In the eight decades since the latest incarnation of the Palmer House was built, it had hosted all of the city’s ruling elite at one gathering or another. I loved the venerable old place for its architecture, history and proximity to Millenium Park, the lakefront and the chicken pot pie served in the Walnut Room of what used to be Marshall Field’s before it was darkened cheaply into a Macy’s. Mostly, though, I loved Palmer House for my memories of when Amanda taught and curated at the nearby Art Institute and we used to meet for a drink beneath Bertha Palmer’s exquisite ceiling frescoes. They still serve good booze there, but earnest business creatures with laptop squints have sucked the levity out of the first floor, so lately I’ve retreated to the seclusion of the alcoves on the balcony to wait for the day when a grander parade passes by.
That night came close. Finely attired folks I recognized from the newspapers and local television marched up the marble steps to the ballroom to be seen applauding Timothy Wade.
Amanda arrived promptly at half past nine, lovely in a black dress and the garnet earrings I’d bought her because they caught the fire in her eyes. She sat on the other chair in the alcove. ‘You wore a tie,’ she said.
‘Not just any tie. The yellow bow model you gave me not so long ago.’
‘And you remembered how to tie it?’
‘With instructional help from a high-school boy in an online video,’ I said, giving a modest, two-handed tug to the ends of the bows. ‘Still, even wearing such a splendid tie, I’m not sure my attendance will be welcome.’
‘If Tim’s innocent, he won’t mind. If he’s not, you’re the least of his worries.’
‘You watched the news?’
‘Jennifer Gale’s report at four o’clock and again at six. She didn’t report much, other than it was John Shea who was found buried in a wood in Winnetka. She mentioned, but didn’t emphasize, that the site was across the street from Tim’s house. Will John Shea’s link to Tim and Marilyn Paul come out?’
‘She’s going to do a follow-up on the ten o’clock news.’
Amanda’s forehead tightened, always a sign of concern.
‘I told her that’s when Wade is scheduled to speak,’ I said.
‘I’d better be prepared for anything. Let’s go in and drink.’
We got up and headed for the stairs to the grand ballroom.