“Gosh, no,” she says. And with her wide-eyed look of disbelief, I am suddenly convinced: Amber knows nothing of what Ben might be up to. “He’s just the owner. There’s a gallery director who oversees everything, an art handler,people in cost accounting and records, showcase designers, installation people, calligraphers for the invitations…”
My brain begins firing wildly. I told Metcalf I knew nothing about the art world. Turns out I know less than nothing. I’d jumped into this job on a day’s notice and spent all my downtime learning about burping and colic. Sure, I assumed the gallery was more than a one-man operation. But I hadn’t realized there was an entire village behind the scenes.
“Interesting. Sounds like a human supply chain,” I say. “So if any one of them makes even the slightest mistake, Ben gets blamed?”
“Exactly,” she says. “Say, do you need a shower radio?”
All through the store, Lily has been an angel. The kind of five-and-a-half-month-old angel who pulls people in like a magnet. She smiles at everyone. People smile at her as they pass her. They ask her name, how old she is.
When we load our car, assisted by three elves, Amber is smiling too. I’ve never seen her look so happy. There’s a glow on her face that one usually sees only on new brides and postcoital lovers.
Ben might be a miserable, self-centered son of a bitch. But that doesn’t mean he’s guilty of anything. Any of his employees could be working with the cartel behind Ben’s back to double-cross him, blackmail him, or make him the fall guy.
Odd that Metcalf failed to mention this.
CHAPTER 44
TEXT FROM ME TO METCALF:Ben on way to Florida for a couple of days to see—who? FYI, many people work in the gallery. Any of them could be a suspect. Thoughts?
Metcalf:Old news. Your job is just to keep an eye on HIM. NO READ-UP.
No read-up.It sounds innocent, but it’s a slap in the face. It’s an FBI expression that roughly translates as “Your classification doesn’t give you clearance to read a file labeledTOP SECRET.”
It’s Metcalf’s nasty way of telling me to stay in my lane.
Draft text to Metcalf:Listen, dickhead: Remember what Hemingway said about life? “They threw you in and told you the rules and the first time they caught you off base theykilled you.” YOU’RE the one who put me in this moronic assignment. YOU’RE the one who told me to notice everything, report everything, no detail too small. So I’ve watched, listened, paid attention, done what you’ve asked… and you still treat me like shit. WTF?!
What I send instead:Okay.
I know, I know; I said Amber wasn’t the first woman to be bullied, dominated, or marginalized by a powerful man. I guess that means I’m not the second.
CHAPTER 45
IT’S BEEN A GREAT DAY. My loot:
A couple of throw pillows
A cooling gel pillow for when I have night sweats
A self-adjusting electric blanket for when I don’t
A rug
New sheets
A bedspread
Matching drapes
A blackout shade
… and one new friend
As friends go, Amber is enormously generous. Not just by maxing out her credit card. I mean emotionally generous as well. I’m kind of touched that she brought up the subject of Ben’s behavior. It was sweet of her to try to make me feel better about his outburst. (“I know Ben’s been difficult the past couple of weeks.”) She opened up. She brought me in. She wants me to be comfortable with everything that’s going on. That’s what friends are for.
CARRIE: I dunno, maybe I was a little harsh on everybody at the prom. I mean, like, telekinetically sealing the gym, starting a fire, electrocuting the principal…
HER FRIEND: You kiddin’? The way they’ve been teasing you all these weeks? Fuhgeddaboudit. Hey, does your mom have any Spray ’n Wash? I think pig blood might stain.
