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On the way down to the town car, I call Aunt Gia. She thinks texting is rude. You either have to call her, visit in person, or write a letter. You’d think she was born in the early 1900s.
“I’ve been wondering if you’d forgotten me,” she says instead of hello.
“Never. You’re always on my mind.”
“But never in the flesh.”
“I want to see you right now. Are you free?” I nod a silent thanks to my driver, who holds the door open for me.
“I presume you want something, but if that’s what it takes to see your face, I’ll endure. I’ll see you shortly?”
“I’m on my way.”
Aunt Gia lives in a brownstone on the Upper West Side. She’s always preferred the west to the east because the river views are prettier at sunset than sunrise. “No decent human gets up before eight, darling,” she’d said to me.
“How is she?” I ask Nelson, Aunt Gia’s majordomo. He screens all her callers, reviews her mail, manages the staff. If Nelson doesn’t like you, he’ll make sure Aunt Gia forgets you exist.
He takes my coat and a box of cigars I hand-selected for him. Always stay on the good side of Nelson. “Perturbed.”
“I’m going to view that as promising as it’s at least one level below angry.”
“Only one though.”
“I’ve got good news for her, so prepare the champagne. She’ll be asking for it.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“I’d tell you, Nelson, but you know Aunt Gia will want to be the first to know.”
He gives me a terse nod of agreement and shows me to Aunt Gia’s study. She’s a collector, like Harlow’s grandmother, but instead of porcelain figurines and Irish crochet doilies, it’s Fabergé. From the eggs to the less well-known but equally as beautiful brooches, pendants, and snuff cases, the famed jeweler’s works are under lock and key in glass cases lining the walls. It’s the stuff in here that Nelson protects with his life, along with Aunt Gia, of course.
“You look vaguely like my nephew, Calix, but it’s been so long I don’t know if I could tell an imposter from the real thing. Your hair is very long, though, which is something Calix would have despite my constant requests that he cut it.” She lifts her gold—Fabergé, of course—glasses off her nose and holds them to her eyes. I lean down and kiss her forehead.
“Here, let me know if this helps identify me.” I hand her a box wrapped in silver tissue.
“Hmm. From Sotheby’s? I don’t recall anything going up for auction that I would’ve liked.”
“I know better than to buy anything at auction. Why would I bid against you?” I take a seat opposite her and pour myself a coffee. While she’s busy unwrapping the gift, Nelson appears with a big juicy slice of prime rib.
“Thank you, friend. Looks great.”
“My God, Calix, where did you find this?” Aunt Gia holds up the small, two-inch-long nephrite hippopotamus with diamonds for eyes.
“I heard from a friend of a friend that someone needed some quick cash and had a few unusual Fabergé items.”
“A few?” She clutches the hippo to her chest. “Where are the others?”
“Don’t be greedy, Aunt Gia. This beef is spectacular, Nelson. Give my thanks to the chef.”
“Will do. Is there anything else?”
“Not for me. Aunt Gia?”
“Yes, I’m going to need some torture devices so that I can wrench the other Fabergé items from this child.”
“How about we hold off on the threats and do some bargaining?”
Aunt Gia’s eyes narrow, and her face sharpens. She hasn’t held the majority of the family wealth for twenty-some odd years without being savvier than most Wall Street bankers. “What do you have in mind?”
