another. Like a panther, he was on the prowl.
“Am I really too risqué? I just got this shirt and thought it was festive. This is a gala, after all.”
“Oh, it’s festive, all right.”
“So it’s too much?”
He shrugged. “You need to live up to expectations, Jenna. You’ve got the body, why not flaunt it?”
There was nothing I could do about my outfit now. Once again I’d lost in the balancing act between wanting to dress young-attractive-sexy while I still could and being a professional. “Are you on the prowl?”
He raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “For women?”
“For art, Brian.” I knew he wasn’t on the prowl for anything else. Brian was in a long-term relationship that I sometimes envied. I was single, and though I frequently slid out of single into couple, I slid back just as quickly.
“No, not really. We just bought that Dürer print, and I doubt I’d be able to raise the money for anything worthwhile now. It may be years before I have the budget to buy a work of art. You looking for anything in particular?”
“Not usually too much Asian artwork at this fair. The material is more up your alley.”
“There were a couple of Asian art dealers last year.”
“True. I’m counting on their being back this year. Even if I’m not buying, it’s always nice to look.”
“We’ve lost him.” Brian peered down the first aisle.
“See what you’ve done.” I polished off my first glass of champagne and looked around for a table to set it on. A server whisked it out of my hand as he held out another tray of champagne. “Wait, let me grab another.” A crowd was easing the server and his tray away. I started after him, but Brian grabbed my arm and led me toward the art.
“All right, all right.”
“You drank that so fast, I’m surprised you didn’t pop your cork. Give yourself at least fifteen minutes before you nab your next glass. There will be food up ahead. We always lose P.P. He has to get ahead of us to find the best piece first and buy it.” Brian had only taken a couple of sips, so I reached for his glass, but he held on. He appeared to have his antennae set on the first of the stalls in the fair. “Come on, let’s get to work.”
He started off, and I followed. “It’s fine with me if P.P. beats us to the punch. He’ll probably donate what he gets to the Searles eventually. You can’t forget that he has impeccable taste.”
“True, usually. But he might have purchased a stolen head. Or maybe a fake. Either way, not so impeccable this time.”
“Yes, we all make mistakes.” I looked at him pointedly, but he was examining a small landscape on an otherwise blank wall and didn’t notice my dig. Either that or he didn’t want to be reminded of the purchasing error he’d made the previous year.
AN hour later, having consumed more sushi rolls and giant prawns than was advisable, I caught up with P.P. and his bulging shopping bag. He was talking with a dealer in front of his stall filled with later Burmese and Thai Buddhas and decorative art. I didn’t recognize the dealer.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’d lost you.” He looked me up and down as if he was buying a horse.
“We lost you—immediately,” I said.
“Do you know Grey? Dr. Jenna Murphy, curator, Searles Museum.” He turned from Grey to look for Brian. “Brian?”
I shrugged. Hanging on to these two was like herding cats. I’d given up on them both. “Nice to meet you,” I said to Grey. “This is your stall?”
“Yes. It’s my first time doing this fair,” he said with a strong New York accent. He stepped toward me as he spoke, his eyes shifting as if drawing an outline of my silhouette, so that I was well aware of his height, his piercing eyes, his scent, a mixture of perspiration and citrus. I could tell he used his height to intimidate. I didn’t step back.
He looked to be in his fifties. He wore a designer jacket and jeans, his hair was pulled into a ponytail that exaggerated the fact it was thinning on top, his earlobe distended by an ancient gold Indonesian earring. Under his deep tan, his complexion was sallow.
He leaned closer. “I plan to come up to your museum at the beginning of the week, once I’ve packed up. Hopefully I won’t have much to pack by then. I live in Bangkok.”
“Good luck,” I said, turning to look at the sculptures in his stall, moving out of the aisle and in amidst the Buddhas, away from Grey and his hover. “Has business been good tonight?”
“Various people have helped me out.” He nodded toward P.P.’s bag.
“See you, Grey,” called a youngish man bustling by with his well-dressed wife, the diamond on her ring finger weighing down her hand. An attractive, youngish couple with a look that said tech start-up. At least that’s what it said in the San Francisco Bay Area. I’d have killed for her crimson boots.
“Good to see you, Barker, Courtney,” Grey said, raising his hand.
She slowed and waved. “We’ll be back over the weekend.”
“Talk with you again about that piece,” her husband said, taking her elbow and hurrying her along.
“Who?” P.P. frowned as he watched them weave away amidst the crowd. He was always concerned about the collecting competition.
“Local people. Bought a few things.”
“You, too, it seems,” I said. I’d ask him later what he’d purchased, though when I looked around the stall, I didn’t see anything that seemed particularly to P.P.’s taste. Moving farther into the space and away from the two men, I looked at the small bronzes in a wall case. Two rather coarse Cambodian sculptures sat on the top shelf, while folkish northern Thai or Lao bronzes populated the lower shelves. Two Burmese weights in the form of karaweik birds had been squeezed in with the rest. The men’s continued conversation hummed wordlessly in my ears until I heard “decapitated.”
“Terrible, really terrible. He seemed a very nice man,” Grey said.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I moved back to Grey and P.P. “Who are you discussing?”
“Tom Sharpen, a local collector,” said Grey. “Down in Atherton. I flew here to the States to discuss a piece with him. A terrible loss. He had a good eye.”
Clearly for him the loss wasn’t the person, but the sale, the promise of more sales. “What was the piece?” It was a rude question to ask, but I hadn’t thought before speaking.
P.P. cut me off before I could say anything more. “See you, Grey. Want to finish the fair tonight. Moving, Jenna.” He took my elbow and led me away.
“Why did you drag me off?” I said. “He was about to answer.”
“Atherton. Where I bought the head. Murder. Be careful about fakes.”
That
