Faking It

Chapter 17

THE NEXT MORNING, Tilda met eve over muffins in the office.

“My God,” Eve said when Tilda smiled at her, practically bouncing on her heels. “What happened to you?”

“Me?” Tilda tried to tone down her beam. “Davy got the last Scarlet back. I’m free.”

“And what did he do after that?” Eve said.

Tilda got the juice out and poured. “Oh, we talked some. He figured out I’m Scarlet.”

“Really.” Eve’s smile faded. “Was he upset?”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” Tilda said. “It turned him on.”

“Everything about you turns Davy on,” Eve said. “This is not news.”

Tilda choked on her juice, surprised. “Davy? No.”

“Yes,” Eve said. “He’s blind with it, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, last night he figured it out,” Tilda said, grinning again in spite of herself.

“Really,” Eve said. “That good?”

“Really that good,” Tilda said, looking out the door to the gallery. It was still full of her furniture, but it was also bright and clean and full of light, and she thought, I love this place. Thank you, Davy.

“He wasn’t mad,” Eve said.

Tilda put her glass down. “Tell Simon you’re Louise.”

“No.” Eve got up and put her own glass in the sink so Tilda couldn’t see her face.

“It was a real turn-on for me, too, Eve,” Tilda said. “I didn’t have to be afraid anymore once he knew it all.”

“That’s when I’d start to be afraid,” Eve said.

“No,” Tilda said, leaning closer. “That’s when you’re free. When there’s one person you can tell anything to, and it won’t matter because he understands you.”

Eve took a step back and shook her head. “I think you may be overreacting here.”

“I don’t think so,” Tilda said. “I think-”

“That this is it?” Eve rolled her eyes. “You’ve known this guy two weeks and this is it? The real thing?”

“I don’t know about that,” Tilda said, a little taken aback by how cold Eve was. “I don’t know if it’s true love forever. He’s definitely not a fairy-tale prince. But I trust him. I know him.”

“No you don’t.” Eve turned away from her again. “You never know anybody. You just guess.”

“All right,” Tilda said, more worried than insulted. “Are you coming to the opening tonight?”

“I think Simon is expecting Louise,” Eve said, sounding a little tired. “She told him she was getting off early because she wanted to catch the last of the opening.”

“That doesn’t sound like Louise.”

“I want to catch the last of the opening,” Eve said.

“Well, give Louise the night off, then,” Tilda said. “Come as you are.”

Eve shook her head. “She’s got a really nice dress.”

She straightened a little. “You know, she’s got a dress that would be good for you, too.”

“Like I could get into Louise’s stuff,” Tilda said. “The only reason I can wear yours is that you buy everything two sizes too big.”

“This one’s loose,” Eve said. “Sort of drapey.”

“Drapey?”

“Well, it doesn’t have a back.”

Tilda thought of Clea Lewis. “What color?”

“Blue,” Eve said. “Midnight-blue like the Scarlet skies.”

“I’m in,” Tilda said and started to follow her out the door, only to stop when they met Gwennie, very pale, carrying the bank bag.

“What’s wrong?” Tilda said.

“The mortgage.” Gwen dropped the bank bag on the desk and sat down on the couch. “I tried to put the money from last night on the principal, and they wouldn’t let me.”

“Why not?” Tilda said. “Nobody could buy that mortgage, we’ve been making the payments.”

“It’s been paid off,” Gwen said, looking like death.

“Paid off?” Tilda said.

“Really?” Eve said, cautiously delighted. “Really, it’s gone?”

Gwen looked at her and shook her head.

“Who?” Tilda said.

“Mason,” Gwen said. “It has to be Mason. He’s the only person we know with six hundred thousand dollars and a yen to run an art gallery. It has to be him. And I think he wants to marry me.”

“Oh,” Eve said, sitting down beside her. “Well, we’ll just give the money back. Unless you like him.”

“He’s nice,” Gwen said.

“Nice.” Tilda sat on her other side. “Gwennie, you cannot marry for nice. Or for six hundred thousand dollars. Tell me you’re not thinking about doing this in some insane bid to save the plantation. Because it’s not necessary. We can give the money back. We’ll be out of debt in-”

“About forty years,” Gwen said. “But no, that’s not why I’m thinking about doing it. Mason is sweet.”

“Sweet is good,” Tilda said doubtfully. “I mean, definitely when I decide to settle down, I’m doing the muffin thing.” She thought about Davy. If she stretched the definition of “muffin”…

“That’s Mason,” Gwen said. “All muffin.”

“I’m just saying, maybe not this muffin.” Tilda took her hand. “He’s just a little… bland for you. He’s bran, you’re orange-pineapple.”

“Muffins are bland,” Gwen said. “If they’re not bland, they’re just doughnuts without holes.”

“Well, take him for a trial run first,” Eve said. “Even for six hundred thousand dollars, you shouldn’t have to be bored in bed.”

“Right,” Tilda said, looking at her sister in disbelief. “Good advice, Louise.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Gwen said, standing up. “Uh, how exactly do I ask him if he paid the mortgage?”

“He’ll tell you,” Eve said, still channeling Louise. “Guys love to tell you stuff like that.”

UPSTAIRS IN Simon’s apartment, Davy said, “What would you think if I paid off the mortgage on this place? Don’t tell Tilda.”

“I’d think you were insane,” Simon said. “Why would I tell Tilda?”

“You told Louise we worked for the Feds,” Davy said.

“It seemed like a good idea,” Simon said. “You’re not serious about that mortgage?”

“Pretty much. I gather you told Louise you were a Fed, but you didn’t tell her you were a thief?”

“Good God, no.” Simon sat on the edge of the table. “About that mortgage. I think we’ve been here long enough. What do you say we go back to Miami?”

Davy felt like punching him. “You know, the thief thing would have turned Louise on a lot more than the FBI.”

“She’d have told Eve,” Simon said. “It’s been two weeks. Time to go home.”

“She did tell Eve about the FBI,” Davy said. “Who told Tilda. Who told me last night, which is when I realized why she’s been avoiding me. She thought I was an agent. You screwed up my sex life.”

Simon got up and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. “I don’t see how.”

“I feel strongly,” Davy said, “that if somebody is going to lie to my girl, it should be me. That way none of us gets confused.”

“Your girl.” Simon shook his head. “We are definitely going back to Miami.”

“And leave Louise?” Davy turned to go.

“I’m ready to go,” Simon said. “You got your money back-”

Davy turned back. “Do not mention that to anyone!”

“Interesting,” Simon said. “I would think that would turn Tilda on even more than the FBI.”

“You don’t know Tilda,” Davy said. “I mean it. Nobody finds out.”

“You’re a lot easier to live with in Miami,” Simon said. “ Ohio makes you tense.”

“Not really,” Davy said, thinking about Tilda upstairs. “Have you ever met a woman you wanted to give everything to? Just turn over everything you had?”

“No,” Simon said. “Being of sound mind, of course not.”

“Me, either,” Davy said. “I’d have told you that Clea was the great love of my life, but I never felt the slightest urge to buy her a diamond.”

“Smart boy,” Simon said.

Davy sat down on the edge of the bed. “I looked at that money in my account last night and suddenly felt this overwhelming need to pay off Tilda’s mortgage.”

“So we should be leaving now,” Simon said, opening his suitcase. “A good time was had by all. Cheerio.”

“It was only six hundred thousand.” He shook his head. “And then later…” He looked at Simon. “Did you ever watch a woman in glasses strip to ‘I Can’t Stay Mad at You’? Dumb song, but Tilda can sing the hell out of it.”

“I’ll make the reservations.” Simon picked up the phone. “Would you like me to hold on to your checkbook for you?”

“No,” Davy said. “Look, I can afford it. It would be a generous thing to do. I still haven’t paid for the bed.”

“Do not give money to women,” Simon said as he dialed. “They either take it badly, or they take it and want more. You can’t win.”

“I could tell her it was an investment.”

“In a broken-down art gallery that is rapidly going to the dogs that even she doesn’t want anything to do with? No.” Simon spoke into the phone. “Hello, love, it’s me, your favorite client. How fast can you get Davy and me on a flight to Miami? Out of Columbus.”

“I have to go see my sister on Sunday,” Davy said.

“Out of Columbus on Sunday night,” Simon said into the phone.

“You know, a smart guy could make this place work,”

Davy said. “Put in a little capital, start the old razzle-dazzle-”

“Absolutely not,” Simon said to him, and then spoke into the phone again. “No, not you, darling, that sounds brilliant. Two tickets, one-way.”

“Simon, I already did it,” Davy said and Simon hung up.

“ Sandy ’s got us on the ten o’clock direct flight on Sunday,” he said briskly. “That’ll give you time to see Sophie, and me time to say good-bye to Louise. In fact, why don’t you go see Sophie now? Spend the weekend?”

“Because the opening is tonight,” Davy said. “Did you hear me? I transferred the money to the Goodnights’ loan last night. It’s done.”

Simon crossed his arms. “You did. And what did Tilda say?”

“I didn’t tell her,” Davy said. “It’s going to be hard to explain.”

Simon nodded. “Because many women, when given large sums of money, expect that the giver will stay around for a while.”

“Well, yeah.” Davy stood up. “Actually, I’m thinking about staying.”

“No you’re not,” Simon said with heavy patience. “You’re thinking about sex.”

“Go away,” Davy said, wanting to punch him because he was probably right. “It’s Friday. I have to call my sister.”

“Much better to go see her,” Simon said, “now,” but he left as Davy punched the numbers into his cell phone.

“Tucker residence,” Phin said, and Davy thought, Oh, hell, not you.

“Harvard, old buddy,” he said. “It’s me. Sophie around?”

“Nope,” Phin said. “Council meeting. She’s going to come home bitchy, though, so I’d try again tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Davy said. “Don’t tell her I called in case I can’t get back right away.”

“You in trouble?”

“Dempseys are never in trouble,” Davy said loftily. “We just have stretches of life that are more interesting than others.”

“How interesting is your life right now?”

Davy thought of Tilda, singing “You’ve got me where you want me” a cappella as she shimmied her bra off. “Very.”

“How bad is it?” Phin sounded as calm as ever. “You just in trouble with the law or is somebody trying to kill you?”

“That’s not the problem,” Davy said. “For once, I’m innocent and everybody loves me.” Clea’s face rose before him, not to mention Ford’s. “Well, almost everybody.” And then there was Michael. “Did Sophie ever tell you about our dad?”

“Yes,” Phin said and then a beat later said, “Oh, no.”

“Yeah,” Davy said. “I can handle it, he doesn’t know where you are, but it’s Dad, so he’ll find out eventually. And then he’ll boost the kids’ college funds and sell the town council land in Rorida and take Sophie for every dime she has.”

“The kids don’t have college funds. The rest would be bad.”

“I’m hoping he’ll get tired and wander off, but if he heads your way, lock the door. And don’t tell Sophie or she’ll feel like she has to invite him in.”

“Right,” Phin said.

“Oh, and in case you find out anyway,” Davy said, “the kids now have college funds.” He hung up and gave one last thought to Temptation. It didn’t matter how safe it was there, if he had to go back, he’d con somebody just from the boredom. The thought of what his father could do there was worse.

Plus, Scarlet wasn’t there.

“Worthless place,” he said and went to see what Tilda was doing.

WHEN TILDA came downstairs that night, she found Davy in the middle of the gallery, surveying the place with a frown. “What now?” she said from the office doorway.

“I can’t tell if it’s too crowded or not,” he said. “You want it to look like there’s a lot here without it looking like we’ll never unload all of it, and I don’t know enough about galleries to…” His voice trailed off as he looked at her. “Whoa.”

Tilda smoothed her skirt down and fought back a smile. “Exactly the right word, thank you.” She turned around so he could get the full effect of the dress’s backlessness. “Do you like it?” When he didn’t say anything, she turned back. “Hello?”

He nodded.

“Is it too much?”

He shook his head.

“Speak.”

“Could I see you upstairs?” he said finally.

She smiled and crossed the room to him, and he reached for her before she was close. She slid into his arms and felt the world settle around them.

“You’re beautiful, Scarlet,” he whispered in her ear, and she knew she should say, “Me?” and be modest, but she just nestled closer and said, “Yes, I am.” He laughed and kissed the top of her head, and then Gwen came in and he let go.

She could still feel his arms around her while Gwen marveled at the dress. Louise stopped in on her way to the Double Take and took her glasses off -“Not with that dress, Tilda,”- and Ethan said, “‘That’s not a dress, that’s an Audrey Hepburn movie,’” and Nadine smacked him on the back of the head before he could tell her it was a movie quote. Even Steve seemed respectful, although that may just have been because he was wearing his brocade vest again. “He was in the Dispatch,” Nadine said, showing Tilda the picture of Steve on the back of the Accent section, looking weirdly intellectual in his bow tie, like a furry Woody Allen. “What do you think?”

And Tilda looked across the top of the paper at Davy and said, “I think he’s amazing.”

Davy was even more amazing when people began to come in. He smiled, and laughed and made them say yes, steering them to different pieces, watching their faces to see which things they responded to and then moving in for the sale. “What a wheeler-dealer,” Jeff had said halfway through the evening when he’d brought out the last of Thomas’s potstickers. “The guy’s an ace.”

“You have no idea,” Tilda said, keeping an eye on Davy in case he needed her. She thought her face was going to crack from smiling, but Davy was still relaxed and easy.

“It’s not just him,” Jeff said. “His dad sold three more Finsters.”

“You’re kidding,” Tilda said, looking around to see.

“Back there.” Jeff jerked his head toward the left. “He must be drugging the customers.”

“He’s conning them,” Tilda said, squinting to see. “I don’t have my glasses on. He doesn’t have them backed into a corner, does he?”

“No,” Jeff said, grinning. “And they’re all women. Do you think that’s significant?”

Tilda looked back at Davy, very tasty in Simon’s dress shirt and tie. “No, I’m sure that has no relevance at all.”

She threaded her way through the crowd to stand beside him and then waited until he’d made his sale and turned to her. “You’re my hero,” she said.

“Why?” he said, suddenly cautious.

She slipped her arm through his. “You got back all my Scarlets and now you’re getting rid of all this furniture.”

“Oh.” He looked relieved. “Listen, this stuff sells itself. There’s almost nothing left downstairs. Ethan and I even loaded the bed into the back of your van. You’re sure you don’t mind me taking it to Temptation on Sunday?”

“As long as you come back,” she said, trying not to tighten her grip on him.

“Yeah, that’s all my rap sheet needs,” Davy said, looking over her head. “Grand theft auto. I have to go. There’s a woman over there who is trying to buy that chair with the purple bats.”

Tilda turned to follow his eyes. “Then why isn’t she? I can’t see details without my glasses.”

“Because Mason is helping her,” Davy said grimly. “He is undoubtedly telling her it will appreciate and add to her retirement income. Look at him, he’s standing there with his arms folded smiling because he thinks he’s sold her.”

“He does that when he plays poker, too.” Tilda squinted in his general direction. “When he thinks he has something. Which he never does. Bats are going to add to her retirement income?”

“Yeah, I’m not seeing the logic, either.” He pulled his arm away, kissed her cheek, and started across the floor.

“Hey,” Tilda said.

He stopped and came back.

“You’re not getting tired of me, are you, Ralph?” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Leaving me for purple bats and Temptation. We’re in a rut already?”

“We don’t do ruts, Celeste,” he said. “We’re inventive. If we start to pall on each other, we’ll improvise.”

Tilda moved closer, wanting his warmth. “Like how?”

He bent to her ear. “Like sometime before I go, you’re going to be Grandma, and I’m going to be Mussolini.” Then he straightened and she realized he was looking over her shoulder at Mason. “Oh, hell,” he said, and took off without looking back.

“Before you go?” Tilda said to his back. Did that mean before he went to Temptation or before he went forever? “ Australia,” she said with loathing and turned her back on him to help a man who had a question about a lavender frog bookcase.

DAVY’S EVENING went beautifully, even with his dad coming by every half hour or so to say, “Damn, what a setup.”

“I’m impressed with the Dempseys,” Louise said to him before she left for work. She was dressed in tight, stretchy black, and even though he knew she was Eve in a black wig and dark contacts, he couldn’t help thinking of her as Louise because Eve would never wear that dress. “Your dad is selling Finsters almost as fast as you’re selling Matilda Veronicas.”

“Don’t say it,” Davy said, knowing what was coming.

“Two of a kind,” Louise said and drifted away.

A few minutes later, Michael came up to Davy. “Why is Eve dressed up like Elvira, Queen of the Night?”

“What?” Davy said.

“And calling herself Louise. It’s a con, right?”

“Oh, hell,” Davy said. “It took me two weeks to get that.”

“You were distracted,” Michael said sympathetically. “Sex will do that to you.”

“You’re not sleeping with Dorcas?” Davy said, surprised.

“A gentleman never tells,” Michael said.

“You’re sleeping with Dorcas,” Davy said. “And selling her paintings, I understand.”

“They’re works of art,” Michael said seriously, and anybody but Davy would have believed him.

“Well, I hope she appreciates the work you’re doing. Nobody else but you could move those things.”

Michael put his hand over his heart. “Why, thank you, my boy, I’m touched.”

Davy shrugged. “Have to give the devil his due. You’re good.”

“Yes,” Michael said, smiling back at Dorcas, who was looking pale but lovely in gray crepe. “I am.” Then he went back to selling Finsters.

Davy watched for a moment to see Michael’s newest mark turn to him and expand under the light in his smile and the glint in his eye. That’s wrong, he thought, but she looked so happy as she bought a Finster that it was hard to explain why it was wrong.

Maybe when she woke up the next morning and realized she’d bought a watercolor of sadistic fishermen drowning fish, maybe that was when it was wrong. Assuming she did. Maybe she’d look at it and remember how she’d felt when she bought it. Maybe it would make her happy.

Maybe he was rationalizing. He went to sell a woman a sideboard with green and blue elephants.

Ten minutes later, the sideboard sold, and feeling something was missing in his life, Davy went looking for Tilda and her blue dress and saw her over by the counter, talking with a tall, good-looking guy in an expensive suit. She looked happy.

I’m not jealous, Davy thought, and then grabbed Andrew as he went by. “Hey.”

“I’m late for the Double Take,” Andrew said. “Make it fast.”

Davy nodded toward the counter. “Who’s the suit with Tilda?”

Andrew looked over. “Scott. Old boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Davy watched Tilda laugh up at the guy and felt his jaw grow tight.

“He’s a lawyer,” Andrew said helpfully. “Very successful. Treated her like a goddess. They were great together.”

“No they weren’t,” Davy said, watching Tilda put her hand on the suit’s arm. “He’s all wrong for her.”

“Uh-huh,” Andrew said, and turned away, almost running into Michael.

“Andrew,” Michael said, “who’s that idiot with Gwennie? He was here last night, too. Worst salesman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Andrew looked over. “Mason Phipps. He treats her like a goddess. They’re great together.”

“No they’re not,” Michael said. “He’s all wrong for her.”

“Are you leaving soon?” Davy said to him. “Because if not, I’m going to get drunk.”

“With Tilda in that blue dress? That’s no way to treat a woman, son,” Michael said. “No wonder she’s flirting with somebody else.” He went over to dazzle Gwennie and annoy Mason.

“I don’t want to hear any ‘two of a kind’ crap,” Davy said to Andrew, his eyes back on Tilda.

“He has a lot of good points,” Andrew said mildly.

“He has a lot of bad ones, too,” Davy said grimly.

“He is all wrong for her,” Andrew said.

“Dad for Gwennie? Jesus, yes. So is Mason. She’s doodling teeth on the sales slips. That’s not a good sign.”

“No,” Andrew said. “I meant that Scott’s all wrong for Tilda. You staying around?”

Davy opened his mouth to say something and then couldn’t think of anything.

“That’s what I thought,” Andrew said, sounding disgusted. “Two of a kind.”

“Hey,” Davy began but Andrew walked off. “Okay, how did I get to be the bad guy again?”

Across the room, Tilda turned away from Scott, and Davy caught her eye. He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, and Tilda looked confused for a moment and then pointed at Scott. Davy nodded. Tilda stuck her chin in the air, but she grinned, and when he crooked his finger at her, she crossed the room to him and made his pulse pick up.

“Stop flirting with strange men, Vilma,” he told her, pulling her close.

“I wasn’t flirting and he’s not strange,” she said as she snuggled under his arm. “In fact, he’s very sweet. He’s not even mad that I turned him down.”

“For what?”

“Marriage,” Tilda said, laughing. “What is with you?”

“He proposed?”

“Six months ago. I told you this.”

“Oh,” Davy said, feeling foolish. “Right. Sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” Tilda said. “I love it that you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Davy said. “But if he comes near you again, I’m breaking his fingers.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Ralph.” She stretched up and kissed his cheek. “He doesn’t have the fine understanding of living on the edge that you do. So few men do.” She smiled past him and turned to see Michael handing over another Finster. “Of course, you had a great teacher.” Before he could deny it, she slid out of his arms. “Furniture to sell,” she told him. “Move that armadillo footstool and wonderful things will happen to you later.”

Wonderful things are going to happen anyway, he thought as she walked away from him. He looked back at Michael. Okay, maybe part of him was Michael. The charming part. He’d take that legacy. Across the room, a woman picked up the armadillo footstool, and Davy went to help her.

Three footstools, an armoire, and a garden bench later, Nadine came back into the gallery from the street, looking enraged.

“Your father,” she said.

“Now what?”

“Kyle came by to see me,” Nadine said, “and your dad scared him away. I didn’t want to see him but I wanted to tell him that.” She glared at Davy. “What is wrong with you people?”

“We’re very protective of our womenfolk,” Davy said, giving up.

Nadine’s frown eased a little. “I thought you were on your way to Australia.”

“I am.”

“Then I am not your womanfolk,” Nadine said, her scowl back in place. “If you’re not staying with Aunt Tilda, back off.”

“Right,” Davy said. “I’m backing. Off. Go throw yourself away on a worthless male.”

“Yeah. Goodnight women do that a lot,” she said, and went to rescue Steve, who was being baby-talked to by a woman holding a giraffe side chair.

“I am not worthless,” he called after her, and did not look over at his father, who was undoubtedly leaving Dorcas shortly.

Clearly Fate had brought him to the Goodnights to make him see that he really was Michael and, in so doing, ruin his life. And he’d fallen for it. He should have walked away when Tilda said, “Steal it for me,” in the closet; he’d known that when she’d asked him. He should not have rented the apartment; he’d known that when he’d seen the sign in the window. He should-

“What’s wrong with you?” Michael said from behind him. “You look like the last grave over by the willow.”

Davy shook his head. “I should have listened when you said, if it’s too good to be true, get out.”

“Sometimes,” Michael said, “it’s better to stay and get taken.”

He nodded across the room, and Davy followed his gaze to Tilda, laughing with the customer over Steve, showing Nadine and everybody else in the room how to charm anybody.

“She’s something,” Michael told Davy. “She really is.”

Tilda turned to see them, her curls rumpled and her smile crooked and her eyes…

“Yes,” Davy said to her.

“Are you sure she’s not bent?” Michael said. “Because if she was, she really would be too good-”

“Forget it, Dad,” Davy said, and crossed the room to buy whatever she was selling.

GWEN’S EVENING was a little rockier. It was clear to her that the show was a success; people weren’t exactly clawing their way through the door, but there was a nice crowd, thanks in no small part to the article in the Dispatch. People dropped by to meet Steve and stayed to have a good time, buying at a fast enough clip that Simon and Ethan spent the evening bringing up pieces to replace the things they’d sold. At ten, Ford came in and helped, and shortly after that, he brought her a dog-covered end table and said, “That’s it. You’ll have to start on the furniture in my room next,” and she’d said, “We’ll wait until you leave for Aruba for that.” He nodded, and she felt disappointed, and then some woman bought the end table -it had paws and a face that looked just like her Pete, she said, and Gwen had wondered if Pete was a dog or a husband- and she’d gone back to smiling until her face ached.

Shortly after that, Thomas came up to her and put his hand on her arm again. “Mrs. Goodnight?”

Oh, hell, Gwen thought, it’s the FBI. “Yes?”

“I was cleaning up the office,” he said, a fake smile pasted on his face, “and I found an interesting painting. A forest.”

“A forest,” Gwen said and thought, Damn it, Homer, why weren‘t you in the basement with Scarlet?

“It’s a painting by an artist named Homer Hodge,” Thomas said. “And it was part of Cyril Lewis’s collection that burned in the warehouse fire.”

“Oh.” Gwen sat down on her counter stool. That explained why Mason had it even though he’d given his Homer collection away. So how had he gotten it?

“Did you get that from Clea Lewis?” Thomas said, sounding stern in his white jacket.

“I don’t know what painting you’re talking about,” Gwen said. “It’s, in the office? We don’t store paintings in the office.”

“It was stuck behind the desk,” Thomas said.

“What were you doing behind the desk?” Gwen said.

“What are you doing with this painting?” Thomas said.

“Is there a problem?” Mason said, and they both jerked their heads around to see him standing on the other side of the counter. “Thomas,” he said severely, “you shouldn’t be annoying Mrs. Goodnight with catering details. Just handle whatever it is.”

Clea drifted up, her face grim, as she linked her arm through Mason’s. “You know, every time I go looking for you,” she told him, smiling tightly, “I find you over here.”

Mason disentangled his arm from hers, and Thomas, his face pale under his bruises, said to Gwen, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I need to talk to you later,” Mason said to Gwen as Thomas turned away. “In the office. Privately.”

Clea’s face went stormy, and Gwen said brightly, “Oh, good. I’ll look forward to that Now if you could move, there’s a lady with an armadillo footstool behind you.”

By the end of the evening, Gwen had a raging headache, due in equal parts to Mason revolving by every fifteen minutes to pat her arm, Clea sending her death looks every five, Michael selling Finsters with outrageous promises (“Is she really going to be the next Wyeth?” one woman whispered to Gwen, and Gwen thought, Oh, hell, Michael, and smiled), and Ford looking bored and temporary as he hauled furniture out to waiting cars. Always on your way out the door, she thought as she watched him carry a ferret chair. Which is good because you’re a doughnut. Not to mention the hit man thing. Across the room, Louise, back early from the Double Take, looked at Simon as though he was the answer to her prayers, which was very Eve-like of her, and over by the butterfly chairs with the big sold tag, Davy kissed Tilda’s cheek and made her blush. No good, Gwen thought, neither one of these guys is going to stay. Why can’t my daughters see that? Doughnuts. They’re all doughnuts. By the time Thomas went AWOL around ten-thirty, she really didn’t care.

“Do you know where Thomas is?” Jeff said. “We’re out of potstickers. I asked Mason, and he said the last he saw of him, he was talking to Clea Lewis, and now she’s gone, too.”

“Maybe they’re having sex in the basement,” Gwen said, watching Tilda lean into Davy. “That’s popular lately.” Then she shook her head. Enough whining and negativity. Her family had been amazing all night, especially Nadine, back in full form from the night before, and Tilda, wonderfully gracious and efficient, the center that held things together.

Davy, though, was the real revelation.

“That Davy,” Andrew said to her at the end of the show. “The last person I knew who could con people into buying like that was-”

“Tony,” Gwen said.

Davy smiled and people nodded. He leaned forward and spoke, and they considered the furniture. He leaned back and spread his hands and they bought, clearly delighted with their purchases, themselves, and him.

But there was no tension in Davy when he approached people. And when Tilda talked to someone, calm and knowledgeable, he stepped back and smiled at her, listening to every word. Tony would have shouldered her aside, but Davy brought people to her. “You have to talk to Matilda,” she heard him say to one buyer. “She knows everything.” He revolved around the room all night, selling everything in his path, but Tilda was his sun, the one he kept turning to.

He’s not Tony, Gwen thought, and felt relieved and wistful at the same time. Thinking about the past could do that to a woman. She turned the cash register over to Nadine and said, “I think we’re almost done. Check with Tilda, and if she says yes, we’ll start closing up.”

“Cool,” Nadine said, surveying the money.

“Was that Kyle I saw earlier?”

“Michael scared him off,” Nadine said. “Those Dempseys.”

“Good for Michael,” Gwen said. “Don’t let him near the cash drawer.”

Back inside the office, she was pouring vodka into her pineapple-orange, when Mason came in.

“This was great,” he said, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Gwen, honey, this was really good.”

“I know,” she said, toasting him with her glass. Mason had spent the evening reinforcing her suspicions that he was the most abysmal salesman she’d ever met in her life. On the other hand, the last thing she wanted was another salesman, and he’d paid off her mortgage, and he was a muffin. And he’d gotten “peccable” right Clearly that was a sign.

“The only thing is,” Mason said now, darting a glance over his shoulder, “we’re going to have to watch that Davy.”

“Davy?” Gwen said, her glass at her lips.

“He doesn’t understand gallery etiquette,” Mason said. “He kept laughing and talking like he was just anybody. He doesn’t realize how serious a gallery is. He has to go, Gwen.”

He’s jealous, Gwen thought.

“I mean it,” Mason said, trying to sound stronger and only sounding weaker. “He has to go.”

“That’s pretty much up to him and Tilda,” Gwen said. “So where’s Clea?”

“She went home a while ago,” Mason said. “I saw her talking to Thomas, and then she said she was going home and that’s the last I saw of either of them.” Mason took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to tell you this, I was hoping Davy would just move on.”

I’m going to hate this.

“He’s a con man, Gwen,” Mason said, and he said it gently enough that she knew he wasn’t lying, wasn’t trying to sabotage Davy, not that Mason would. He wasn’t that kind of man. “Clea knew him in L.A. He scammed everybody out there with these bogus land deals and movie deals. She said the last she saw of him, he was working for a porn producer, kind of his right-hand man. He’s not the right guy for Tilda.”

Oh, hell, Gwen thought. And he was so good tonight. Of course, if he was a con man, he would be good. And poor Tilda, so happy. “Maybe he’ll leave on his own,” Gwen said. “Don’t tell Tilda.”

“Of course not,” Mason said. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it to you except…” He trailed off, clearly upset, and she moved over to him, putting her hand on his sleeve.

“I appreciate it that you told me,” she said. “It’s right that I know that.”

“Thank you,” he said, moving closer. “I really didn’t want to be the one to tell you.”

“You’re very sweet,” she said, and he bent and kissed her again, and it was nice. He was such a nice guy, not a con man or a hit man or anything but a good man, and it was time she stopped falling for the flashy cowboy doughnuts and grew up.

Then he said, “I was going to wait for this, but…” and pulled out a ring box.

“Oh,” Gwen said, and she said it again when he opened it and showed her a rock that lit the room, at least ten carats.

“We can run the gallery together, Gwennie. It’ll still be the Goodnight Gallery. Everything will be the same as it always was. It’ll just be with me instead of Tony. Marry me, Gwennie.”

Mason’s voice shook a little when he said it, and Gwen said, “Did you pay off the gallery?”

“What?”

“I know it’s rude to ask, but somebody paid off the mortgage,” Gwen said, “and I know it must be you.”

“Oh,” Mason said, looking taken aback. “Uh, well, yes.”

That’s it then, Gwen thought. It was a good offer. It wasn’t as if she was ever getting out of here anyway. Mason was very sweet, he wasn’t bragging about the mortgage at all. Tilda would be free. Nadine could go to college. She leaned forward and kissed him again, grateful but depressed.

“Is that a yes?” he said, and she nodded, and he slid the ring on her finger, and put his arms around her. “We’re going to be so happy,” he told her as he held her, and she crooked her finger to keep the ring on because it was too large.

“Yes,” Gwen said into his shoulder. “Can we go scuba diving for our honeymoon?”

“Of course,” Mason said. “Anything you want.”

“Just not to Aruba,” Gwen said.

Nadine opened the door and said, “Uh, Aunt Tilda says it’s time to close,” and Gwen pulled back. “Also, we can’t find Thomas the Caterer. Did he leave? Because all his stuff is here.”

“I’ll be right there,” Gwen said, and straightened her dress, which didn’t need straightening. “I have to go-”

“I understand,” Mason said.

“So, tomorrow,” Gwen said, smiling at him as brightly as she could.

“Oh,” he said, and looked up at the ceiling, toward her apartment.

“Because we have to… you know… shut down the gallery,” Gwen said, trying to think of a reason not to invite her fiancé upstairs. “For the night. Clean up. You know.”

“Of course,” Mason said, looking confused. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He kissed her again, and over his shoulder, Gwen could see Nadine scowling.

Yeah, I kind of feel that way, too, she thought.

OUT IN the gallery, Davy had come up behind Tilda, put his arms around her, and whispered in her ear, “I have plans for you, Vilma.”

Oh, good, Tilda thought. “There’s one last woman over there thinking about buying that awful wombat chest.” She snuggled in closer. “Don’t you think you should go sell it to her?”

“No,” Davy said. “I’m tired, the show’s over, and I want to clean this place up and then see how easy this dress is to get off.”

“Extremely easy.” Tilda shoved her shoulder strap up again. “The trick all evening has been to keep it on. I don’t know how Louise manages this stuff.”

Back in the office, Nadine started the jukebox, and some woman began to sing about saving the last dance.

Davy frowned. “What is this song? And why do I have good feelings about it?”

Tilda laughed. “You were winning a bet the last time you heard it.” Her shoulder strap fell down again.

“We can clean tomorrow.” Davy took her hand and pulled her toward the office door.

“You were great tonight,” Tilda said, following him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Celeste.”

Tilda stopped at the door for one last look around the gallery. About half of the furniture was gone, and the rest would go in the next couple of weeks as word spread. She wasn’t going to set the art world on fire, or even the furniture world, but people had liked the things they bought, the Finsters notwithstanding. And they’d bought them because of Davy. The basement was empty because of Davy.

No, she thought. Only half-empty.

“Okay, long silences make me nervous,” Davy said from the office doorway. “Also, you have that look on your face again.”

She turned back to him. “You’re solving all my problems.”

“I can do it all,” he said, not really listening as he tugged at her hand. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you.”

“Come downstairs first,” she said.

Davy shook his head. “The bed’s packed in the van. And that concrete floor is cold.”

“I have something to show you.” She pulled her hand out of his and headed for the basement.

“Can’t you show it to me in the attic?” he said, but he followed her down the stairs and stopped behind her as she punched in the code for the studio.

“Til, you don’t have to,” he said, his voice serious.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do. Here’s the last of my secrets, Dempsey. Let’s see how good you are with a big problem.”

And then she opened the door.