-one.”
“Oh.” For some reason, the few times Harold has mentioned his brother’s daughter, I’ve imagined her as a precocious teenager.
Probably because the first time he mentioned her would have been when I was a precocious teenager.
For some reason, it never occurred to me that she’s been aging right alongside me.
But even if she is an adult, I can’t imagine her being all that helpful if she doesn’t have any experience in the business. “She knows her stuff, then?”
The question slips out instinctively, my heart squeezing as I hear the echo of Graham’s voice inside my own. All right, Dodger. Show me that you know your stuff.
“Self-taught, but I’d say so,” Harold says. “She has an online shop. Creates original pieces from reclaimed vintage goods, but also sells authentic ones when she comes across them in decent condition. Has been pretty successful with it, from what I gather.”
I want to argue that selling bracelets made of typewriter keys and chalk-painted hutches isn’t exactly the type of background that qualifies her to assist our clientele with purchases in the thousands of dollars, but then I remember that I have much more pressing concerns to discuss with Harold before he leaves than whether or not his niece will actually be of help in his absence.
Besides, he and Inés have both put Virtu ahead of their own personal interests for so long; I can’t exactly ask them to celebrate their love when I’ve acclimated more to the idea and the timing is convenient for me.
“I got you a latte and a muffin,” I say, moving both down the counter toward him.
Harold reaches for the cup, turning it to read its label. “Hm, Mindy was working the register, I take it?”
“No, I’ve decided to start going by ‘Dickwad.’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Harold peels the lid off and takes a long drink of the hopefully still warm latte, the thin foam clinging to his top lip like a white version of the mustache he had when I first met him two decades ago. “Perhaps you should apologize to her.”
“I tried to, back in May when it happened,” I say. “She didn’t want to hear it.” I reach for my own coffee, but am halted as my stomach gurgles with the memory of Harold’s ass again. Why was it so tanned when the rest of him is so pale? Ugh. “Listen, I don’t need relationship advice today.”
Harold looks up from his drink halfheartedly. “But you do need advice?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, it’s more of a hypothetical. Born solely of curiosity.”
That wasn’t particularly smooth, and I’m certain he sees right through me. I continue anyway. “If Gloria called you and asked you to come over because she’d come into possession of a taxidermy native bird—”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Harold responds, “I’d tell her to go to hell. And then I would call the cops so I could get my money back and she’d go to jail for both crimes.”
Okay, maybe Harold’s second wife—the one who embezzled ten thousand dollars from the shop and then peaced out to Mexico with their neighbor’s twenty-year-old son—is not the best person to act as a stand-in for Nicole in this.
“I guess that’s…valid,” I say. “All right. So what if Inés came into possession of a taxidermy bird of unknown origin and—”
Harold dismisses the premise with a shake of his head. “Would never happen. Inés is much too smart to put herself in that position.”
I run my hands through my hair, breathing deeply. “Fine. Hypothetically, if a friend of mine who is also in the antique business were to be asked to look into a large and unusual taxidermy bird for his ex-girlfriend—”
“Then he’d be a real dope to agree,” Harold mutters over the rim of his cup.
“Yes, I am aware, thank you.”
Harold twirls his index finger, motioning to get on with it as he takes another sip.
“Say there was some suspicion that the bird pre-dated the existence of federal permits, and…my friend…who now has the bird in his possession, wanted to research its provenance so it could be legally donated to a museum. How would you suggest he, uh, go about doing that?”
“Expeditiously,” Harold says, and takes another sip of his latte without breaking eye contact with me.
“Right,” I say. “Right. Time would be of the essence. I’ll…let him know. If that ever hypothetically happens to him.”
Harold slowly pulls the cling wrap away from his muffin.
“Also tell this friend of yours that, should such an event ever occur, he should be extremely cautious that the bird is never traced back to him or his place of business, as, I’m sure he’s fully aware, even the appearance of dealing in illicit goods is a quick way to irreparably tarnish an antique dealer’s reputation.
And it would be a real shame if while, say, his business partner is out of the country on his honeymoon, your friend does anything to end both of their careers. ”
“Yes. Of course. My, uh, friend, would absolutely never let that happen. Especially not after everything his business partner has done for him over the years. For which he is incredibly grateful, by the way.”
“Mhm.”
“And, uh, unrelatedly, I need to go check on something,” I say.
Harold pops a piece of the muffin into his mouth as I turn toward the back door, suddenly feeling the need to reassure myself that the goose is still hidden beneath its quilt in the Suburban.
Then I remember Inés might still be in the office and decide to take the long way around, just in case; I’m not quite ready to look her in the eye.
“And Callahan?” Harold calls after me.
I stop with my body wedged between the front door, half inside, half outside the shop, the strap of sleigh bells on the knob jangling in protest of my indecision. “Yeah?”
“If any dopes you know need assistance moving a giant fucking bird somewhere safer before I head to the airport, you know where to find me. Hypothetically.”