Glimmering

“I know, Mr. Finnegan.” Larry Muso’s voice sounded less conciliatory; more the voice of a man determined to do business, swiftly and with no interference. Surprised, Jack looked up and saw the other man draw a tiny palmtop from his pocket. “In the first quarter of this year, you showed a loss of—nearly two million dollars.” Larry Muso frowned, tapped once more at the keyboard. “Last year, your friend Leonard Thrope made the magazine the beneficiary of a modest grant—”

“A loan,” Jack said, but he knew he was losing.

“—which enabled you to produce the current spring issue.” Larry Muso tilted his head in the direction of the cartons by the wall. “Now you are unable to afford the cost of shipping those to your few remaining subscribers. If—”

“Did Leonard put you up to this?” Jack broke in angrily. “Because—”

“If you would let me finish, Mr. Finnegan,” Larry Muso went on, “I would be able to tell you that yes, Mr. Thrope has been in touch with us. We have mutual—friends.”

In another oddly poised gesture he opened his hand “Friend,” he corrected himself. His soft black eyes gazed searchingly into Jack’s. “Another collector.”

Jack made a grim little face. “I see.”

“I hope you do. You must understand, Mr. Tatsumi is not just a collector. He is a collector of Americana. But very eclectic. Mr. Thrope has helped him with many items. An Edward Hopper, some Winslow Homer. Notebooks of Sylvia Plath and Ariza Davis. A drawing by Jeffrey Dahmer. He owns Judy Garland’s dress from The Wizard of Oz. Many letters of Thomas Jefferson—Mr. Tatsumi is very fond of Thomas Jefferson.”

“As was Mr. Dahmer,” said Jack.

Larry Muso did not hear him. “As I mentioned, Mr. Tatsumi enjoys reading The Gaudy Book. And he is not insensitive to your plight—”

“Which he heard about from Leonard.”

“Which he heard about from Leonard. And so, I am here to deliver a proposal to you—”

The glossy black palmtop disappeared back into his voluminous jacket, and Larry Muso slid a folder onto the table.

PROSPECTUS FOR PURCHASE OF

The Gaudy Book

19 APRIL 1999

GORITA-FOLHAM-IZED

THE GOLDEN FAMILY INTERNATIONAL

AN UNLIMITED PARTNERSHIP

In the center of the portfolio, the silvery holographic image of a skeletal gryphon reared and grasped within its claws a spinning orb.

“I see.” Jack stared at the portfolio, then picked it up. When he opened it, faint bells chimed, and a breathy female voice whispered The Golden Family Welcomes You. He flipped through the pages, incomprehensible sets of numbers, with here and there the small square IT image of an athletic-looking blond man in a conservative dark suit, poised to deliver instructive commentary to arbitrage-impaired readers.

Like me, thought Jack. He cleared his throat again, tapping the prospectus against his hand. “Well, okay. I’ll have our attorneys take a look at it.”

“Mr. Thrope suggested that perhaps you use his attorney, rather than Mr. Gardino.”

“Tell Mr. Thrope I’ll keep my own goddamn counsel.” To Jack’s horror he felt tears pricking at his eyes. He tossed the prospectus onto the table and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Muso—I have some things to do now—”

Larry Muso jumped to his feet. His knees knocked against the table, sending the prospectus sliding onto the floor. At once he stooped to retrieve it; Jack did the same. The two of them nearly collided, Larry straightening with the portfolio in his hand, his pompadour grazing Jack’s cheek as he stepped backward. At the touch of his hair Jack shivered, felt an involuntary frisson at how soft it was. Not hard and lacquered at all, but silky and fragrant with that expensive perfume. For an instant he imagined them somewhere else; not in bed but sitting side by side in some forever lost and ordinary place, a bookstore perhaps, an espresso bar, knees touching as they turned the pages of a magazine. The Gaudy Book, of course: the special anniversary double issue. He could smell new glossy paper and scalded milk and feel a hand resting upon his…

Then the vision was gone. He blinked, seeing again those odd whorls of light at the corners of his eyes, and drew back, trying to cover his confusion. When he looked up he saw Larry Muso staring at him: his cheeks were spotted each with a single bright red dot.

“Excuse me,” Larry Muso said in a low voice. He dropped the portfolio onto the table, where it clattered and whispered to itself.

“I’m sorry.” Jack shook his head. “I didn’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no—” Larry smiled, a false bright flash. “It is your decision, of course. Only we were under the impression that the magazine’s demise was—imminent. Perhaps we misunderstood… ?”