The Burnt Orange Heresy

"I see. You turned a lukewarm chunk of small talk into a big deal. And now I have to go with you to get you off the hook."

"I wouldn't put it that way. He bought a picture from me, James, one of the primitives-the big one with the huge pile of different kinds of fruit. For his colored cook to hang in the kitchen."

"No Westcotts?"

"He didn't like Herb's pictures very well. I could tell, although he didn't say anything one way or another."

"I think he did. Buying a Haitian primitive for his cook says something, don't you think?' Do I need another shave?"

She felt my chin with the tips of her fingers. "I don't think so. Brush your teeth, though. Your breath is simply awful."

"That's from the Mexican dinner I had earlier."

I dressed in gray slacks, a white shirt, and brown leather tie, dark brown loafers, and a gray-and-white striped seersucker jacket, resolving to take my soiled dinner jacket to the cleaner's in the morning. I remember how calm I was, and how well my mind seemed to be functioning after only two hours of sleep. All of my muscles were loose and stretchy. There was a spring to my step, as though I were wearing cushioned soles. I was in a pleasant mood, so much so that I pinched old Gloria through her girdle as we left the apartment.

"Oh, for God's sake, James!"

As we drove toward the Royal Palm Towers, a sevenstory horror of poured concrete, in Gloria's white Pontiac, I found myself looking forward to meeting Mr. Cassidy and to seeing his paintings. He was bound to have a few pichires in his apartment, although his famous collection was safe in Chicago. I wondered, as well, why he had elected to live in the Royal Palm Towers, which overlooked Lake Worth instead of the Atlantic. He would be able to see the Atlantic from his rooftop patio, but only from a distance, and that wasn't the same as being on the beach.

The Towers was a formless mixture of rental apartments, condominium apartments, hotel rooms, and rental suites. The corporation that owned the building had overlooked very little in the way of income-producing cells. There were rental offices on the mezzanine (Cassidy also had a suite of offices there), and on the ground floor the corporation leased space for shops of all kinds, including a small art gallery. The coffee shop, the lounge-bar, and the dining room were all leased to various entrepreneurs. The corporation itself invested nothing in services and took from everybody. Cassidy probably maintained the penthouse, I decided, because the Royal Palm Towers was one of the few apartment hotels in Palm Beach that remained open all year round.

Many New Yorkers, who didn't like Florida for its climate, loved the state because there was no state income tax. By maintaining a residence for six months and one day in Florida they could beat New York's state income tax. An ignoble but practical motive for moving one's residence and business headquarters to Florida.

"Where," I asked Gloria, "did you get the Haitian primitives?"

"A widow in Lauderdale sold them to me." She giggled. "For a song. Her husband just died, and she sold everything-house, furniture, collection, and all. She was moving back to Indiana to live with her daughter and grandchildren."

"You priced the Marcel too low, baby. You can get more than fifteen hundred for it."

"I doubt it, and I can't lose anything-not when I only paid twenty-five dollars for it."

"You're a thief and a bitch."

Gloria giggled. "You're a blackguard. What have you done with Berenice?"

"She went back to Minnesota. I don't want to talk about her, Gloria."

"She's an awfully nice girl, James."

"I said I don't want to talk about her, Gloria."

We took the elevator to the penthouse, but the door didn't open automatically. There was a small one-way window on the steel door (a mirror on our side), and the Filipino houseboy checked us out before pressing the door release from his side. There was probably a release button concealed somewhere within the elevator cage. There had to be. Cassidy couldn't keep someone in his penthouse at all times, just to push a button and let him in-or could he?' The very rich do a lot of strange things.

The party was not a large one. Seven people counting Mr. Cassidy. Gloria and I brought the total to nine. It was the kind of party where it is assumed that everyone knows one another and therefore no one is introduced. There are many parties like that in Palm Beach. The main idea is to eat first, and then drink as much as possible before the bar is closed or the liquor runs out. If one feels the need to talk to someone, he introduces himself or starts talking to someone without giving his name. It makes very little difference. Mr. Cassidy had to know everyone there-at least slightly-to brief the Filipino houseboy on the person's credentials for admittance.