The Favoured, The Fair and Ms. Vérité Claire

4 Hearts Of Palm (part 2)

"Here he is!" Donald Claire said, rising to greet them. His hair and moustache were the same gleaming white of his sister's. His smile held genuine warmth as Orson shook his hand.

"Hello Donald."

"Orson, this is my partner Brick Welland."

The lean, pomaded gentlemen offered his own generous hand to Orson without getting up. His eyes transfixed on Julia left them shaking a little too long.

"And I believe you have met with most of the agency team," Donald continued. He introduced the first of three other men sitting in the booth as FNW agency President, Hal Aster, an attractive man, although with a rather disproportionately large Franken-head. Next up was the bushy-browed and jowly accounts man, Gene Gersham, already down to three empty glasses. Last but not least, was the impossibly blue-eyed, cleft-chinned creative, Brom Grady, Orson's former partner and accuser, so attractive to Julia's mind that she distrusted him immediately.

Orson nodded to each as a means of avoiding shaking hands, detesting them cordially.

Donald cleared his throat. "Don't look now Orson, but you seem to have something beautiful stuck to your coat."

"Of course, gentlemen, this is Julia Swift."

Hellos went around like auction paddles.

"A pleasure to finally meet you," Donald said without really giving anything away. "Any friend of my sister's is off limits to me!"

"I have been likewise warned, Mr. Claire," Julia smiled, recognizing the familial regal eccentricity.

"Ahh, so that's where he dug you up?" Brick said, looking at Orson amiably.

"My sister's instincts are uncanny," Donald said. "I never go to the racetrack without her."

He was as Julia imagined the Wizard of Oz might be in a version where he was really a wizard and not a charlatan salesman. Ironically, he seemed to be surrounded by them.

Fancy men in fancy suits, she summed them up. She knew the type. Dogs playing poker would've been more impressive, though Gene Gersham could've passed for a mastiff.

Brick chuckled. "Enough with the formalities, Don, these guys go way back."

"Yes, I've heard some stories," Donald said, without elaborating.

"Which version?" Gene slurped. "Where Brom's teeth go down the sewer grate or where Orson wears them around his neck?"

Well, that's not disturbing, Julia thought.

Orson bore a mirthless smile. "You always were the hair on the soap, Gene."

Hal Aster rose to his feet and extended his arm to Orson knowing full well it was an olive branch Orson could not publicly refuse. "Tough Calls was my first Boy Scout badge. No hard feelings?"

"None tonight," Orson said and shook it.

Julia could not help but admire the way Orson was likewise able to hide in plain sight. Gone was his grizzle replaced with edgeless confidence. He was the lead pipe she had first met, an invention of necessity that knew brass was shiny but easily bent. But how literally?

"So, Orson," Hal said, reclining back into his chair. "What have you been up to lately?"

"Getting some perspective. Dabbling."

"Until the restraining order expired," Gene dared again.

"One at a time, Gene," Orson said. "That's what I always say."