“Fine. I have three projects in the works, Paul.”
“You’re not getting in over your head, are you, Lara?”
He sounded like Howard Keller. “No. Every job is on budget and on schedule.”
“That’s good, baby. I wouldn’t want anything to ever go wrong for you.”
“Nothing will.” She put her hand on his. “You’re my safety net.”
“I’ll always be there.” He squeezed her hand.
Two weeks went by, and Lara had not heard from Philip Adler. She sent for Keller. “Did you make that ten-thousand dollar contribution to the Adler Foundation?”
“Yes, the day you mentioned it.”
“Strange. I would have thought he would have called me.”
Keller shrugged. “He’s probably traveling somewhere.”
“Probably.” She tried to conceal her disappointment. “Let’s talk about the building in Queens.”
“That’s going to take a big financial bite out of us,” Keller said.
“I know how to protect us. I’d like to lock the deal in with one tenant.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“Yes. Mutual Security Insurance. The president is a man named Horace Guttman. I’ve heard they’re looking for a new location. I’d like it to be our building.”
“I’ll check it out,” Keller said.
Lara noticed that he made no notes. “You constantly amaze me. You remember everything, don’t you?”
Keller grinned. “I have a photographic memory. It used to be for baseball statistics.” It all seems so long ago, Howard thought. The kid with the magic arm, the star of the Chicago Cubs minor league. Someone else and another time. “Sometimes it’s a curse. There are a few things in my life I’d like to forget.”
“Howard, have the architect go ahead and draw up the plans for the Queens building. Find out how many floors Mutual Security will need, and how much floor space.”
Two days later Keller walked into Lara’s office. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I did a little snooping around. You were right about Mutual Security Insurance. They are looking for a new headquarters, but Guttman is thinking about a building in Union Square. It’s your old friend Steve Murchison’s building.”
Murchison again! She was sure that the box of dirt had been sent by him. I’m not going to let him bluff me.
“Has Guttman committed to it?” Lara asked.
“Not yet.”
“All right. I’ll handle it.”
That afternoon Lara made a dozen phone calls. She hit the jackpot on the last call. Barbara Roswell.
“Horace Guttman? Sure, I know him, Lara. What’s your interest in him?”
“I’d like to meet him. I’m a big fan of his. I want you to do me a favor. Could you please invite him to dinner next Saturday night, Barbara?”
“You’ve got it.”
The dinner party was simple but elegant. There were fourteen people at the Roswell residence. Alice Guttman wasn’t feeling well that evening, so Horace Guttman had come to the party alone. Lara had been seated next to him. He was in his sixties, but he seemed much older. He had a stern, worn face and a stubborn chin. Lara looked enchanting, provocative. She was wearing a low-cut black Halston gown and simple but stunning jewelry. They had had their cocktails and were seated at the dining table.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Lara confessed. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, young lady. You’ve made quite a splash in this town.”
“I hope I’m making a contribution,” Lara said modestly. “It’s such a wonderful town.”
“Where are you from?”
“Gary, Indiana.”
“Really?” He looked at her in surprise. “That’s where I was born. So, you’re a Hoosier, eh?”
Lara smiled. “That’s right. I have such fond memories of Gary. My father worked for the Post-Tribune. I went to Roosevelt High. On weekends we’d go to Gleason Park for picnics and outdoor concerts, or we’d go bowling at the Twelve and Twenty. I hated having to leave.”
“You’ve done well for yourself, Miss Cameron.”
“Lara.”
“Lara. What are you up to these days?”
“The project I’m most excited about,” Lara told him, “is a new building I’m putting up in Queens. It’s going to have thirty stories and two hundred thousand square feet of floor space.”