The Address(68)

If he only knew. One drink, and her marbles had a tendency to ricochet about like pinballs. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m not so sure. I don’t know which is worse: to know your family tree, warts and all, or remain blissfully ignorant. Growing up, my family was always such a mystery. My grandfather was clearly unhappy about being thrown out of the Camden fold at the age of fifteen, and my father kept up the grudge. I guess I do, too, to be perfectly honest.” She considered her terrible behavior of the past year, her lack of connection with pretty much anyone. About as far from blissful ignorance as one could get. “We’re three generations of loners.”

Kenneth stared at her with sad eyes, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Deep down, you want to be part of something, I understand that. That’s why I cling hold of my apartment so tightly. It’s something that’s mine, and holds all my memories.”

“I wonder if that’s why Theodore Camden did that drawing for Sara Smythe? So she could have her own home full of memories as well.”

“We are a couple of romantics, aren’t we?”

“I suppose.”

“But enough dreaming.” He banged his cane on the ground. “Let’s get down to business. I want that sketch of the Dakota you just did. And I’ll pay you for it.”

“Don’t be silly. You can have it. The least I can do for all the aggravation Melinda’s caused.”

“Nope. This has nothing to do with Melinda. You’re an artist and I won’t have it any other way.”

Kenneth insisted she come up to his apartment so he could “finalize the transaction.” He disappeared into his bedroom and she wandered over to the mantel, where a photo of Kenneth and a young boy of about twelve sat in a silver frame. Kenneth returned counting out ten-dollar bills.

She pointed to the photograph. “This is Manvel.”

Kenneth beamed. “Dear boy. He’d often come up here to hide out from whatever world war was raging in Sophia’s apartment. Melinda and Sophia were hardheaded, and Manvel is not, sweet child. Couldn’t have been more different from his twin, interested in paintings, music. Oscar was an art dealer and Manvel learned from him, eventually decided to devote himself to art history and criticism. We were so proud.”

In the photo, they were seated on a couch, laughing at something. She hadn’t seen Manvel in years, but his thick mane of hair and skinny limbs were instantly recognizable, as if he had the head of a lion and the legs of a foal.

“Melinda said he’s working in outsider art. What’s that all about?”

“Work done by untrained artists, ranges from paintings to sculpture. It’s an interesting niche, especially down South.”

“I’m sure he was dying to get as far away from New York as possible. Melinda used to torture him.”

He sighed. “There’s something about this building that seems to tear families apart. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but even the builder of the place, Edward Clark, left the building in his will to his fourteen-year-old grandson instead of his son.”

“Why?”

“Because his son preferred to hang out with the more artistic types, shall we say. Chorus boys and the like. And consider the Camdens. Sophia left the apartment to Melinda and Manvel equally, but I doubt Manvel knows that she’s ripping it to pieces. Not that he’d care, to be honest. The trappings of civilization were never important to that boy.”

“Kind of a free spirit, huh?”

“Exactly right.”

“What about you and Oscar? You were a happy family, it seems.”

He sighed. “We were. But even Oscar, my beloved, was cruel to me at the very end.”

“In what way?” She’d imagined the affair as passionate, the two of them gleefully living together in this luxurious apartment in the sky, with Nureyev and Lauren Bacall popping in to say hello.

“Oscar became angry and paranoid as his mind went. He’d accuse me of stealing from him. Told me that he’d take me out of his will, then the next day forget everything and be loving and kind. After he died, I figured I was safely ensconced here, but Sophia had the nerve to challenge my right to the apartment. I’m sure she imagined joining the two together with a spiral staircase.” Kenneth looked up, as if a drill might break through at any moment, before giving a half shrug. “The building is chock-full of misfits and betrayal, wealthy people using their assets to control their loved ones. That’s true anywhere, of course, but at the Dakota it’s amplified a thousand times.”

“Why is that?”

“Imagine the building back in the day, this vast fortress looming over Central Park. No one in their right mind would move so far uptown. It was a risk. The tenants at the very get-go had a lot to prove, is my guess. They had cash, but no cachet. Speaking of.” He handed her ten crisp ten-dollar bills.

“That’s far too much.”

“I simply must have this, and you deserve every penny.”

His kindness made her ache inside, but in a sweet way. He’d been through so much. Bailey raced to the bodega and bought a dozen donuts for the workers, to share her unexpected bounty. Upstairs in Melinda’s apartment, most of the mahogany was off the walls. Bailey grabbed the key to the storage room that Renzo had given her and led the way down the service elevator to the basement. The guys heaved the wood on their shoulders, maneuvering with care as they turned the corners.