Too Damn Rich (47 page)

Before long, he was wondering if maybe, just
this once, he hadn't been ... well, perhaps a little too hasty in
severing relations ...

At one-thirty, he was so horny smoke was
practically pouring from his ears. And before two, he caved in and
called her at Burghley's.

Bambi picked up on the very first ring,
hesitantly saying, "Robert?" Sounding real nice and sexy.

Every shred of common sense told Robert to
slam down the receiver—now. Before it was too late.

Instead, he found himself saying: "How'd you
know it was me?" "Because you're the only one who has this number."
He grunted approval. "Good. You know, I been thinkin'. Maybe I will
come over an' see your new place. But it's gotta be today."

"Robert! The movers aren't coming till
tomorrow. The apartment's totally bare and—"

"So? Who needs furniture? You got a key,
don'tcha?"

There was a pause. "When do you want to drop
by?" she asked softly.

"How's about right now?"

"I'll be waiting."

Hot damn!

Five minutes later, he was in the back of his
limo. Libido in overdrive. Headed uptown.

To the very place he swore he wouldn't be
caught dead.

Old Masters auctions were all held during the
same week. Sotheby's had been on Tuesday. The art world—and
Christie's and Burghley's in particular—had watched closely and
held its collective breath.

Zandra and Kenzie had attended.

"This should give us an indication of how
we'll fare on Thursday," Kenzie had whispered as they took their
seats.

Zandra looked around doubtfully. "It seems
frightfully empty. Darling, where on earth do you suppose everyone
is?"

"Let's just hope the bidders who are here are
in an upbeat mood," Kenzie said grimly.

They hadn't been; nearly half the one hundred
eighty-four lots went unsold.

Christie's held its auction on Wednesday.
Again Kenzie and Zandra attended. And again, little more than half
the two hundred eleven lots sold.

Afterward, they trudged back to Burghley's on
foot, their moods as dark and gloomy as the weather. When they'd
arrived before ten, the sun had shone weakly; now, at two-thirty,
the wind had picked up and the sky was a uniform, oppressive
blanket of gray.

"It's this damned economic slump," Kenzie
said dispiritedly, wrapping her scarf tighter around her. "Top of
the market always sells, but no one else is buying."

"Bugger it!" Zandra muttered darkly. "We
could certainly have used that bloody Holbein."

"Tell me about it," Kenzie sighed. "But
that's water under the bridge. Meanwhile, the only activity there
is going on is bottom fishing, and not enough of that. Trouble is,
people won't open their wallets. Damn, but it's a good time to snap
up bargains!"

At Sixtieth and Madison, they waited for the
pedestrian light to change.

"I'm definitely not looking forward to
tomorrow," she added unnecessarily.

Zandra pulled a face. "It's going to be
extremely uncomfortable and humiliating sitting up there on that
damn podium taking telephone bids and not receiving any and trying
to look busy, whatever the hell that is, while the people who will
show up and don't give a fart are all bloody staring at us, as if
we're animals in a zoo and somehow to blame."

"C'mon!" Kenzie grabbed her by the arm.
"While we're standing here gabbing, the light's turned green. Let's
go!"

They started hurrying across.

"Shit!" Abruptly Kenzie stopped dead in her
tracks and stared upward.

"Kenz, what is it?"

"It's starting to snow!" Kenzie wailed. "If
this keeps up, tomorrow's turnout will be worse than godawful!" She
looked imploringly at Zandra. "Why, oh why, can't we just call in
sick in the morning?"

"You know why, Kenz. Professionalism. Esprit.
Pride. Must keep the department safe from our Great Beloved
Leader!"

North Korea's late Kim II Sung had provided
the inspiration for Arnold's most recent nickname for Bambi
Parker.

"Right."

The light changed, and drivers began honking
their horns.

"Come on, Kenz! Don't just stand there!
Darling, we're both liable to get run over!"

Kenzie smiled wryly. "Sounds pretty tempting,
doesn't it?"

"No, it bloody well does not!" Zandra
snapped, and yanked her across.

By the time they reached Burghley's, the snow
was coming down steadily.

"I've listened to the weather reports,"
Arnold Li said. "They now predict six to eight inches."

It was almost seven o'clock and they were
still hard at work, par for the course on the eve of an
auction.

"Now tell me some good news," Kenzie pleaded,
"please."

"Thirty more absentee bids have come in by
fax. I'm entering them in the computer now."

"Any more ... bad news?"

He nodded. "Four lots have been
withdrawn."

Shit. "Which ones?" she asked wearily.

"Lots 64, 113, 161, and 201."

Kenzie knew them by heart. The Jacob
Jordaens, estimated at $200,000 to $300,000; the Lorenzo di
Niccolo, estimated at $100,000 to $150,000; the Hendrik
Terbrugghen, estimated at $300,000 to $500,000; and the Veronese,
also estimated at $300,000 to $500,000.

Four of the best paintings in the sale.

Kenzie shut her eyes. There goes tomorrow,
she thought.

By six-thirty the following morning, five
inches of snow had accumulated, and it was still coming down in a
white, opaque blanket. Radio broadcasts reported that schools were
closed, all three airports had shut down, and
alternate-side-of-the-street parking was suspended.

If only auctions could be cancelled as
easily, Kenzie thought.

Turning up the newscast, she headed into the
kitchen, put her favorite mix of coffee beans, half Colombia
excelso and half Brazil Bourbon Santos, through the electric
grinder, filled the coffeemaker, and switched it on. Soon it was
gurgling and hissing and steaming up a storm.

Zandra, sleepy-eyed and barefoot, padded from
her bedroom clad in an oversize white bathrobe. Her nose twitched,
rabbitlike, as she sniffed the air.

"Fresh coffee? You're a saint. Shan't ever be
able to go back to tea again. Nothing like a good jolt of caffeine
to jump-start one awake. Have a good sleep?"

"I was dead to the world," Kenzie said. "And
you?"

"Slept like a baby." Zandra yawned and
stretched, went over to the living room window, and peered out from
behind the curtains.

It was still night out, but not dark: the
back garden was peculiarly and faintly luminescent from the
reflection of the snow, and the air was alive, swirling with
millions upon millions of fat, seemingly weightless flakes.

"Gosh, Kenzie. Snow's still coming down!"

"Tell me about it. Airports and schools are
shut."

Zandra let go of the curtain and turned to
her. "What about the auction?"

"Oh, I suspect it'll be business as usual,"
Kenzie sighed.

"What!" Zandra stared at her.

"You know the saying," Kenzie said wryly. "
'The show must go on.' "

"Yes, but . . . Jesus, Kenzie." Zandra
gestured at the window. "In that?"

"Presumably so. In all my time at Burghley's,
I can't recall one auction ever having been postponed."

In the kitchen, the coffeemaker had quieted
down.

"Aha. Our fix is ready." Kenzie went and
returned with two steaming mugs and handed one to Zandra.
"Here."

Zandra took it in both hands, blew softly on
the surface, and lowered her head to take tiny birdlike sips. When
she looked up, she was frowning.

"Honestly, darling, if they had any sense at
all they'd bloody well postpone the sale. Just getting across town
must be hell. I mean, how's anyone supposed to get there—"

The telephone chirruped.

Kenzie glanced at the mantel clock. It was
only quarter till seven.

"How very odd," Zandra murmured. "Who could
be calling this early?"

"Only one way to find out." Kenzie strode to
the nearest extension. "Hello?"

"Kenz?"

"Arnold! Don't tell me you're stuck and—"

"No, I'm at work," he said. "I camped out
here rather than risk a morning commute. Listen, you and Zandra had
better get in here. Fast."

"Now? But why?"

"All hell's breaking loose."

And he hung up.

Frowning, Kenzie replaced the receiver. She
didn't know what was going on, but she knew that whatever it was
had to be serious. Arnold was not one to raise false alarms.

"Throw on your clothes," she told Zandra. "No
time for hair or makeup. We can do that on the train."

Five minutes later, they were flying out the
door.

"I say!" Zandra exclaimed, and stopped
short.

A frazzled Arnold, collar open and shirt
sleeves rolled up, was frantically punching lit and flashing
buttons on his phone. "Please keep holding, ma'am. Someone will be
right with you—" He glanced up, saw Kenzie and Zandra, and with
circular motions of his arm gestured them hastily to their
desks.

"What's going on?" Kenzie mouthed silently as
she slipped out of her coat.

With an index finger he signaled that he'd be
right with her.

"Yes, ma'am," he said into the receiver.
"Uh-huh. Uh-huh." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Just half a
minute longer, ma'am, no more. I pro—"

Another line rang.

He stabbed the flashing button. Said,
"Burghley's Old Masters please hold," like one word.

Then, dropping the receiver, he made bug
eyes, inflated his cheeks, and slumped back in his chair.

"Whew!" He expelled a noisy breath. "Am I
ever glad to see you guys!"

Kenzie said: "I think you'd better fill us in
on what's happening, and fast."

"It's the phones. They're ringing off the
hook! Everybody and his brother's calling in absentee bids, and
that doesn't take into account the ones being faxed. God alone
knows how many of them have piled up."

Kenzie glanced over at the fax machine. The
tray was overflowing, and copies of completed bid forms were
scattered all over the floor.

She turned back to Arnold. "So by 'all hell
breaking loose,' you meant we're getting swamped with bids?"

"That's right."

Good God, she thought. Talk about things
coming out of the blue!

Kenzie was suddenly so excited she could
barely breathe. It was truly staggering. The phones overloaded, the
faxes accumulating.

I've never seen anything like it, she thought
jubilantly.

"But why?" she asked Arnold. "I don't
understand."

"Neither do I. My best guess is, people
who're trapped at home or in hotels or only God knows where are
leafing through our catalogue and calling in bids. You know, sort
of a cross between shopping and laying bets."

Kenzie shook her head. "Puts a whole new spin
on 'home shopping,' doesn't it?"

Another line rang.

"Shit." Arnold started to reach for it, then
flapped a hand. "Whoever it is can leave voice mail."

"Not for long." Kenzie, having sized up the
situation, now took charge. "Listen up, you guys. Arnold, your
voice sounds like you've been talking yourself hoarse. It could use
a break."

"You can say that again!"

"Then give the phones a break and cover the
fax. All those bids have to be entered into the computer, and the
sooner you get started, the better. But first call out for some
coffee."

"Will do."

"Zandra, you and I'll work the phones till
nine-thirty. Then we'll recruit the first three people who show up
for work, and I don't care which department they belong to!"

"Take the call on line three first," Arnold
advised. "Poor woman's been holding forever."

"Right." Zandra punched line three. "Hallo?
I'm very sorry to have kept you waiting. Thanks so much for your
patience ..."

And Kenzie, punching line six: "Old Masters,
may I help you ..."

For nearly two hours it was as if they'd been
swept up in a whirlwind. It was all they could do to keep up with
the deluge of calls. But despite the awesome volume, Kenzie,
Zandra, and Arnold worked together like a well-oiled piece of
machinery.

Each kept the others up to date by shooting
voice bullets in code:

"Lot 21, de Hamilton. Nine thou! Within
est."

And "160, Guardi, four point nine mil. Within
est."

And "208, Hendrik Meyer, twenty thou. Just
under."

And "74, Rynacker, quarter mil. Over
est."

It was dizzying. Kenzie had never experienced
anything like it. For the first time in three days, she permitted
herself to feel hopeful, and then euphoric.

Please God, she prayed. Let this
continue.

Her prayers were answered until nine o'clock.
That was when a curveball was thrown from way out in left
field.

Zandra said: "Kenzie. Major trouble, I'm
afraid. Could you pick up line seven?"

Kenzie covered the receiver with her hand.
"Who is it?"

"Bambi."

"From whom," said Kenzie grimly, "no news is
good news. All right." She sighed with resignation. "I'll take it.
After I'm done with this client."

Bambi stared impatiently out the glass wall
at the billions of flakes swirling in the turbulence. They blotted
out the entire city except for the two nearest high-rises, which
had taken on a kind of half-glimpsed, spectral magic. Under other
circumstances, she might have fantasized herself a storybook
princess high in a castle tower.

This morning, however, reality in the shape
of a slender naked man obviated the need for fairy tales. All she
wanted was to resume snuggling and screwing, hence her itchiness to
get off the phone.

What is taking Kenzie so long? I don't have
all day!