I was relieved when she smiled and I saw I was right about the dimples. ‘The fact you’re local is good and bad,’ she said. ‘Good because it would be easy for us to get together …’ I waited for her to add the negative. ‘You know how this neighborhood is. It’s almost like a small town within the city and gossip spreads fast. It’s extremely important that anyone I work with is discreet. I mean the person has to keep the project totally under wraps until we’re done.’ Her expression lightened a bit. ‘It’s meant to be a surprise.’

  ‘I can do that,’ I said. ‘A lot of my clients require secrecy.’ I thought about Caleb and how he’d insisted I not share what I was doing for him.

  I tried again with the samples, but again she stopped me. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said. ‘There is something else, though: the project would have to be completed in six weeks.’ I waited to see if she was going to add some explanation, but she just looked at me. ‘Would you be able to manage that?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, a little surprised at the short amount of time. ‘It’s a little hard to say for sure until I know more about what’s involved.’ I hoped she might give me some more details, but when she didn’t, I decided to go for it. ‘But since I only have one other client at the moment, I’m sure I could manage it.’

  She seemed to be considering what I’d said. It was hard to know where to go from there since she was telling me so little. ‘I could give you a proposal,’ I said, in an effort to ask for the job, ‘though until I know more about what’s involved, it would be hard to set a price for the work.’

  I heard her phone ping and, as she glanced at it hurriedly, her body stiffened. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ She opened the inner door and almost pushed me out the outer one, urging me to hurry.

  SIX

  The rain had stopped and the air felt close as I reached the sidewalk. I looked back at the beautiful old house, totally confused. I had no idea if she intended to hire me or not. Though the fact that she seemed to have panicked when I mentioned the proposal made me think it was more likely not. Weird that it seemed more based on me personally than my work. And where I lived. I couldn’t help but feel deeply disappointed. Rejection was part of writing, and the advice was always not to take it personally, but it was impossible not to this time.

  I let out a sigh, reminding myself of my resilience and the spring that bounced me back up when I seemed to hit bottom. I’d get past it, tomorrow could bring something even better, and for now, I needed to get myself together to meet with the math professor. I was glad that we were meeting at a doughnut shop on 53rd. It would give a walk to clear my head.

  The doughnut shop was his choice and I thought it had more to do with giving him an excuse to indulge in some sweets than anything else. The mixed smells of sugar, grease and coffee hit me when I walked in. My client was sitting at a table by the window, scribbling something on a napkin.

  ‘Hey Caleb,’ I said approaching the table. He looked up with a blank expression and then his eyes came into focus and he said hey back. The counter person called out a number and he got up and went to pick up his order. I was a little surprised when I saw that he’d gotten coffee for both of us, along with a plate of doughnut holes. My impression of him was that he was too ‘out there’ to consider the person he was meeting might also want coffee. It was as if his head was so full of numbers and formulas that he didn’t have room to think about ordinary stuff. But then that was why he needed me. He had been short on details and I’d had to fill in the blanks myself. I gathered he’d done something to make his wife angry enough to push him out of their house. The closest to details he would give me was that it was really bad and then he’d hung his head. He wanted to get back with her, but she had cut him off so completely that she wouldn’t even talk to him. My job was to write something that would get her to speak with him. It would have helped if I’d known something about her, such as what she liked, what she didn’t like, and did she have soft spots for kittens or love crossword puzzles, etc. I didn’t like working this way, but he had been adamant about it and I needed the gig.

  Just to be sure he had no ill intent, I’d done a little checking on my own about him. I hadn’t told Tizzy why I was asking about him, but with all her university connections, she’d had gotten me assurance that he was the mild-mannered, socially awkward person that he appeared.

  He set down the tray and I took everything off it. He was already eating the fried balls before I took a sip of the coffee.

  He was a very ordinary-looking man. His dark brown hair might have had waves if it was a little longer. Seeing the plaid shirt and green cotton pants, I had the feeling he just reached in the closet and wore whatever he happened to pull out first. I always checked out footwear and he seemed to favor old-fashioned loafers. He always had a faraway, unfocused expression, as if he was juggling formulas full of numbers in his mind.

  ‘So, any response from the last note?’ I asked, already knowing the answer. If there had been, I wouldn’t be there. His shoulders did a slight drop and he put down the sprinkle-covered doughnut hole he’d been working on.

  ‘No, but I’m sure she’s reading the notes. I’m thinking we need to up things a little. Think of something you could say so she’d have to call me. If she won’t talk to me, we can’t fix this.’

  I eyed the doughnut holes and took one that was dipped in cinnamon sugar. Despite everything he’d said, I made another attempt to get some info on the situation. ‘If I knew what the problem was, I might be able to come up with something.’ He looked panicked.

  ‘I can’t tell you. I’m too embarrassed. I didn’t intend for it to happen,’ he said, getting wound up and upset. ‘I can’t apologize or make it right if she won’t even talk to me.’

  I pulled out a file from the messenger bag and showed him a selection of notes I’d written for him. While he looked them over, I started to ask him questions about what his wife might react to.

  ‘Would she call if she thought you were sick?’ I asked.

  ‘Hardly, since she seems to wish I’d drop dead.’

  ‘What about money? Maybe you could say you got a refund of sorts and she was entitled to it.’

  ‘She wouldn’t believe it since she handles all the money,’ he said. ‘I like this wording.’ He pushed the paper across the table to me and I read it. My heart is broken into pieces too vast to count. Nothing adds up without you. ‘I could pick up some of those little heart-shaped cookies at LaPorte’s.’

  ‘Sure, that sounds good,’ I said. ‘You’re getting the hang of it.’ Up until now I’d had to suggest what to include with the notes. ‘I wrote up the description of those cookies when they added them to the bakery.’ I looked for his reaction to my comment, thinking he might be interested in hearing about the work I’d done for them. LaPorte’s was a family-owned bakery and café. Every time they added a new menu item or bakery treat, they had me do the description. It was my work that described a sandwich as imported brie cheese slathered with flavorful cranberry chutney on a freshly baked croissant. Just recently, I’d described the cookies he’d mentioned as dainty hearts enrobed in red buttercream icing.

  He clearly wasn’t impressed as his forlorn expression didn’t change. ‘If your boyfriend or husband did something terrible, you’d forgive him, right?’

  It made me think of Ben and how shut out I felt. ‘How about this card?’ he said, picking one out of the group I’d brought. It had a big heart made up of tiny flowers on the front. I gave my approval to his choice and he began to copy my words onto the blank interior.

  He had small handwriting and all the letters were the same size. I wondered what a handwriting expert would say about it.

  When he got to the end, he held the pen up. ‘I could just write in call me. Maybe if I just said it directly, she would.’ He shook his head. ‘That wouldn’t work. She hates it when anybody tells her what to do.’

  I promised to think about something we could add to a note that might inspire her to pick up the phone. He popped the last doughnut hole in his mouth, saying something about not letting it go to waste, and we walked outside together.

  It was crazy, but I’d noticed the same thing about him every time we met. He started out feeling depressed and hopeless, but left with an optimistic expression and a bounce in his step. Was it my notes or the doughnut holes?

  I had been ignoring my cell phone, but when I got home I scrolled through the messages and junk emails, wondering if there’d be something from Maeve or Ben, but there was nothing from either. I had taken Maeve’s weird behavior as a brush-off, but in the back of my mind I was hoping that I was wrong or at least that she would give me closure by saying she’d decided on somebody else. And with Ben. I wanted to throw up my hands with frustration.

  Rocky had greeted me when I came in the door and followed me to the couch as I checked through my phone. I reached over and stroked his back and he let out a loud purr. There was something about having this little soul waiting for me when I came home and always being so glad to see me. It made me feel good to have someone to love. ‘How did I manage without you?’ I said, giving him another pet before I went back to scrolling through the messages on my phone, wondering if I’d missed something. I hadn’t.

  The phone rang while I was holding it. It always startled me when that happened and as usual caused me to drop the device. It was like grabbing a slippery fish as I tried to retrieve it and as soon as I saw the call was from Tizzy, I hit accept.

  ‘You have to come over for sherry,’ she said after I’d said hello. ‘I found out who that woman was. The one you were staring at. And Theo has become obsessed with that artist and he needs another ear besides mine to bore,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I don’t know if you understand how he is. He’s interested in everything and does endless research to deal with his curiosity. I’m fascinated, but at a certain point, I’m glad to have some reinforcements to listen to it all.’

  I didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t care who the woman was anymore. I knew the best thing I could do was to put Maeve out of my mind. As for the rest of it, I liked Theo’s boundless curiosity. I thought he was interesting and fun. The company of the two of them was just what I needed, so I agreed.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Tizzy said. ‘I’ll tell Theo to mix up a special drink for you.’ Tizzy had developed a ritual of having a glass of sherry when she got home from work. She used it as a way to transition into evening and as a social moment. I had a standing invitation to join her and had taken her up on it before. She knew the sherry part didn’t work for me. I liked the idea of the sherry and had tried having a tiny bit of the amber wine in a glass, thinking it might be OK. By the second sip, I’d felt a buzz in my head and an unpleasant sensation of what I could best describe as feeling like there was velvet stuffed in my brain. The most I’d managed was having a tiny bit of sherry mixed with a lot of sparkling water. I enjoyed the fragrance and a hint of the taste with none of the bad feeling.

  When I hung up, I smiled at having something to look forward to.

  The angle of the sun was lower now that it was fall, and the late afternoon had a golden glow as I walked up the block to Tizzy’s. I called her house a twin house – actually it was more of a conjoined-twin house. Two identical houses with a shared wall in the middle. The exterior was red brick with aqua painted around the windows. Tizzy opened the door and we passed through a small entranceway that was meant to collect boots and umbrellas and keep the cold air from the inside of the house. A second door led into an airy room in front of the staircase that Tizzy called the parlor. She led me into the adjoining room that looked out on the front yard and the street which she referred to as the living room. Both rooms had fireplaces with pretty tiles around the openings. No surprise Tizzy had eclectic taste, and seemed to prefer old things that she thought were somehow touchstones to the past.

  She was on all the neighborhood committees, arranging events like the twice-yearly garden fair and the used-book sale. She was on the board of the Hyde Park Historical Society and wrote pieces for their newsletter. She loved being in the middle of things and it was a way for her to be in the know about everything going on in the neighborhood.

  As soon as we sat down, she started right in about a garden club meeting she’d gone to and the fuss over what sort of plants they should offer. ‘Of course, we’ll have pots of chrysanthemums,’ she said. ‘I love the way they smell.’ She paused with a smile, as if remembering the scent. ‘But I thought we ought to have plants that can be brought inside and grown on a windowsill like herbs. I’d like to get one of those set up, with the lights and watering systems, so I could grow tomatoes year-round and maybe lettuce too.’

  Theo came in with a tray. He set down coasters and sherry for the two of them and the special concoction for me. He’d brought some nuts and olives as well as some pub cheese and crackers. He took a seat and suggested we toast to the end of another productive day.

  Maybe for them, but my day didn’t feel like it had been very productive. After my meeting with Caleb, I’d tried to get back to working on the Derek Streeter book but got nowhere and released the frustration by cleaning my apartment.

  ‘Now that we’re all situated, I’ll tell you all about that woman.’ She took a sip of her sherry before she began. ‘It was fun solving the mystery,’ she said. ‘Since Alex was the one who gave me the invitation, I figured he might know who all the players were.’ I still found it unnerving that she called her boss by his first name, but then it worked for them so who was I to say. ‘He didn’t know, but suggested the art gallery might have some information. I had to kind of make up a story, but as soon as I explained that she’d been with the star artist, the person on the phone was able to narrow it down to two women, and when I said she appeared to be in her twenties, she knew exactly who she was.’ Tizzy did her impression of a trumpet flourish before a big announcement. ‘Her name is Suzzanna Angel.’

  ‘What is she, his much younger wife?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s what I thought, too,’ she said. ‘No, she’s not his wife. His daughter. I don’t think she was exactly popular with the person I was speaking to either. Her tone sounded forced when she explained that Suzzanna worked very closely with the artist. The woman on the phone referred to her as Michael Angel’s assistant.’

  Then her behavior to me wasn’t anything personal, just her manner. It didn’t explain her relationship to Maeve, though.

  ‘The other woman with him is making a documentary about him. Her name is Jennifer Soames. And just judging by the way she had her hands on him, there’s probably something personal with him too,’ Tizzy said.

  ‘I wonder if she’ll include what the art critics say about him,’ Theo said. He put down his sherry glass and looked at me. ‘I did some research and those art critics really tore Michael Angel to shreds. His art wasn’t serious. It was too whimsical and more suited for a child’s bedroom than an art gallery.’ Theo nodded. ‘They hate it that he’s so commercially successful. And that he’s connected to a YouTuber. And that he seems pretty sane. No ear chopping off for him. And he loves the spotlight.’ Theo seemed pleased with himself. ‘You know me, I always like to find out the story behind the story.’

  Tizzy went on to add some more about the artist’s daughter. ‘It sounds to me like she’s riding in on his coattails and has gotten a position of power out of it.’ She turned to me with a smile. ‘I know it’s a cliché, but I didn’t feel like coming up with something better.’ She swirled the wine in her glass and took a sip. ‘Why are you so interested in her, anyway?’

  I thought about what to say. The truth was after the disappointing meeting with Maeve, I didn’t really care anymore who the rude woman was. But Tizzy had gone to a lot of trouble and I didn’t want her to feel she’d wasted her time, but also, on the slight chance that Maeve came through, I didn’t want to mention her. I kept it vague and said that she’d looked familiar and that I thought she was connected to a client.

  ‘Maybe you saw her around Hyde Park. Michael lives in the neighborhood. He started out showing his work at the art fair,’ Theo said. It was a tradition that on the first weekend of June, 57th Street was blocked off for artists and craftspeople to display their work for sale. Then we got in a discussion about which art fair, since there were actually two that went on at the same time. There was the famous 57th Street one that had been around for over seventy years. That was juried, which meant a committee that Tizzy wasn’t on got to choose who would be allowed to have a booth displaying their art for sale. Some artists and craftspeople who were unhappy at being excluded had organized a community art fair across the street that was open to anyone who wanted to sell their artwork or crafts.

  Tizzy and Theo had gotten into a tense back and forth, each giving their reasons why they thought Michael had been in one art fair or the other. I finally stepped in.

  ‘What’s the difference, anyway?’ I said. ‘And if you really want to know, I bet Suzzanna knows.’ They both laughed at how intense they’d become and dropped the subject.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what got Ben into such a mood at the last gathering?’ Tizzy said. Theo rolled his eyes and got up. I assumed that Tizzy had told him all about everyone in the writers’ group and, by the roll of his eyes, I guessed that Tizzy had said there was something going on between Ben and me.

  ‘When you start talking about boys it’s time for me to leave. I’ll be in my study,’ he said, heading to the staircase.

  ‘Well?’ Tizzy said expectantly when we were alone.