Chapter 6

 

“AND this is the master bedroom,” Lyle said, sweeping his arm wide. Alec and Casey were enjoying a tour of the flat, “oohing” and “ahhing” appropriately. Alec had found the kitchen décor cold—primarily stainless steel appliances, white tile, and glass. There was sparse seating—just enough room in a breakfast nook for two to read the paper, share coffee and croissant, and gaze out on the city.

He could imagine how the morning could breathe warmth into the room, but at night it was not a place for guests to gather and chat. Only the waitstaff buzzed in and out, as it was the staging area for the food and keeping the party well lubricated. With their white jackets, the kitchen took on the appearance of a sterile environment.

Now this bedroom is an entirely different matter. It had a similar color scheme to the main room: the walls were alternately a warm fawn and berry, the linens gold-toned, and the furniture a deep, rich brown. There was a simple, geometric, wheat-and-gray area rug extending out from under the bed. The rest of the floor was hardwood, like the main room.

“There’s an Asian feel to it,” Casey said.

Lyle seemed pleased by her observation. “Yes. The colors and clean lines.” He looked around the room, nodding. “I wanted something peaceful, tranquil,” he said, looking at them, “considering the chaos of our lives outside these walls.”

“Estate sales wearing you out?” Alec asked.

Lyle rolled his eyes and smiled. “I love the items we handle. You see some of the most amazing pieces, and bringing them out into the open after decades behind closed doors is a wonderful experience.” He absently ran his finger over a nearby chest of drawers and checked it for dust. “Especially when they catch that one special buyer’s eye and end up in a new, loving home,” he continued, peering more closely at the dark wood and swiping away a smudge, “where they’ll be properly cared for.” He sighed heavily and looked back at his guests. “The families—they’re another matter altogether, with all their bickering and sniping.” He rubbed his temples.

Alec saw Casey peering at the ceiling above the bed and followed her gaze. “Lyle, what are those… are those hooks in the ceiling?” she asked.

Lyle’s doe-like brown eyes widened. “Er… um—”

A crash from the main room, followed by gasps and raised, concerned voices, ended their conversation abruptly. The three of them hustled back to the front of the apartment. Alec saw a young waiter with short red hair standing stock-still in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on the floor as the headwaiter and an assistant hastily cleaned up the mess from a dropped tray of hors d’oeuvres at his feet. Lyle rushed forward to help.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Davies,” the headwaiter said. “I don’t understand—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jacob,” Lyle said as he scooped up the few remaining canapés, crudités, Bruschetta, and cold cuts. “It’s just a dropped tray. It happens.” The items were quickly collected, placed back on the tray—the assistant rushing into the kitchen with it—and the floor swabbed clean. It was like it had never happened—except for the staring guests and the trembling waiter.

Jacob stood and sighed, glancing apologetically at Lyle again and taking hold of the young waiter’s arm. “Come with me, Michael,” he said quietly, but the young man refused to move. “Michael?” He tugged on his arm again. “What is it?” he hissed into his ear. Michael would not budge. His gaze remained glued to the floor as the music continued to play mindlessly in the background and some of the guests went back to their conversations. Many did not, however. “You’re making a spectacle!” The headwaiter tugged again, but to no avail.

He and Lyle looked at each other, and Lyle turned to look at Alec. They were at a loss. Alec could see Tony approaching the stalemate, and then he caught Eli’s eye from across the room. Eli shrugged. Alec promptly handed his drink to Casey and stepped forward to join the three men.

Speaking softly, he said, “Michael, my name is Alec. Will you come with me, please?” He thought he saw tears on the man’s cheeks. “We can find a quieter place and talk, if you like.” He hooked his arm with Michael’s, clasping the man’s hand between his own, and then took a step. Michael’s eyes followed the movement of Alec’s foot, and then his own foot shuffled forward to join it. “Here we go.” Alec patted the hand in his.

The two of them walked slowly, side by side from the room.

“The bedroom?” Lyle asked softly. Michael immediately stopped walking and began to tremble. They were standing just outside the door to Lyle’s office.

“Let’s go in here, huh?” Alec said, turning them to the right. Lyle opened the office door and flicked on the light. Alec and his charge shuffled into the small, brightly lit room, and Alec deposited Michael on a low, light-green loveseat. However when he attempted to reach for the desk chair, he was brought up short by the painful grip Michael had on his hand. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He looked to Lyle pleadingly. He rushed in and brought the chair to Alec before leaving them alone and closing the door behind him.

 

 

“TONY, get away from there!” Lyle hissed.

The artist jumped and, momentarily befuddled, spun around, his blond ponytail whipping out behind him as he searched for the quickest route away from Lyle’s office door—where he’d been nonchalantly trying to overhear Alec and the young waiter. Eli, Lyle, and Casey giggled quietly as he rushed by them toward a small group of his gallery friends.

Eli looked at the clock over the bar. “They’ve been in there quite a while.” The others nodded and sipped their drinks. In addition to Alec and Michael, they’d lost several other guests. Lynette and Jim had left for the airport to pick up Jim’s mother, who was coming for a visit. Lynette was terrified she wouldn’t pass muster with the woman, but Eli had talked her down and prevented her from having yet another drink. He was relieved that Dray had left with one of Tony’s visiting art-critic friends, in town for a few days from Los Angeles. He and Eli exchanged parting frowns as he exited.

Eli also kept an eye on Casey and Ilsa as they warmed up to each other again after a few short, tense moments earlier. They’d lost sight of Ilsa about twenty minutes before, but she was soon discovered in the kitchen chatting with a waitress. Apparently they’d met some time ago when the young woman had applied for a hosting position at Peaches—the restaurant where Ilsa was head chef. Eli had watched Casey wind herself up in preparation for a jealous fit as Ilsa stood there, wide-eyed and tensing before the coming storm, but he quickly advised Casey that “Ilsa doesn’t do jealousy.” She calmed down, and Ilsa rejoined the party with her.

Jacob, the headwaiter, continued to do his job efficiently but also kept glancing at the office door, as did another young waiter—and Michael’s best friend—Lincoln. The door opened, prompting Lincoln’s tray of champagne to rattle frighteningly, but he steadied himself. Alec spotted Jacob in the kitchen. He caught his eye and motioned for him to come over. Eli watched the man weave his way through the guests and speak quietly with Alec. Then he went over to Lincoln, took his tray and spoke to him, the young man nodding frequently. Lincoln began quickly undoing his tie and headed toward the office where he and Alec entered, shutting the door again.

Eli watched the entire exchange and saw Jacob sigh and wipe his brow before their eyes met. The man smiled brightly but falsely at him and handed the champagne tray off to another waiter who buzzed by. Eli thought Jacob looked like he was more than ready for this night to end.