flipit
05-08-2008, 05:22 PM
CHAPTER FIVE
It was grey and sleeting when we flew into La Guardia. The pilot had informed us that the temperature was 27oF, but the night wind slicing through the air was definitely colder. We hurried up the ramp to get into the warmth of the terminal, and found a bunch of security personal waiting for us at the gate. I nodded and they nodded back. We headed down the hallway and they headed down the hallway alongside us.
“Did something occur to warrant this attention, or is airport security just showing a flattering interest?” Sylvester asked as we approached.
I nodded at Victor. “Apparently, his reputation precedes him.”
We headed down to the baggage claim area with security continuing to shadow us. “This is rather inconvenient,” Sylvester commented. “How long do you expect this attention to continue?”
Victor looked around a little surprised. “They always watch. Is this a problem?”
“We prefer to be a little more anonymous when we work,” Sylvester told him.
Victor seemed to consider this. ”It could be a problem,” he admitted.
I had given Tom his tranquilizer shortly before boarding the plane and he had slept like the dead throughout the flight. Now pathetic little mews began to emanate from his carrying bag.
Sylvester looked sternly at me. “You brought your cat?”
“I didn’t want to put him in a kennel.”
“Mrs. Sanchos is quite capable of watching him,” Sylvester reminded me.
”He won’t eat when I’m gone and then he gets really sick,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell him that I was needier than my cat.
We reached the baggage area and stood surveying the crush of people.
“Yoo-hoo, Sylvester! Yoo-hoo!” Sally Mathers was tottering towards us on impossibly high heels dragging a gorgeous sable coat behind her and waving a plump arm. Her blond waves glinted under the fluorescent lights and her full figure heaved and shook as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Sylvester, I’m so glad to see you,” she wheezed. “I hate airports, they’re so depressing.” She turned and gave me a warm embrace. “Maria, you look more beautiful than I remember.”
I returned her hug. “Sally you look amazing,” I told her truthfully. Sally had clearly been a beauty in her youth, and, now, in her fifties her style tended to resemble Mae West’s.
“Magnificent,” Sylvester seconded.
Sally waved a heavily jeweled hand. “Oh, I don’t know about that, but we girls must try you know.” She turned to Victor and standing on tiptoe, reached up and pinched his cheek. ”Victor, my dear, how nice to see you. I promised Rueben I’d keep an eye out for you.”
Victor nodded down at her. “I will get the luggage,” he told us, before moving towards the crowd of people packed around the conveyor belt. He was a head taller than any other human present and close to a hundred pounds heavier. We watched as New Yorkers jostled each other to get out of his way.
“Talkative fellow,” Sylvester commented.
Sally’s mouth twitched. “Victor’s always been a bit of a mystery, but I believe Rueben has him very well trained.”
“Unfortunately, he is also attracting quite a bit of attention.” Sylvester allowed his gaze to flicker towards the groups of police officers and security personnel amassing in the baggage area.
“Yes, I can see that,” Sally said glancing around. ”I did mention to Rueben that that might be a problem.” She paused, before adding, “he said that Victor was here on his own business and it shouldn’t affect your plans.”
“I suspect that Rueben might be a little optimistic in his assessment,” Sylvester said dryly. He hesitated before saying apologetically, “Sally, I have no wish to offend you, but I suspect it would be wiser if you took a cab to your hotel, instead of having us drop you off.”
Sally nodded sympathetically. “No problem, I’ll just get that young man to help me. When do you want to meet?”
“Possibly at dinner tomorrow night. I’ll call you on your cell phone.”
Sally smiled and winked. “Toodles,” she said wiggling her jeweled fingers.
I watched with amusement as she tottered towards a young attendant calling cheerfully, “Young man, yoo-hoo, young man. I need someone to help me with my luggage.”
Sylvester’s house was on the upper west side. He had bought it when he had relocated to Manhattan in order to have a retreat of his own. I loved it. It was filled with rich leather furniture and old heavy wood, and it reminded me of the commercials for Old Spice cologne. However, Sylvester had designed my room and bath to be as close in style to the Santa Barbara house as was possible in a Manhattan brownstone.
Sylvester had thoughtfully called ahead from the limousine to let Alice, his housekeeper, know of our imminent arrival, plus one cat in need of a litter box. After depositing Tom on a fresh mound of kitty litter, I tactfully stepped around the corner into the hallway and pulled out my cell phone to check my messages. My mother had left one. Michael had left five. I decided to ignore the one from my mother, but Michael’s repeated demands to call him were beginning to sound frantic.
“Maria, where have you been?” Michael demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’ve been so worried. I had the most disturbing call from Raven this morning.”
I sighed. “Michael, doesn’t it bother you that my personal trainer is tattling on me from all the way across the country?”
“Maria, Raven said Bitsy was almost hysterical,” Michael told me reproachfully. “She said you brought a man into the spa with you and she thinks he’s going to be your new trainer. She thinks that,” Michael’s voice dropped, “he might be on steroids.”
I groaned.
“Well, I told Raven that that just wasn’t possible. After all, the only man that could possibly be with you is Sylvester. And nobody would think that Sylvester was on steroids.”
“It wasn’t Sylvester,” I told him.
“Oh,” Michael sounded nonplussed. “You don’t mean that you did have another trainer with you. Do you?”
I rubbed my temples with my free hand. In the background I could hear Tom making scratching noises. “No Michael, Victor was with me.”
There was silence on Michael’s end. Tom came out and sat down to clean himself.
“Do you mean the same Victor that has been calling here for Sylvester?” Michael finally demanded.
“Michael don’t freak out,” I pleaded. “It’s not like that.”
“Your telling me that Sylvester practically abandons me at the alter, and forty eight hours later he’s in California with this man, who apparently looks like Adonis, and who’s been calling him for the last week. And I’m supposed to believe that it’s for a job?”
I rolled my eyes. “Michael, Victor’s not gay.” As if on cue, Victor appeared in the hallway. I eyed his yellow tracksuit as he came towards me and amended my statement, “At least, I don’t think he’s gay.” I paused to consider. “He seems more asexual.”
Victor stopped and stood frowning down at me. I gave him a little wave and turned my back on him. Michael was protesting, “I’m coming out there. I’m going to catch the next flight.”
“Michael, don’t be ridiculous. First of all, there is nothing to worry about and, secondly, well, we’re in New York,” I admitted.
“What?” Michael shrieked. “You’re in New York? Sylvester’s here? I’ll be right over.”
“Michael,” I shouted to get his attention. “Do not come over. This is definitely not a good time. It’s late and we need to sleep. Just let us get settled and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Michael groaned. “Promise?”
“Sheesh!” I said to Tom as I hung up.
Tom looked up at me and blinked before going back to cleaning himself.
New York time is three hours later than California time, which meant that I had lost three hours of my sleeping time. When Sylvester rapped on my door at 8:30, it was really 5:30 and I, to quote another woman, was not amused. I grabbed my robe and slippers and groped my way down to the kitchen. Slouching at the kitchen table, I glared at Sylvester and Victor impartially.
“You are not feeling well?” Victor asked.
“It’s 5:30 in the morning,” I told him.
“Alice, could you get Maria her café mocha?” Sylvester gave me an appraising look. “Buck up, dear one, Alice is going to make you her famous French toast.”
I nodded feeling a little mollified. Victor sat across from me drinking another vile green concoction and wearing another tracksuit, this time in a pale shade of apricot.
“What is it with you and the tracksuits?” I asked irritably.
“They are comfortable,” He answered. Tom entered the kitchen and made a beeline for Victor.
“Are you feeding him or something?” I demanded as Tom began to rub against him purring excitedly.
“No.” Victor shook his head. “He just likes me.”
Sylvester sipped his tea. Wonderful smells from Alice’s cooking were beginning to fill the kitchen. I sipped some more mocha.
“Do you have any business suits?” Sylvester asked.
Victor shook his head, clearly not a suit and tie kind of guy.
Sylvester frowned. “We’ll have to get you some suits for this job.”
I leaned back to let Alice place my plate in front me. The French toast was thick and golden, with melted butter and syrup pooled on top and dribbling down the sides. “Where are we going to get them?” I asked between bites. “He’s too big for normal sizes.”
“Alexander would probably make him a couple of suits if Michael asked him too,” Sylvester suggested in a mild tone.
I finished my French toast and pushed the plate away with a sinking sensation. “And you want me to ask Michael?”
Sylvester smiled. “It would be good if Alexander could manage a fitting for Victor sometime today.”
The sound of the front door knocker saved me from answering.
A few moments later, Alice led two official looking men in grey suits into the kitchen. Giving them a disdainful look she said, “These men insist on talking to you Mr. Sylvester.”
Sylvester looked faintly surprised. “Good Morning.”
The two gentlemen stood in the kitchen doorway; the younger and taller one slightly in front. He looked uncertainly at Sylvester, then, focusing on Victor, grimly flashed his badge. “Good Morning,” he said confidently stepping into the room. “I’m Special Agent Morton.” He motioned to a shorter middle-aged man. “This is my partner, Agent Hennessy.”
Agent Morton had crisp, clean features, blond hair and blue eyes. His formal bearing and manner could only have come from years in the military and his irritating self-righteousness came from being a true believer in the FBI.
Sylvester lit a cigarette and nodded politely. “Gentlemen, is there something that I can do for you?”
“Well sir,” Agent Morton said, “we’re just following up on some information that was passed on to us.” He paused.
Sylvester waited politely.
“We’ve been informed that a certain Victor Krinkov is staying with you.” Agent Morton glanced at Victor as if daring Sylvester to deny it.
Sylvester shrugged and motioned at Victor. “As you see.”
Victor took a sip of his green goop.
“Sir,” Agent Morton said in indignant tones, “are you aware that this man is a known enforcer for the Albanian mob?”
Sylvester raised his eyebrows. “I know that Victor is an employee of a business acquaintance of mine and that he is recently engaged to my assistant, Maria Gutierrez.” Sylvester motioned in my direction.
I gave him a sideways look.
Victor looked first at Sylvester and then at me. A slow smile crept over his face.
“Engaged?” Agent Morton repeated.
“Engaged,” Victor said firmly.
“I don’t see any ring,” Agent Morton observed.
I lit a cigarette and leaned back smiling at him. “Surely, you don’t expect Victor to get me a ring anywhere but at Tiffany’s?”
Agent Morton gave me a look of disgust. “Paid for with mob money?”
“So that’s why you’re in New York?” Agent Hennessey intervened. He was a short, plump, middle-aged man who didn’t seem to want for sense. He might not buy the story, but he wasn’t picturing himself becoming a legend by single-handedly taking down the Albanian mob.
I gave him a friendlier smile. “Oh, for the ring and for general wedding planning. You know how it is.” I gave an airy little wave.
“Congratulations,” Agent Morton said dryly. He stood frowning at us.
“Is there anything else that we can help you with?” Sylvester asked.
Agent Morton glowered at him. “You might want to reconsider your acquaintances,” he snarled. “If not, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.” He turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.
Agent Hennessy rolled his eyes and silently followed him.
“Engaged?” I asked Sylvester after Alice had shown the men out.
Sylvester grinned. “It’s really rather perfect.”
“I like it.” Victor still had that creepy smile on his face.
“You know this isn’t for real, right?” I demanded
Victor shrugged.
I turned to Sylvester. “They’ll be back. Agent Morton is on a mission.”
“Agent Morton is unfortunately due for a disappointment,” Sylvester said calmly. ”However, when you go to get Victor fitted for his suits it might not be a bad idea to stop by Tiffany’s.”
“What are you doing today?” I asked curiously.
“I thought I’d pay a visit to Tommy Newell to talk about the details for the Flanders’ party.”
“Oh, did he agree to let you take it over?”
“He agreed fast enough when I said that he could keep the money.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I explained that I want to take over the event so I can give Michael’s new company the chance to do the catering.” Sylvester grinned. “He thought it was a wonderfully romantic gesture on my part.”
I stubbed out my cigarette. Tom had climbed into Victor’s lap and was audibly purring. “What will Michael think?”
“Michael will probably think that I’m being romantic as well.” Sylvester shrugged. “However, I suspect that Tommy Newell was a little relieved to be rid of this event. I believe he used the term “harpy” when describing Dee-Dee Flanders.”
“What is a harpy?” Victor asked.
“I believe it generally refers to a pestering old woman. But, however Tommy meant it, he was happy to get rid of her. I think we can safely assume that our new client might be difficult.”
The near future appeared likely to be depressingly packed with difficult people. I groaned and heaved myself up. I needed to call Michael.
Sylvester’s limousine dropped us off outside of Alexander’s a few minutes after noon. Alexander had agreed to see us during his lunch hour. Michael was standing outside the doorway in a full-length cashmere coat and a fur hat. He gave Victor an icy greeting and an unenthusiastically limp handshake.
“Michael, thank you so much.” I gave him a quick hug. “I didn’t know who else to go to.”
“Yes, well, I believe Alexander, as a special favor to me, is waiting for us,” he said stiffly.
Michael led us past Alexander’s boutique to the upstairs studio space and ushered Victor in ahead of us saying, “I would feel a lot better about this if I knew that I wasn’t dressing him up for Sylvester to enjoy, if you know what I mean.”
Alexander was a small wiry man with mahogany colored skin and a closely shaved head. Normally, it would take months to get a fitting with Alexander, but, as he put it, he and Michael had known each other forever and besides he had a wild crush on Sylvester. An assistant brought us each a glass of champagne and distributed a few ashtrays. Victor shook his head at both.
Alexander’s immaculate studio had immensely high ceilings and expensive lighting. Giant canvases with bright colors splashed across them adorned his walls. Small groups of expensive furniture and low tables were grouped in clusters throughout the space interspersed with worktables and manikins.
“So you need suits,” Alexander said walking around Victor studying him from several angles.
“Yes.” Victor swiveled his neck trying to follow him. “Sylvester says it is necessary.”
Michael looked at me with raised brows.
“It’s business,” I hissed.
Alexander instructed Victor to remove his jacket and his assistant moved forward to take his measurements.
“And I think the gun as well,” Alexander added when he saw the large Glock tucked into the back of Victor’s pants. I wondered when he had managed to pick up weapons. His assistant taking the leg measurement looked up with a pained expression on his face as he revealed another gun strapped to Victor’s leg. “That one as well,” Alexander said, adding sternly, “Are there any more?”
Victor shrugged and reached down the front of his pants pulling out a third gun.
“Oh my,” said Michael. “You’d think that could be dangerous.”
“Is that all?” Alexander asked.
Victor nodded.
“Alright, take his measurements,” Alexander waved. “Really, Michael, you know the strangest people.”
Michael sighed. “This one is a friend of Sylvester’s”
“Oh are you two back together?”
“No,” Michael’s mouth drooped. “I’m just doing him a favor.”
Alexander grinned, “You mean, I’m doing him a favor.” He turned back to Victor, thoughtfully tapping his teeth with his pencil. “Will you be wearing your weapons under the suit?”
“Yes,” Victor nodded.
“Well, I must say, with your size, understated is always best, but we definitely need to hide the guns.” Alexander started dashing off quick sketches, while his assistants brought in different materials to drape alongside Victor.
Michael had taken off his coat and laid it across a table revealing light green pants with a pink mohair sweater worn over a green silk shirt.
“Michael you look beautiful,” I told him.
“Yes, well, I did think that Sylvester might have come just to thank me.” Michael adjusted his sweater a little self-consciously.
“I’m sorry, Michael, I’m very sure he’s grateful. It’s just that, right now, he’s focused on the job.”
Michael sighed and shook his head.
“You don’t really think he’s interested in Victor do you?” I asked.
“Oh no, not after I saw the guns. I’m sure Sylvester would never be involved with someone who wore a gun next to his Willy. It’s such a crass thing to do.”
“Michael, there’s one other thing.”
Michael’s hand went to his throat. “Don’t tell me,” he pleaded.
“If anyone asks you, Victor and I are engaged.”
“NO!”
I shook my head. “No, not for real.”
“I know, don’t tell me, it’s a professional thing.” Michael threw up his hands in defeat shaking his head. “The things you let Sylvester drag you into. Antoine,” he called across the room, “if anyone should ask, these two are engaged.”
“Congratulations,” the attendant nearest Victor offered.
Victor turned to me and smiled.
“It’s not for real. It’s a professional thing.” I told them.
Alexander cleared his throat. “I would suggest three suits, two for day and one for evening wear.”
“How long will it take?” I asked.
“Normally, at least a month. But, for Michael, we’ll do it in two days, on the condition that you come to me for your wedding clothes.”
I groaned. “But we’re not getting married, we’re just engaged. It’s complicated.”
Alexander shrugged. “You never know. You might get married and then you must come to me. No one else should dress him.”
Victor nodded. “I come to you.”
“Very good.” Alexander smiled approvingly. “You’ll have your suits in two days.”
Outside, in the cold, I hugged Michael goodbye and promised to call him later. A gray banged up sedan was sitting part way down the block with two men in it. Victor stood by the limousine watching it.
“Maybe we better go to Tiffany’s,” I suggested.
Victor nodded.
It was grey and sleeting when we flew into La Guardia. The pilot had informed us that the temperature was 27oF, but the night wind slicing through the air was definitely colder. We hurried up the ramp to get into the warmth of the terminal, and found a bunch of security personal waiting for us at the gate. I nodded and they nodded back. We headed down the hallway and they headed down the hallway alongside us.
“Did something occur to warrant this attention, or is airport security just showing a flattering interest?” Sylvester asked as we approached.
I nodded at Victor. “Apparently, his reputation precedes him.”
We headed down to the baggage claim area with security continuing to shadow us. “This is rather inconvenient,” Sylvester commented. “How long do you expect this attention to continue?”
Victor looked around a little surprised. “They always watch. Is this a problem?”
“We prefer to be a little more anonymous when we work,” Sylvester told him.
Victor seemed to consider this. ”It could be a problem,” he admitted.
I had given Tom his tranquilizer shortly before boarding the plane and he had slept like the dead throughout the flight. Now pathetic little mews began to emanate from his carrying bag.
Sylvester looked sternly at me. “You brought your cat?”
“I didn’t want to put him in a kennel.”
“Mrs. Sanchos is quite capable of watching him,” Sylvester reminded me.
”He won’t eat when I’m gone and then he gets really sick,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell him that I was needier than my cat.
We reached the baggage area and stood surveying the crush of people.
“Yoo-hoo, Sylvester! Yoo-hoo!” Sally Mathers was tottering towards us on impossibly high heels dragging a gorgeous sable coat behind her and waving a plump arm. Her blond waves glinted under the fluorescent lights and her full figure heaved and shook as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Sylvester, I’m so glad to see you,” she wheezed. “I hate airports, they’re so depressing.” She turned and gave me a warm embrace. “Maria, you look more beautiful than I remember.”
I returned her hug. “Sally you look amazing,” I told her truthfully. Sally had clearly been a beauty in her youth, and, now, in her fifties her style tended to resemble Mae West’s.
“Magnificent,” Sylvester seconded.
Sally waved a heavily jeweled hand. “Oh, I don’t know about that, but we girls must try you know.” She turned to Victor and standing on tiptoe, reached up and pinched his cheek. ”Victor, my dear, how nice to see you. I promised Rueben I’d keep an eye out for you.”
Victor nodded down at her. “I will get the luggage,” he told us, before moving towards the crowd of people packed around the conveyor belt. He was a head taller than any other human present and close to a hundred pounds heavier. We watched as New Yorkers jostled each other to get out of his way.
“Talkative fellow,” Sylvester commented.
Sally’s mouth twitched. “Victor’s always been a bit of a mystery, but I believe Rueben has him very well trained.”
“Unfortunately, he is also attracting quite a bit of attention.” Sylvester allowed his gaze to flicker towards the groups of police officers and security personnel amassing in the baggage area.
“Yes, I can see that,” Sally said glancing around. ”I did mention to Rueben that that might be a problem.” She paused, before adding, “he said that Victor was here on his own business and it shouldn’t affect your plans.”
“I suspect that Rueben might be a little optimistic in his assessment,” Sylvester said dryly. He hesitated before saying apologetically, “Sally, I have no wish to offend you, but I suspect it would be wiser if you took a cab to your hotel, instead of having us drop you off.”
Sally nodded sympathetically. “No problem, I’ll just get that young man to help me. When do you want to meet?”
“Possibly at dinner tomorrow night. I’ll call you on your cell phone.”
Sally smiled and winked. “Toodles,” she said wiggling her jeweled fingers.
I watched with amusement as she tottered towards a young attendant calling cheerfully, “Young man, yoo-hoo, young man. I need someone to help me with my luggage.”
Sylvester’s house was on the upper west side. He had bought it when he had relocated to Manhattan in order to have a retreat of his own. I loved it. It was filled with rich leather furniture and old heavy wood, and it reminded me of the commercials for Old Spice cologne. However, Sylvester had designed my room and bath to be as close in style to the Santa Barbara house as was possible in a Manhattan brownstone.
Sylvester had thoughtfully called ahead from the limousine to let Alice, his housekeeper, know of our imminent arrival, plus one cat in need of a litter box. After depositing Tom on a fresh mound of kitty litter, I tactfully stepped around the corner into the hallway and pulled out my cell phone to check my messages. My mother had left one. Michael had left five. I decided to ignore the one from my mother, but Michael’s repeated demands to call him were beginning to sound frantic.
“Maria, where have you been?” Michael demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I’ve been so worried. I had the most disturbing call from Raven this morning.”
I sighed. “Michael, doesn’t it bother you that my personal trainer is tattling on me from all the way across the country?”
“Maria, Raven said Bitsy was almost hysterical,” Michael told me reproachfully. “She said you brought a man into the spa with you and she thinks he’s going to be your new trainer. She thinks that,” Michael’s voice dropped, “he might be on steroids.”
I groaned.
“Well, I told Raven that that just wasn’t possible. After all, the only man that could possibly be with you is Sylvester. And nobody would think that Sylvester was on steroids.”
“It wasn’t Sylvester,” I told him.
“Oh,” Michael sounded nonplussed. “You don’t mean that you did have another trainer with you. Do you?”
I rubbed my temples with my free hand. In the background I could hear Tom making scratching noises. “No Michael, Victor was with me.”
There was silence on Michael’s end. Tom came out and sat down to clean himself.
“Do you mean the same Victor that has been calling here for Sylvester?” Michael finally demanded.
“Michael don’t freak out,” I pleaded. “It’s not like that.”
“Your telling me that Sylvester practically abandons me at the alter, and forty eight hours later he’s in California with this man, who apparently looks like Adonis, and who’s been calling him for the last week. And I’m supposed to believe that it’s for a job?”
I rolled my eyes. “Michael, Victor’s not gay.” As if on cue, Victor appeared in the hallway. I eyed his yellow tracksuit as he came towards me and amended my statement, “At least, I don’t think he’s gay.” I paused to consider. “He seems more asexual.”
Victor stopped and stood frowning down at me. I gave him a little wave and turned my back on him. Michael was protesting, “I’m coming out there. I’m going to catch the next flight.”
“Michael, don’t be ridiculous. First of all, there is nothing to worry about and, secondly, well, we’re in New York,” I admitted.
“What?” Michael shrieked. “You’re in New York? Sylvester’s here? I’ll be right over.”
“Michael,” I shouted to get his attention. “Do not come over. This is definitely not a good time. It’s late and we need to sleep. Just let us get settled and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Michael groaned. “Promise?”
“Sheesh!” I said to Tom as I hung up.
Tom looked up at me and blinked before going back to cleaning himself.
New York time is three hours later than California time, which meant that I had lost three hours of my sleeping time. When Sylvester rapped on my door at 8:30, it was really 5:30 and I, to quote another woman, was not amused. I grabbed my robe and slippers and groped my way down to the kitchen. Slouching at the kitchen table, I glared at Sylvester and Victor impartially.
“You are not feeling well?” Victor asked.
“It’s 5:30 in the morning,” I told him.
“Alice, could you get Maria her café mocha?” Sylvester gave me an appraising look. “Buck up, dear one, Alice is going to make you her famous French toast.”
I nodded feeling a little mollified. Victor sat across from me drinking another vile green concoction and wearing another tracksuit, this time in a pale shade of apricot.
“What is it with you and the tracksuits?” I asked irritably.
“They are comfortable,” He answered. Tom entered the kitchen and made a beeline for Victor.
“Are you feeding him or something?” I demanded as Tom began to rub against him purring excitedly.
“No.” Victor shook his head. “He just likes me.”
Sylvester sipped his tea. Wonderful smells from Alice’s cooking were beginning to fill the kitchen. I sipped some more mocha.
“Do you have any business suits?” Sylvester asked.
Victor shook his head, clearly not a suit and tie kind of guy.
Sylvester frowned. “We’ll have to get you some suits for this job.”
I leaned back to let Alice place my plate in front me. The French toast was thick and golden, with melted butter and syrup pooled on top and dribbling down the sides. “Where are we going to get them?” I asked between bites. “He’s too big for normal sizes.”
“Alexander would probably make him a couple of suits if Michael asked him too,” Sylvester suggested in a mild tone.
I finished my French toast and pushed the plate away with a sinking sensation. “And you want me to ask Michael?”
Sylvester smiled. “It would be good if Alexander could manage a fitting for Victor sometime today.”
The sound of the front door knocker saved me from answering.
A few moments later, Alice led two official looking men in grey suits into the kitchen. Giving them a disdainful look she said, “These men insist on talking to you Mr. Sylvester.”
Sylvester looked faintly surprised. “Good Morning.”
The two gentlemen stood in the kitchen doorway; the younger and taller one slightly in front. He looked uncertainly at Sylvester, then, focusing on Victor, grimly flashed his badge. “Good Morning,” he said confidently stepping into the room. “I’m Special Agent Morton.” He motioned to a shorter middle-aged man. “This is my partner, Agent Hennessy.”
Agent Morton had crisp, clean features, blond hair and blue eyes. His formal bearing and manner could only have come from years in the military and his irritating self-righteousness came from being a true believer in the FBI.
Sylvester lit a cigarette and nodded politely. “Gentlemen, is there something that I can do for you?”
“Well sir,” Agent Morton said, “we’re just following up on some information that was passed on to us.” He paused.
Sylvester waited politely.
“We’ve been informed that a certain Victor Krinkov is staying with you.” Agent Morton glanced at Victor as if daring Sylvester to deny it.
Sylvester shrugged and motioned at Victor. “As you see.”
Victor took a sip of his green goop.
“Sir,” Agent Morton said in indignant tones, “are you aware that this man is a known enforcer for the Albanian mob?”
Sylvester raised his eyebrows. “I know that Victor is an employee of a business acquaintance of mine and that he is recently engaged to my assistant, Maria Gutierrez.” Sylvester motioned in my direction.
I gave him a sideways look.
Victor looked first at Sylvester and then at me. A slow smile crept over his face.
“Engaged?” Agent Morton repeated.
“Engaged,” Victor said firmly.
“I don’t see any ring,” Agent Morton observed.
I lit a cigarette and leaned back smiling at him. “Surely, you don’t expect Victor to get me a ring anywhere but at Tiffany’s?”
Agent Morton gave me a look of disgust. “Paid for with mob money?”
“So that’s why you’re in New York?” Agent Hennessey intervened. He was a short, plump, middle-aged man who didn’t seem to want for sense. He might not buy the story, but he wasn’t picturing himself becoming a legend by single-handedly taking down the Albanian mob.
I gave him a friendlier smile. “Oh, for the ring and for general wedding planning. You know how it is.” I gave an airy little wave.
“Congratulations,” Agent Morton said dryly. He stood frowning at us.
“Is there anything else that we can help you with?” Sylvester asked.
Agent Morton glowered at him. “You might want to reconsider your acquaintances,” he snarled. “If not, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.” He turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.
Agent Hennessy rolled his eyes and silently followed him.
“Engaged?” I asked Sylvester after Alice had shown the men out.
Sylvester grinned. “It’s really rather perfect.”
“I like it.” Victor still had that creepy smile on his face.
“You know this isn’t for real, right?” I demanded
Victor shrugged.
I turned to Sylvester. “They’ll be back. Agent Morton is on a mission.”
“Agent Morton is unfortunately due for a disappointment,” Sylvester said calmly. ”However, when you go to get Victor fitted for his suits it might not be a bad idea to stop by Tiffany’s.”
“What are you doing today?” I asked curiously.
“I thought I’d pay a visit to Tommy Newell to talk about the details for the Flanders’ party.”
“Oh, did he agree to let you take it over?”
“He agreed fast enough when I said that he could keep the money.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I explained that I want to take over the event so I can give Michael’s new company the chance to do the catering.” Sylvester grinned. “He thought it was a wonderfully romantic gesture on my part.”
I stubbed out my cigarette. Tom had climbed into Victor’s lap and was audibly purring. “What will Michael think?”
“Michael will probably think that I’m being romantic as well.” Sylvester shrugged. “However, I suspect that Tommy Newell was a little relieved to be rid of this event. I believe he used the term “harpy” when describing Dee-Dee Flanders.”
“What is a harpy?” Victor asked.
“I believe it generally refers to a pestering old woman. But, however Tommy meant it, he was happy to get rid of her. I think we can safely assume that our new client might be difficult.”
The near future appeared likely to be depressingly packed with difficult people. I groaned and heaved myself up. I needed to call Michael.
Sylvester’s limousine dropped us off outside of Alexander’s a few minutes after noon. Alexander had agreed to see us during his lunch hour. Michael was standing outside the doorway in a full-length cashmere coat and a fur hat. He gave Victor an icy greeting and an unenthusiastically limp handshake.
“Michael, thank you so much.” I gave him a quick hug. “I didn’t know who else to go to.”
“Yes, well, I believe Alexander, as a special favor to me, is waiting for us,” he said stiffly.
Michael led us past Alexander’s boutique to the upstairs studio space and ushered Victor in ahead of us saying, “I would feel a lot better about this if I knew that I wasn’t dressing him up for Sylvester to enjoy, if you know what I mean.”
Alexander was a small wiry man with mahogany colored skin and a closely shaved head. Normally, it would take months to get a fitting with Alexander, but, as he put it, he and Michael had known each other forever and besides he had a wild crush on Sylvester. An assistant brought us each a glass of champagne and distributed a few ashtrays. Victor shook his head at both.
Alexander’s immaculate studio had immensely high ceilings and expensive lighting. Giant canvases with bright colors splashed across them adorned his walls. Small groups of expensive furniture and low tables were grouped in clusters throughout the space interspersed with worktables and manikins.
“So you need suits,” Alexander said walking around Victor studying him from several angles.
“Yes.” Victor swiveled his neck trying to follow him. “Sylvester says it is necessary.”
Michael looked at me with raised brows.
“It’s business,” I hissed.
Alexander instructed Victor to remove his jacket and his assistant moved forward to take his measurements.
“And I think the gun as well,” Alexander added when he saw the large Glock tucked into the back of Victor’s pants. I wondered when he had managed to pick up weapons. His assistant taking the leg measurement looked up with a pained expression on his face as he revealed another gun strapped to Victor’s leg. “That one as well,” Alexander said, adding sternly, “Are there any more?”
Victor shrugged and reached down the front of his pants pulling out a third gun.
“Oh my,” said Michael. “You’d think that could be dangerous.”
“Is that all?” Alexander asked.
Victor nodded.
“Alright, take his measurements,” Alexander waved. “Really, Michael, you know the strangest people.”
Michael sighed. “This one is a friend of Sylvester’s”
“Oh are you two back together?”
“No,” Michael’s mouth drooped. “I’m just doing him a favor.”
Alexander grinned, “You mean, I’m doing him a favor.” He turned back to Victor, thoughtfully tapping his teeth with his pencil. “Will you be wearing your weapons under the suit?”
“Yes,” Victor nodded.
“Well, I must say, with your size, understated is always best, but we definitely need to hide the guns.” Alexander started dashing off quick sketches, while his assistants brought in different materials to drape alongside Victor.
Michael had taken off his coat and laid it across a table revealing light green pants with a pink mohair sweater worn over a green silk shirt.
“Michael you look beautiful,” I told him.
“Yes, well, I did think that Sylvester might have come just to thank me.” Michael adjusted his sweater a little self-consciously.
“I’m sorry, Michael, I’m very sure he’s grateful. It’s just that, right now, he’s focused on the job.”
Michael sighed and shook his head.
“You don’t really think he’s interested in Victor do you?” I asked.
“Oh no, not after I saw the guns. I’m sure Sylvester would never be involved with someone who wore a gun next to his Willy. It’s such a crass thing to do.”
“Michael, there’s one other thing.”
Michael’s hand went to his throat. “Don’t tell me,” he pleaded.
“If anyone asks you, Victor and I are engaged.”
“NO!”
I shook my head. “No, not for real.”
“I know, don’t tell me, it’s a professional thing.” Michael threw up his hands in defeat shaking his head. “The things you let Sylvester drag you into. Antoine,” he called across the room, “if anyone should ask, these two are engaged.”
“Congratulations,” the attendant nearest Victor offered.
Victor turned to me and smiled.
“It’s not for real. It’s a professional thing.” I told them.
Alexander cleared his throat. “I would suggest three suits, two for day and one for evening wear.”
“How long will it take?” I asked.
“Normally, at least a month. But, for Michael, we’ll do it in two days, on the condition that you come to me for your wedding clothes.”
I groaned. “But we’re not getting married, we’re just engaged. It’s complicated.”
Alexander shrugged. “You never know. You might get married and then you must come to me. No one else should dress him.”
Victor nodded. “I come to you.”
“Very good.” Alexander smiled approvingly. “You’ll have your suits in two days.”
Outside, in the cold, I hugged Michael goodbye and promised to call him later. A gray banged up sedan was sitting part way down the block with two men in it. Victor stood by the limousine watching it.
“Maybe we better go to Tiffany’s,” I suggested.
Victor nodded.