Chapter Sixteen
In which we reach the halfway point! Portia eavesdrops and Félix is busted.
(Be sure you scroll down before reading -- chapter fifteen was also just posted.)
Chapter Sixteen
"You're crazy. I'm telling you, it can't be done."
"I'm not considering actually doing it. I'm just saying I think it could, if you went about it the right way."
Portia, in her flannel pyjamas, heard the voices before she saw anyone; she was only coming down the stairs from the upper bedroom of the suite to get a glass of water, and possibly some of the excellent leftovers Annie had sent back to the hotel with them.
Oscar and Félix were sitting at a table near the giant wall of windows that looked out on New York City, illuminated by the glowing wall-clock (which gave a time best described as "sometime before dawn"), drinking beer and talking. Oscar was leaning on the table, arms folded, while Félix tipped the front two legs of his chair off the ground. She grinned, and lurked in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.
"Say, all right, say Bill Gates offered the city of Boston one billion dollars for the Museum of Fine Art," Félix was saying.
"Why Boston? Why one billion?"
"I don't know. He has six of them. Doesn't he? Or is it eight now?"
Osar shrugged. "You'd know better than I would."
"I should never have told you he golfs with my father. Here's the point, if you offer a billion dollars to the city of Boston in exchange for which you would get possession, physical and legal, of every work of art in the Museum of Fine Arts, including the building -- "
"Ugh, what an awful building, can we scrap the new wing? I promise we'll keep the Sargents."
"Oscar, be serious."
Oscar took a sip of his beer. "All right. So you're saying if you added up the worth of everything in a museum, plus the museum building and grounds, and offered that amount, the city wouldn't take it?"
"But if you offered a flat billion without adding anything up, I think they'd take it. A city could do a lot with a billion dollars."
"I could do a lot with a billion dollars," Oscar agreed.
"You think an entire museum's collection would be worth a billion dollars?" Portia asked, and both men jumped a little.
"Portia, come in, have a beer," Oscar said. "We were just discussing art and finance."
"I heard," she said, fixing a glass of water and seating herself in the chair Oscar kicked out for her. "In the middle of the night?"
"Félix couldn't sleep, I was up reading," Oscar shrugged. "What do you think?"
"I'm not sure whether the sheer amount of money would make up for the rest of it," Portia said. "I mean, museums are tourist attractions. They don't just exist as value, they bring in money by the year -- people staying in hotels, buying food, all that. Would you keep it open to the public?"
"Ah ah! That's not part of the deal. The deal is, one billion dollars for one museum, take it or leave it, no riders," Félix replied.
"I guess for a billion dollars you could build a new museum..." Portia said speculatively.
"Born businesswoman, she is," Félix said.
"How much would it cost to stock a new museum? I mean, most of them are based on people leaving their collections to the city, or a bunch of bigwigs building one..." Oscar mused. "I mean, can you put a value on some of the stuff, like the antiquities?"
"Sotheby's can," Félix grinned.
"I'd like to build a museum," Portia said. "Like that guy who came on to Oscar in Berlin."
Oscar rolled his eyes. "He didn't come on to me."
"Drink your beer," Portia ordered, and Oscar obediently sipped. "It'd be interesting though. In fact you know what I'd like to build? A museum that wasn't confusing."
"Doesn't exist," Oscar declared. "That's half the fun."
"Fun?" Félix asked, intrigued.
"Yeah, you know. Wandering around, getting lost -- "
"Walking twice the distance to make sure you don't miss anything..." Portia added bitterly.
"Tell you what, Portia, in your museum we'll print a "walk this way" stripe on the floor like they do in hospitals," Oscar replied. "That's when you really find wonder in the world, though. At least I think so."
"What?" Portia asked. Félix looked intrigued.
"Well, you know," Oscar said weakly. "That's when you're affected, when you're open because you're confused and being bombarded by things and...I think I need another beer before I can explain this."
Félix, laughing, leaned back and opened the refridgerator, procuring another bottle.
"So it's like this," Oscar said, between sips. "Surprise shocks us into honesty out of cynicism. That's why Shakespeare has the funeral right after the the gravedigger nonsense. When we're laughing, we're open; we don't expect someone to plunge in the knife. That's why intelligent people like dark comedies, because it's easier to get a real reaction."
"So?" Portia asked.
"So museums are designed to get lost in, because bewilderment causes the same thing. Haven't you ever been wandering around a museum and all of a sudden you come across something and it just takes your breath away? It's the same theory as an axe murderer leaping out of the broom closet. It scares us because we're open."
There was silence for a moment, until Portia spoke again.
"Once I was looking at something in a museum and I caught movement out of the corner of my eye -- there was this Greek head in a glass case, and my face was reflecting in the glass..." she said. "My face fit over hers perfectly."
"Well, you were born to rule," Félix grinned.
"Glad someone noticed," Portia sniffed.
"Instead she practices bossing us," Oscar added.
"You're the boss, boss."
"Yes, you cultivate that illusion with skill and grace."
"Are you working along towards drunk, Oscar?"
"Already there," Oscar said cheerfully. "Best way to get to sleep. Speaking of which," he said, tapping his fingers on the table, "We should. Sleep, I mean."
Félix winked at Portia. "Should we, Oscar?"
"Yes, we should." Oscar stood, more steadily than he might be credited with. "Which one's mine?"
"On the right," Félix said helpfully. Oscar stumbled sleepily away to the left, as Félix has predicted he would, and the other man took the bedroom on the right.
"Night, Félix," Portia called.
"Night, Gates," Félix called back, and Portia laughed as she climbed the stairs again.
***
"You've been picked up by People," were the first words out of Portia's mouth when Félix appeared, yawning, at the breakfast table the next morning. Oscar, who was getting rid of the beer taste in his mouth with orange juice, looked up in surprise.
"What did you do?" he asked, curiously.
"Nothing I know of," Félix replied, accepting the magazine from Portia. It was folded open to a dreadful collage, the kind that cheap star-stalker magazine editors love. A large photograph on one side showed Félix, Portia over one shoulder, and one of Oscar's elbows.
"They always cut him out," Félix sighed.
"Thank god," Oscar said, around a mouthful of granola.
"Million-dollar bad boy Félix Carvell has spent weeks -- " Félix read, in English, and then paused.
"Hear that? Watch out, Oscar, he's a bad boy," Portia chuckled. "Félix, what's wrong?"
Félix had bowed his head and was resting it on his knuckles. "Three...two...one..."
The telephone rang. Oscar and Portia both jumped.
"How did you..." Oscar began, as Portia answered.
"Why yes, it is...one minute please," she said, and offered the hotel phone to Félix. "I think it's your mother."
"You think?" Félix asked. "How can you tell?"
"Well, she asked if she was speaking to the American Whore, so it's either your mother or sister, and Danielle wouldn't say hello first."
Félix took the reciever while Oscar quietly cracked up into his cereal.
"Oui, maman," he said, walking back around Portia to the table the phone was sitting on.
"Pretend to make small talk," Portia said.
"What?" Oscar asked.
"Come on, pretend not to eavesdrop."
"Or I could actually not eavesdrop," Oscar replied. "Why are you so concerned with Félix's privacy all of a sudden?"
"He knew she was going to call, and he knows he's in some kind of trouble. What's so awful about that article? It's certainly not the worst he's ever had."
"Portia -- "
"Oscar, you don't listen to a man getting yelled at by his mother, that's just embarassing enough without having us listen in. Read me the article."
Oscar gave her a stern look, but he picked up the magazine. "Million dollar bad boy Félix Carvell has spent weeks trotting the globe with his oft-rumored girlfriend, American fashionista Portia Rainer -- listen to that, Portia, you're the Eva Peron of fashion -- in search of a place to call home."
"Keep going."
"Sources tell us that the ambitious leader of the club-kid pack is tired of Paris, and may be looking to settle down in New York City, Rainer's former hometown. Dd you think they're worried he's going to marry you?"
"They know I wouldn't have him. I guess it could be, but we've been publicly engaged at least three times, according to the gossip columnists. I've even been pregnant once, and they never called him."
"Mm, yes, telling," Oscar agreed. "Even New York will have to admit, after two or three weeks of Félix Carvell, that it's the city that might at least need a nap once in a while. Take a breather, Paris! We're sure he'll be back eventually."
"I don't see anything we haven't already seen," Portia mused.
"Except the globetrotting. How did they know that, anyway?"
"We haven't been exactly subtle," Portia pointed out. "The agent Félix fired probably told them. Surprised he didn't tell them about you, Oscar."
"They aren't interested in his architect, are they? They've already met me," Oscar said, alarmed. Portia gave him a pat on the arm.
"Poor, oblivious Oscar," she said, rising to refill her juice glass as Félix hung up the telephone. "How's your mother?" she asked.
"Furious," Félix replied.
"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm sure once we're married she'll come around," Portia said, kissing him on the cheek. He gave her a small grin.
"Not you, my dear," he said. "I have been properly scolded and recalled to Paris."
"Paris?" Oscar asked.
"I didn't....tell the whole truth," Félix said reluctantly. "To you or to my family, although I think -- I hope -- you won't mind as much."
"Naughty," Portia teased. "Félix, are we engaged?"
Félix sat again, folding his hands on the table and resting his chin on them. "I didn't tell my family I was leaving France. My mother always reads People the day it comes out...likes to see what fashion mistakes her friends have made. Not a bad way to keep track of her children, either," he added bitterly.
"Why wouldn't you tell your parents?" Oscar asked, bewildered.
"You have met my parents, Oscar?" Félix sighed.
"Oh. Right."
"She called me regarding my vacation plans. Apparently she's already spoken to the agent. You can imagine what he said."
"Busted," Portia drawled. "When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow."
"Why?" Oscar said. They both looked at him.
"Why what?"
"Well, your investments are mostly independent, right? Trust fund's in your name only. And it's not like they could have you arrested for not living in France. So uh, unless you want to go back...why are you?"
Félix frowned. "Because they're the family, Oscar. I'm sure that if it were Danielle who wanted me back in France, and I didn't go, I would find myself in France at any rate."
"I'm not sure I like having her the heir apparent to Carvell Incorporated," Portia said softly.
"I have to go," Félix said. "I do. They're family."
"Should we even look at the house Alf wanted to show?" Oscar asked, a trifle bitterly.
"I don't see why not," Félix replied. "We can see it today and leave tomorrow. If, if you want to leave," he added hesitantly. "To come back with me, I mean."
"Why wouldn't we?" Portia asked.
"Your family..." Félix sketched a vague gesture in the air. "I wouldn't want to go back if I were you."
"Well, yeah, I love them, but...much...more from a distance," Oscar temporized. "You know me."
"Home is where you make it," Félix said, mugging a wry grin. "All right. My parents may want to shout at you."
"I take shouting well," Oscar offered.
"I shout back," Portia added.
Félix beamed.
"I'm going to call Alf, have him meet us downstairs. You'd better pay him a good fee," Oscar warned. "Since you're planning on wasting his time."
"A king's ransom," Félix promised.
(Be sure you scroll down before reading -- chapter fifteen was also just posted.)
Chapter Sixteen
"You're crazy. I'm telling you, it can't be done."
"I'm not considering actually doing it. I'm just saying I think it could, if you went about it the right way."
Portia, in her flannel pyjamas, heard the voices before she saw anyone; she was only coming down the stairs from the upper bedroom of the suite to get a glass of water, and possibly some of the excellent leftovers Annie had sent back to the hotel with them.
Oscar and Félix were sitting at a table near the giant wall of windows that looked out on New York City, illuminated by the glowing wall-clock (which gave a time best described as "sometime before dawn"), drinking beer and talking. Oscar was leaning on the table, arms folded, while Félix tipped the front two legs of his chair off the ground. She grinned, and lurked in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.
"Say, all right, say Bill Gates offered the city of Boston one billion dollars for the Museum of Fine Art," Félix was saying.
"Why Boston? Why one billion?"
"I don't know. He has six of them. Doesn't he? Or is it eight now?"
Osar shrugged. "You'd know better than I would."
"I should never have told you he golfs with my father. Here's the point, if you offer a billion dollars to the city of Boston in exchange for which you would get possession, physical and legal, of every work of art in the Museum of Fine Arts, including the building -- "
"Ugh, what an awful building, can we scrap the new wing? I promise we'll keep the Sargents."
"Oscar, be serious."
Oscar took a sip of his beer. "All right. So you're saying if you added up the worth of everything in a museum, plus the museum building and grounds, and offered that amount, the city wouldn't take it?"
"But if you offered a flat billion without adding anything up, I think they'd take it. A city could do a lot with a billion dollars."
"I could do a lot with a billion dollars," Oscar agreed.
"You think an entire museum's collection would be worth a billion dollars?" Portia asked, and both men jumped a little.
"Portia, come in, have a beer," Oscar said. "We were just discussing art and finance."
"I heard," she said, fixing a glass of water and seating herself in the chair Oscar kicked out for her. "In the middle of the night?"
"Félix couldn't sleep, I was up reading," Oscar shrugged. "What do you think?"
"I'm not sure whether the sheer amount of money would make up for the rest of it," Portia said. "I mean, museums are tourist attractions. They don't just exist as value, they bring in money by the year -- people staying in hotels, buying food, all that. Would you keep it open to the public?"
"Ah ah! That's not part of the deal. The deal is, one billion dollars for one museum, take it or leave it, no riders," Félix replied.
"I guess for a billion dollars you could build a new museum..." Portia said speculatively.
"Born businesswoman, she is," Félix said.
"How much would it cost to stock a new museum? I mean, most of them are based on people leaving their collections to the city, or a bunch of bigwigs building one..." Oscar mused. "I mean, can you put a value on some of the stuff, like the antiquities?"
"Sotheby's can," Félix grinned.
"I'd like to build a museum," Portia said. "Like that guy who came on to Oscar in Berlin."
Oscar rolled his eyes. "He didn't come on to me."
"Drink your beer," Portia ordered, and Oscar obediently sipped. "It'd be interesting though. In fact you know what I'd like to build? A museum that wasn't confusing."
"Doesn't exist," Oscar declared. "That's half the fun."
"Fun?" Félix asked, intrigued.
"Yeah, you know. Wandering around, getting lost -- "
"Walking twice the distance to make sure you don't miss anything..." Portia added bitterly.
"Tell you what, Portia, in your museum we'll print a "walk this way" stripe on the floor like they do in hospitals," Oscar replied. "That's when you really find wonder in the world, though. At least I think so."
"What?" Portia asked. Félix looked intrigued.
"Well, you know," Oscar said weakly. "That's when you're affected, when you're open because you're confused and being bombarded by things and...I think I need another beer before I can explain this."
Félix, laughing, leaned back and opened the refridgerator, procuring another bottle.
"So it's like this," Oscar said, between sips. "Surprise shocks us into honesty out of cynicism. That's why Shakespeare has the funeral right after the the gravedigger nonsense. When we're laughing, we're open; we don't expect someone to plunge in the knife. That's why intelligent people like dark comedies, because it's easier to get a real reaction."
"So?" Portia asked.
"So museums are designed to get lost in, because bewilderment causes the same thing. Haven't you ever been wandering around a museum and all of a sudden you come across something and it just takes your breath away? It's the same theory as an axe murderer leaping out of the broom closet. It scares us because we're open."
There was silence for a moment, until Portia spoke again.
"Once I was looking at something in a museum and I caught movement out of the corner of my eye -- there was this Greek head in a glass case, and my face was reflecting in the glass..." she said. "My face fit over hers perfectly."
"Well, you were born to rule," Félix grinned.
"Glad someone noticed," Portia sniffed.
"Instead she practices bossing us," Oscar added.
"You're the boss, boss."
"Yes, you cultivate that illusion with skill and grace."
"Are you working along towards drunk, Oscar?"
"Already there," Oscar said cheerfully. "Best way to get to sleep. Speaking of which," he said, tapping his fingers on the table, "We should. Sleep, I mean."
Félix winked at Portia. "Should we, Oscar?"
"Yes, we should." Oscar stood, more steadily than he might be credited with. "Which one's mine?"
"On the right," Félix said helpfully. Oscar stumbled sleepily away to the left, as Félix has predicted he would, and the other man took the bedroom on the right.
"Night, Félix," Portia called.
"Night, Gates," Félix called back, and Portia laughed as she climbed the stairs again.
***
"You've been picked up by People," were the first words out of Portia's mouth when Félix appeared, yawning, at the breakfast table the next morning. Oscar, who was getting rid of the beer taste in his mouth with orange juice, looked up in surprise.
"What did you do?" he asked, curiously.
"Nothing I know of," Félix replied, accepting the magazine from Portia. It was folded open to a dreadful collage, the kind that cheap star-stalker magazine editors love. A large photograph on one side showed Félix, Portia over one shoulder, and one of Oscar's elbows.
"They always cut him out," Félix sighed.
"Thank god," Oscar said, around a mouthful of granola.
"Million-dollar bad boy Félix Carvell has spent weeks -- " Félix read, in English, and then paused.
"Hear that? Watch out, Oscar, he's a bad boy," Portia chuckled. "Félix, what's wrong?"
Félix had bowed his head and was resting it on his knuckles. "Three...two...one..."
The telephone rang. Oscar and Portia both jumped.
"How did you..." Oscar began, as Portia answered.
"Why yes, it is...one minute please," she said, and offered the hotel phone to Félix. "I think it's your mother."
"You think?" Félix asked. "How can you tell?"
"Well, she asked if she was speaking to the American Whore, so it's either your mother or sister, and Danielle wouldn't say hello first."
Félix took the reciever while Oscar quietly cracked up into his cereal.
"Oui, maman," he said, walking back around Portia to the table the phone was sitting on.
"Pretend to make small talk," Portia said.
"What?" Oscar asked.
"Come on, pretend not to eavesdrop."
"Or I could actually not eavesdrop," Oscar replied. "Why are you so concerned with Félix's privacy all of a sudden?"
"He knew she was going to call, and he knows he's in some kind of trouble. What's so awful about that article? It's certainly not the worst he's ever had."
"Portia -- "
"Oscar, you don't listen to a man getting yelled at by his mother, that's just embarassing enough without having us listen in. Read me the article."
Oscar gave her a stern look, but he picked up the magazine. "Million dollar bad boy Félix Carvell has spent weeks trotting the globe with his oft-rumored girlfriend, American fashionista Portia Rainer -- listen to that, Portia, you're the Eva Peron of fashion -- in search of a place to call home."
"Keep going."
"Sources tell us that the ambitious leader of the club-kid pack is tired of Paris, and may be looking to settle down in New York City, Rainer's former hometown. Dd you think they're worried he's going to marry you?"
"They know I wouldn't have him. I guess it could be, but we've been publicly engaged at least three times, according to the gossip columnists. I've even been pregnant once, and they never called him."
"Mm, yes, telling," Oscar agreed. "Even New York will have to admit, after two or three weeks of Félix Carvell, that it's the city that might at least need a nap once in a while. Take a breather, Paris! We're sure he'll be back eventually."
"I don't see anything we haven't already seen," Portia mused.
"Except the globetrotting. How did they know that, anyway?"
"We haven't been exactly subtle," Portia pointed out. "The agent Félix fired probably told them. Surprised he didn't tell them about you, Oscar."
"They aren't interested in his architect, are they? They've already met me," Oscar said, alarmed. Portia gave him a pat on the arm.
"Poor, oblivious Oscar," she said, rising to refill her juice glass as Félix hung up the telephone. "How's your mother?" she asked.
"Furious," Félix replied.
"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm sure once we're married she'll come around," Portia said, kissing him on the cheek. He gave her a small grin.
"Not you, my dear," he said. "I have been properly scolded and recalled to Paris."
"Paris?" Oscar asked.
"I didn't....tell the whole truth," Félix said reluctantly. "To you or to my family, although I think -- I hope -- you won't mind as much."
"Naughty," Portia teased. "Félix, are we engaged?"
Félix sat again, folding his hands on the table and resting his chin on them. "I didn't tell my family I was leaving France. My mother always reads People the day it comes out...likes to see what fashion mistakes her friends have made. Not a bad way to keep track of her children, either," he added bitterly.
"Why wouldn't you tell your parents?" Oscar asked, bewildered.
"You have met my parents, Oscar?" Félix sighed.
"Oh. Right."
"She called me regarding my vacation plans. Apparently she's already spoken to the agent. You can imagine what he said."
"Busted," Portia drawled. "When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow."
"Why?" Oscar said. They both looked at him.
"Why what?"
"Well, your investments are mostly independent, right? Trust fund's in your name only. And it's not like they could have you arrested for not living in France. So uh, unless you want to go back...why are you?"
Félix frowned. "Because they're the family, Oscar. I'm sure that if it were Danielle who wanted me back in France, and I didn't go, I would find myself in France at any rate."
"I'm not sure I like having her the heir apparent to Carvell Incorporated," Portia said softly.
"I have to go," Félix said. "I do. They're family."
"Should we even look at the house Alf wanted to show?" Oscar asked, a trifle bitterly.
"I don't see why not," Félix replied. "We can see it today and leave tomorrow. If, if you want to leave," he added hesitantly. "To come back with me, I mean."
"Why wouldn't we?" Portia asked.
"Your family..." Félix sketched a vague gesture in the air. "I wouldn't want to go back if I were you."
"Well, yeah, I love them, but...much...more from a distance," Oscar temporized. "You know me."
"Home is where you make it," Félix said, mugging a wry grin. "All right. My parents may want to shout at you."
"I take shouting well," Oscar offered.
"I shout back," Portia added.
Félix beamed.
"I'm going to call Alf, have him meet us downstairs. You'd better pay him a good fee," Oscar warned. "Since you're planning on wasting his time."
"A king's ransom," Félix promised.