Come Fly With Me Page 4
Allison gave Emily a small wave and continued to the back towards her office. She sat down gratefully and worked at a steady clip until Emily knocked and opened the door.
“It’s so good to see you in that chair; it’s been pretty lonely here.”
“Thanks, Em, it feels right to be here."
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, a client is asking for you personally.”
“Who is it?”
“He said his name is Alexander. Is he the cute Alex from work? I would reapply my lipstick if I were you before I went out there,” Emily suggested as she pointed at Allison’s face.
“Great, just what I need. What could he possibly want?” She entered the gallery and paused mid-step when she saw which painting he was looking at. She put a smile in her voice, “Well, Alex, what a surprise to see you here.”
Without turning around he said, “I’d like to buy this painting.”
“It isn’t for sale,” she responded quickly. Her heart was beating double-time.
At that, he turned around, “You must be kidding. Am I correct in understanding that this is a gallery, not a museum?”
“You are correct—just not about that painting.”
“It's pulling me,” he said as he studied the abstract of dark swirling waters and stormy sky. "Isn't art about emotion?"
Allison froze and looked helplessly at her assistant. Emily jumped in, “We have many other beautiful paintings. That painting is being prepared for auction.”
His eyes lit up at that, “And which auction would that be?”
He glanced at them as they stood mutely side-by-side.
“Would you excuse for me a minute, Alex? I have to make a call.” Allison made her way hastily to the back room and a second later, the phone rang at the front desk. Emily went to pick it up.
“Are you crazy, Emily?” Allison whispered frantically. “You have got to get him away from that painting—my painting.”
“He is a hottie—you never let on,” Emily replied as she casually turned her face away from Alex.
“Back on topic, Em.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. What’s the deal with the rumpled suit and the southern drawl?"
“More importantly, how did my painting get up on the gallery wall?”
“I had just sold a Summer in Provence, by Guy Begin, and you know how I hate empty wall space," Emily explained.
Allison rested her head in her hands while she collected her thoughts. She stepped back into the gallery in enough time to hear Emily say that the auction would begin at nine on Saturday night. Allison glared at her and mouthed ‘thanks a lot.’
Emily shrugged in response.
Alex observed the exchange and looked down at his scuffed shoes as if hiding his amusement, then turned to Allison and said, “I have some business matters to discuss with you. I came by your office earlier, but Natalya told me you had gone for the weekend. I tracked you down here. I hope that’s okay.”
He very well knew that it was not okay, she thought. But instead of admonishing him, she decided to take a neutral approach. “Would you like to step into my office?" Allison asked.
“Actually, I was hoping we could discuss things over dinner.”
His invitation was unexpected, and Allison felt as if she'd been asked out. She would have preferred something less personal, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down. She put her hand up to check her hair and tried valiantly to remember if it was in any condition for a dinner, however impromptu, at a nice restaurant. It finally dawned on her that he was waiting for her answer.
“There’s a great Italian place right around the corner, they make a mean mozzarella garlic bread,” she said.
“Let’s go,” he proffered his arm.
Again, she sensed that there was a personal agenda wrapped up in a business one. She hesitated and was aware that he was standing there awkwardly, his elbow crooked, while he waited for her to take what he was offering. Perhaps she was sending out mixed signals. She was stumped for an appropriate response, but a minute later, she tentatively put her hand on his arm. They walked out into the cool evening, but the chill that ran up her spine had nothing to do with the weather.
*****
The mood at the restaurant was a more intimate one than Allison had remembered, or maybe that was just because Alex looked great in candlelight, or in any lighting for that matter. She seriously had to take up dating again.
“So Allison, if you would, please explain why Martin Ross only joined the family business three years ago?” Alexander asked.
“You said you had urgent business to discuss. Family politics doesn't fall under that category.”
“It does when it can affect the business I’m about to run,” he said this lightly, but she noted the firm set of his mouth.
“I will decide who runs this company," she said, "and I don’t appreciate being bullied into a decision.”
He hesitated as he reached for his wine goblet. “Where I grew up, we call it confidence. A real gentleman would never coerce a female into a decision for which she wasn’t ready. I apologize if I have overstepped.”
That threw her off-guard. Most men didn't admit when they were wrong. She softened her tone a little and relented. “Well, first off, it isn’t technically a family-run business. One afternoon when my father was home from college, he stumbled across my grandfather's drawings and formula for a GPS avionic system that is widely used in many of today's private jets." She twirled her water goblet as she spoke. "He urged my Zeidy to apply for a patent and sell the prototype. When he refused, my father went behind his back."
Alex jumped in, "I would assume that didn't go over very well."
She shrugged, "Well, my father has," her voice cracked, "had this way of barreling over people, but a couple of years later, he presented Zeidy with a check. He wasn’t a man of means and said he would have no idea how to use the money— he handed it right back."
"I'm assuming your father knew what to do with it."
"Yes sir, he bought them a vacation house in Maine and used the rest as start-up capital for RossAir Industries.”
“But your grandfather served on the board?” Alex asked.
She nodded, "He was the chief technical advisor—he was a brilliant man.”
“So, what about Martin?” Alex pushed.
“That story is a little complex and soap-operish, but here’s the gist. Uncle Martin married a shiksa."
"What's that?"
"Sorry, forgot you're not a New Yorker. She wasn't Jewish, and although my Zeidy was only moderately religious himself, he disowned Martin."
"That's tough."
"Not if you get where he came from. Zeidy had fought in World War II and witnessed the atrocities of the Germans first-hand. After the war, he married my Bubby, and Martin was born a year later. Zeidy felt vindicated that he'd brought a new Jewish life into the world." She shuddered, "But nothing erased the haunting memories of what he'd seen."
She took a bite of her veal scaloppini as she remembered her Zeidy; he was always hunched over art and history books as he tried to fill his curiosity about all the things he never had the chance to learn about since he'd grown up during the Depression.
"Did your Bubby object?"
"She wasn't fully on board with it; but I think she felt betrayed too." Allison paused as she realized that Alex has drawn the family politics out of her easily. It would serve her well to remember that next time.
"But I'm not really getting it," he said as he waved his ziti noodle at her. "The wife wasn't Jewish, get over it," he said.
She didn't want to continue, but the story was half-told, so she plunged ahead. "Not so fast," she wagged her finger. "You see, according to Jewish Law, only a child born to a Jewish mother is considered a Jew. My Zeidy couldn’t bear to see Martin marry a Gentile woman and have the generation die out with their children. It was the ultimate betrayal to him."
"I can see his point."
"I like her," he said.
Allison laughed, "She was formidable. She told Martin that he could atone for his sin by paying the ultimate respect to his father and come to his burial. My father asked that he be allowed to sit Shiva with them and Bubby concurred. So that's how Martin got reinstated into the family."
Alex shook his head as he refolded his napkin. He wiped the last bits of marinara off his plate with his garlic knot. “Wow, that’s some story. What about Bradley?"
"He chose to miss the funeral—he didn’t want to have anything to do with a family that didn’t accept his mother,” she answered.
“Yet, he's part of the family business,” Alexander added.
“Yes,” she replied slowly. “But, I wonder about that sometimes. Anyway, enough of my family—was there anything else on your mind?”
“Yes, but it’s not for now,” he said with a twinkle of intent in his clear, green eyes. "Would you like dessert?"
She looked at her watch and was shocked to see the hour. “Oh, thank you, but no. I didn't realize how late it is."
"I’ll get the bill and walk you back to the gallery.”
"It's okay; really, I’ll grab a cab home. Thank you for dinner.”
She got up hastily and said goodnight. As she got to the door, she looked over her shoulder to see Alex smiling and flirting with their server. He winked at her and doffed his imaginary hat. Allison quickly turned face front and nearly barged into a woman heading in as she made a dash for the street. She gritted her teeth as his raucous laugh followed her out the door.
Chapter 8
Allison was getting ready for the auction the next evening when Jeremy called. "Listen, Ally, I'm not going to make the event until much later; as I was going off shift an MVA was called in and I've got to stick around and lend a hand," he said.
"Fine. Whatever, Jeremy," she responded.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that dying people are more important to you than the real, living ones. I guess they don't talk back."
"Are you still mad because I put you on a guilt trip that you're not visiting Mom often enough? You didn't visit her last week or the week before. That's your mess up. Geez, Ally."
"Don't geez at me Jeremy. I'm juggling Zeidy's foundation and the gallery and RossAir. Some days I don't have time to pee."
"Selling overpriced squiggles on a canvas to pretentious jerks is not as earth shatteringly important as you make it out to be."
"It is important because it's important to ME," she said, "and you're the pretentious jerk. I would think a brilliant doctor such as yourself would have better weapons in his arsenal than bullying and intimidation."
"You know what? I don't have time for your crap right now. I have lives to save. Just make sure you go visit Mom, alright?"
"Don't bark orders at me! You're just like Dad."
They were both silent for a beat, then Jeremy spoke up. "His heart was always in the right place, just his message delivery system was flawed," he said gently. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not supportive of you, of what's important to you, and that does make me a jerk. But let's try to get past ourselves and work at keeping it together for Mom."
"Fine. I'll try if you do."
"Done. And I'll try to get to the auction at some point."
"Thanks...and thank you for saying you're sorry. I believe that was a first."
"Well, that's because it was the first time I was wrong," he said lightly.
*****
“Kenyon thanks for filling in for Jeremy on such short notice,” Allison said as she opened the door to her loft. “He had an emergency but he’s going to try to catch up later.”
“No big deal, that’s why I always have my favorite Armani pressed and cleaned.” He smiled warmly, “And you do look amazing. The classic emerald green slip dress—I like it. I’ve never seen your hair done this way.”
She walked over to the mirror hanging in the entryway, “I was getting tired of those heavy bangs—I thought a few wisps worked better with these waves that I spent way too much time on.”
“But the result is very fetching; any particular reason why you spent so much time in front of the mirror?”
“No.”
He smirked.
Allison sighed, “There will be no smirking this evening.”
“You don’t smirk enough—that’s your problem.”
“Kenyon!”
“Of course, I forgot I was talking to ‘Samantha Steele,’ talented, young artist and man deflector. You should get some big, steel cuffs to wear on your wrists.” He crossed his arms in front of his face in a classic superhero stance. “Why do you paint under a pseudonym, anyway? Why can’t the world know how talented Allison Ross is?”
“Ken, only four people know those are my paintings. You know how personal they are to me and how much I'm not ready to share that part of myself with anyone else."
"And that's why it's wonderful that you're allowing one of them to be bid on tonight for your grandfather's charity."
She smiled brightly.
"Before we leave, come here and let me give you a big, supportive hug.”
“You just want to cop a feel,” Allison arched her eyebrow.
He let out a whoop of laughter, “Someday, Allison, some guy is going to come along that you are not going to be able to resist.” He went to get her wrap, “And I hope you’ll be smart enough to leave your steel cuffs behind.”
She reached up to kiss his cheek. “Come on, you big, old hunk of man, let’s go and see how much money we can raise for the Simon Ross Charitable Trust.”
*****
Allison and Kenyon took the escalator up to the Trianon Ballroom on the third floor of the New York Hilton. The room seemed comfortably full as the well-heeled guests mingled and ate stuffed mushrooms and sushi from the passing wait staff.
Candace Harmon came up to greet Allison. “This joint auction is such a brilliant solution to the standard charity dinner. Whose idea was this?”
“A few of us came up with it while we were sitting at yet another obligatory function," Allison responded.
“It’s a splendid idea." She reached for Allison's hand as she clucked, "And how is your mother doing? It was such a shock to all of us.”
“She’s holding up, but she won’t be joining us tonight,” Allison replied.
“Of course—it’s too soon. Please give her my best.” Candace walked off as the lights dimmed to signal the start of the auction.
"Thank goodness they dimmed the lights, if one more person comes over to ask about my mother I'll pull my hair out." She tugged on Kenyon’s arm, “Come on, let's sit in the back, in the last row. I want to be able to see the whole scope of the room.”
They slipped into their seats and turned their attention toward the stage where the bidding had begun. “I’ll hold this one for Jeremy,” she gestured to the chair on her right. “He just texted me that he’s on his way.”
The bidding got off to a good start with a vintage Patek Philippe going for twenty-five thousand dollars. After that went off the block, Allison saw the auction assistant wheel in her painting. She held her breath. Kenyon elbowed her on her left just as she sensed someone slip into the seat next to her. She turned, relieved that Jeremy had finally showed up, only to see that it wasn’t Jeremy. She took in the immaculate cut of the midnight blue suit.
“So, the good, ole-boy act is just a gimmick?” she shook her head in disgust.
Alex winked at her. “I find it works to my advantage when people underestimate me.”
“Ugh, are you even from Georgia?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Cut that out
." She gestured to his paddle, "I have half a mind to use that on you.”
“I would welcome it,” he said, grinning wickedly.
“Who’s that hunk you’re whispering with?” Kenyon asked, pulling the attention back his way.
“Alexander Coventry.”
Kenyon leaned forward to get a better glimpse. “I thought you said he couldn’t dress?”
She watched him as he eyed the fine fabric outlining Alex’s trim physique.
“Shut up,” Allison said.
“I’ll fight you for him.”
“No need, you can have him,” she hissed back.
“Well, from the way he’s admiring your legs, I don’t think I stand a chance,” Ken whispered. “Hold on, they just opened the bidding at five grand on your...er, the painting.”
Allison turned back to Alex just as he raised his paddle. She froze and offered up a silent prayer. After a few minutes of spirited bidding, the auctioneer banged down his gavel.
“Sold! To the gentleman in the back.”
That’s what I get for only praying in emergencies, she thought grumpily. After the final bid, Allison got up to oversee the proper wrapping of the painting and to say a silent good-bye to it. Alex was just putting away his platinum Amex as she approached. She couldn't believe he'd just paid thirty-eight thousand dollars for her painting. She didn’t know if she was flattered, or if she felt like she had to throw up.
“Thank you for your generous support of the charities here tonight,” she said graciously instead.
“I understand the foundation established in your grandfather’s name is one of the recipients.”
“Yes, it is.”
“What does the charity do with the contributions?” he inquired.
“If you’d like, I can have the reports forwarded to your office on Monday.”
“I was just asking; no need to get prickly,” he said.
Why does he get under my skin? Allison wondered. She was actually freaked out that he had just bought her painting. She hoped he didn’t hang it in his bedroom. Okay, do not go there, she admonished herself. She refocused and saw that he was waiting patiently for her response.
“The charitable trust lends money to upstart businesses that can’t get loans through standard financial institutions.”