was leaning against me. I leaned against him to hold us up. I stepped back and put my arm around his waist as he stumbled backward. We made it to the foyer, where I sat him down and went to call a cab. I returned to watch Robert’s green Volvo station wagon lurch onto the street.
Behind me, Fred’s father and brother were clinging together like the early Christians before the lions were turned loose. Drew’s friends may have been too much. I extended my sympathies; they thanked me and said they were exhausted and would return to their motel by the airport. I told them that a cab was on the way; they waited outside even though it was sprinkling.
I joined the crowd around Drew, who was beguiling as ever. Friends and family jostled into his aura where the boring became clever, the unattractive appealing, and the dull unique. Drew broke free and took me aside. “You look dreadful.”
“Tired, that’s all. Spent the night in the Denver airport.”
“Sounds uncomfortable,” Drew said. “Still on for dinner this evening?” I nodded yes. “Let’s say eightish, at that Italian place on the corner of Fillmore and Chestnut. Now go get yourself a drink.”
“I was talking to Robert.”
“Sad story. Robert has AIDS and is determined to drink his stores dry.”
Another of Drew’s friends wedged between us, and I went over to Fiona, who was talking to a nephew. I stood across from her when a sleek woman stood next to me and made eye contact with a well-tailored man standing to Fiona’s left, facing me. The man looked familiar, and we smiled as he approached.
“Alex, how are you?” he asked, shaking my hand.
“All things considered, okay, I guess.”
He slapped me on the back. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“It’s on the tip of my memory.”
“Townsend Morgan…people call me Townie, a cousin of Fiona’s, a distant cousin and way out of the money. So compared to the rest of this family, I’m a pretty nice guy.” He winked and made me laugh.
His unusual name brought it back. “Of course, you’re a client of Drew’s. You were at his receptions.”
“Debra, the wife, was a client.” He motioned to the attractive woman who had stood next to me and was talking to Fiona. “Look, I’d like a word with Fiona…and you too.” Townie’s wife called him over. “Gotta hop. Little woman beckons. Ah, I’ll catch up after I’ve said hello to Fiona.”
I caught Fiona’s eye and motioned if she wanted a drink. She did, and I went to the bar and returned with a glass of wine, an austere California chardonnay in the French style, much like Fiona.
While Debra and Fiona discussed the opera season, Townie disengaged, guided me back to the bar, and asked, “I understand you’re a banker. I’ve got a proposition for Fiona: market rates, fully collateralized. Kind of a no-brainer with a few bells and whistles to keep it interesting, you know?” He patted my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, but what’s your line of business?”
“Construction…but branching out to real estate development.” Townie was a preppy in his fifties. He caught me looking at his tasseled cordovan loafers, and said, “Never one for bulldozing. Spend most of my time nailing the numbers and getting our projects in on time and on the money.”
“So you’re an engineer?”
“No, own the company, Morgan and Morgan. Been in the family for eons.” Giving himself the once-over, he said, “Hey, now you’ve got me worried. I mean, you think I look like an engineering geek?” His deep infectious laugh made me laugh again.
“No, not at all. I meant an engineer by training.”
“No, I went to school, back east.”
“Oh.”
“In Connecticut.”
“Yale?” I asked and thought he was going to tell me about Yale, but he didn’t. “Great school,” I added. Townie stood a little straighter. “As for Fiona’s business affairs, I’ve never had anything to do with them. Besides, I’m in international banking and don’t know much about real estate.”
Debra waved for Townie to rejoin her and Fiona. “Gotta scram,” Townie said. “Nice seeing you again. Hey, let’s get together. We’ll do lunch, my club. Have your person phone mine and set something up, after the New Year.”
“Sounds great,” I said.
I went to the French doors leading to the covered patio at the rear of the house and turned to watch Drew’s friends transform the occasion into a stylish cocktail party. It was wearing quite thin; a cigarette was irresistible. I eased open the doors, slipped outside, and was smoking behind a potted pine when I heard the doors open. Peeking around the tree, I saw Fiona.
A slim, attractive woman in her late fifties, Fiona took expensive care of herself. She was reserved and could be acerbic; if pushed, her volcanic temper erupted.
I flipped the cigarette away, stepped from behind the tree, and cleared my throat.
“Alexander, my God. What are you doing out here?”
“Getting some fresh air.” We hugged.
She backed away. “Smoking again? That’s the very worst thing you can do to yourself.”
“I know. Everyone smokes in Russia. I bummed one at a cocktail party and was right back on them. I’ll quit again, soon, promise. How are you holding up?”
“Well, how do you think?”
I stepped back and put my hands up.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I so loathe my relatives; they’re like wolves, packing together and tearing at me. And such ghoulish questions: ‘Drew looks fine, doesn’t he?’ ‘How’s Drew feeling?’ They want to know if Drew has AIDS, and I’ll be damned if I’ll tell them that he does.”
“Oh dear, I thought so.”
“Drew said that you and he are having dinner this evening.”
“He wants to settle some issues between us.”
“And those issues stem from that summer… that terrible, terrible summer when Tatiana…” Fiona went to the patio’s edge and stared at the rain. “What are you going to do?”
“Play it by ear and see how it goes.”
“I see,” Fiona said, facing me.
“The service seemed like they were celebrating Fred’s suicide.” Pointing inside, I added, “And now Drew and his friends in fact are. It’s macabre.”
“I know, I know,” Fiona said. “I knew it would upset you.”
“Fiona, I’m concerned about you too.”
“I know that too. Ridiculous
