The Perfect Marriage(28)

He paused for a moment. Jessica was cooking tonight. She wanted to have a family dinner to cheer Owen up. Still, landing this business opportunity would be far better for Owen than lasagna.

“I never turn down an offer to make serious money,” he said at last.

“Good. Meet me at the Flora Bar. Let’s say six.”

He was about to hang up when she made a second request. “Just you, James. Don’t bring your partner.”

The Flora Bar was the newest place to be seen among the players in the New York City art market. It was located in the basement of the Met Breuer. Happy hour began at 5:30 p.m., and everyone certainly looked happy when James walked in. He immediately saw Allison at a table in the corner, a drink in her hand.

She had changed her outfit. This morning she’d worn a suit—gray flannel, if James recalled correctly. There was nothing remotely businesslike about this evening’s ensemble, however. Black, tight, and low cut.

“Twice in one day,” James said as he approached.

“I’m tempted to say, ‘That’s what she said,’ but I won’t.”

“But you just did.”

She laughed. “Touché.”

A waiter was on them fast. “Can I get you something from the bar?”

“Jack Daniel’s, neat,” he said.

As soon as the waiter left to fetch his drink, James said, “I trust that Noah’s over the moon with his new acquisition.”

“He is. Not every day you have an original Jackson Pollock to call your very own.”

“How’d you two meet, anyway? Last time I dealt with Noah it was . . . I don’t know, a year, maybe two years ago. I sold him a very nice Miró. I remember he said it reminded him of his dog.”

“Yes, that about sums up Noah’s art expertise right there.”

James took note that she had not answered his question about how they’d met. That likely meant that they had been at one time lovers, or still were.

The waiter returned with James’s whiskey.

“To Jackson Pollock,” he said, raising his glass.

“And to making money,” she answered before clinking.

“You’re quite direct and more than a little mercenary,” James said. “Most of the art dealers I encounter like to talk about the beauty of the pieces before getting to the real reason we’re meeting.”

“Well, you should learn this about me right now: I’m not a beat-around-the-bush kind of girl. I tell it straight. And when I want something, I go straight for it. No hesitation.”

It was becoming readily apparent to James that the Pollocks weren’t the only thing that Allison Longley wanted out of this meeting. “Cheers to that,” he said, and they both took another swig.

She was nearly finished with her drink. “Catch up, will ya?” she joked. “I never talk business until the second drink.”

She flashed a temptress’s smile if ever James had seen one. Openmouthed and inviting, with a subtle show of tongue between the teeth.

“Then you’re going to have to make small talk because I never rush a glass of whiskey.”

“Challenge accepted. Let’s start with you. I see you’re married,” she said, looking down at his wedding band.

“Yes. Just celebrated my one-year anniversary last week, in fact.”

“So does that mean that there are no children yet?”

“I have a seventeen-year-old stepson.”

“You’re already surprising me. Why did I think your wife would be in her twenties?”

He laughed. “Because you’re apparently the type of woman who jumps to unfounded conclusions about men. And you? I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“And you never will. I’m not the marrying kind. But don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against married men. In fact—”

“Some of your best friends are married men?”

She laughed. James finished his drink. She called the waiter over and asked for two more.

Allison segued to business as soon as the second round arrived. She said that she had other buyers interested in paying top dollar for an original Pollock like the one they’d just sold Noah Reiss and pressed James about how many he could get his hands on. James did his best to be nonresponsive without seeming evasive, but he suspected that Allison saw through that act.

“How’d you get them?” she asked.

“I told you at the meeting. Our client had a relationship with Lee Krasner before she died.”

“I know that’s what you told me. But who is this mystery lover of the now more-than-thirty-years-deceased Lee Krasner?”

“I told you that too. His name is Anonymous.”

“Strange that so many sellers of high-priced art were named the same thing by their parents, isn’t it?”

“No odder than every butler being named Jeeves,” James said with a sly smile.

She touched his hand. “Funny. You’re very funny, you know that?”

“I have my moments.”

“Moments,” she said, as she finally removed her hand from atop his. “That’s what life is really comprised of, isn’t it? These spectacular moments without which the rest of it would be completely unbearable.”

“You mean like selling a Pollock?”