replied.
“You’re happy as a clam, Andrew Ricci. You’re a man in love.”
“And you, Dana McGarry, have your eyes on a country home and taking care of rug rats. Just make sure the rugs come from B. Altman’s carpet section on the fifth floor.”
“That’s a given. Now what shall we select for the Christmas party? I was thinking of a mousseline of lobster, a truffled pate, salmon trout tartare, and assorted tartes flambées.”
“It’s a good thing you asked me to come along and help. First, what about quiche? Are you having a Christmas party or a clambake?”
“A dreadful oversight,” Dana said with fake dramatic flair. “Brett hates it, but if he’s going to buy a house in Bedford, then he can handle the quiche as well.”
“Next, he’ll be baking bread and attending Lamaze classes,” Andrew joked. “But back to the matter at hand. You have to include gougeres with blue cheese. I insist.”
Dana put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “The runner has stumbled. Gougeres with gruyere or nothing at all,” she said emphatically.
“Very well,” said Andrew. “Boring, boring, boring.”
The two friends burst into laughter at the imagined gravity of their conversation.
“We haven’t done that in a long time,” Andrew observed.
“
Too
long,” Dana agreed. “Maybe it’s because we’re both in good spirits today.”
Andrew looked around the patisserie while Dana placed her order. He supposed she was right. He was indeed happy, but he also knew that sometimes happiness came with a price. He wondered if Dana had learned that lesson yet.
Dana rejoined him and they were about to leave Lenôtre when Andrew took his friend’s hand and halted. “Come over here for a minute,” he told Dana. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. I hired him as a consultant for the installation of the store’s American Designer’s Gallery.”
They walked to a table in the corner where Andrew’s friend was sitting with a woman with her back to them. The man looked up, smiled, and stood. “Andrew Ricci! How are you?”
“Great,” Andrew said. “Max, this is Dana McGarry. Dana, this is Max Helm, Curator of American Decorative Arts at the Metropolitan Museum.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dana,” Max said. “I’d like you both to meet my friend, Rosamond Bernier.”
Bernier turned in her chair, smiled, and shook their hands. Dana’s heart skipped a beat as she stood inches away from one of New York’s most glamorous and adored women.
Rosamond Bernier was a world-renowned art lecturer who was a close friend of some of the most important artists of the twentieth century. When Henri Matisse, for example, was bedridden, he invited Rosamond to his home to show her his new creations from miniature cut-outs. Picasso had urged her to travel to Barcelona and report on a collection of his early work. Her interviews regularly appeared on television, and in 1955 she co-founded the art magazine
L’OEIL
, which featured the works of the masters of the School of Paris. Leonard Bernstein had proclaimed that she had a gift for instant communication, and she had lectured at the Louvre in Paris. She’d begun a career as a lecturer in 1971 and gave yearly sold-out lectures at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Andrew and Dana had attended her series without fail for the past three years, hanging on her every word. Though seated, she was a tall slender woman. She had a pretty, oval face, an aquiline nose, and a broad, welcoming smile.
“It’s an honor, Ms. Bernier,” Dana said. “Andrew and I never miss your lectures, and we loved your talk last week on Picasso. And I absolutely adored the Balenciaga that you were wearing—my favorite this season.”
“How very kind of you to say so,” Bernier said in her inimitable and cultivated voice. “I never tire of talking about Picasso. He helped launch our magazine with his Albrecht Altdorfer drawings based on
The Body of St. Sebastian Recovered from the
“You’re happy as a clam, Andrew Ricci. You’re a man in love.”
“And you, Dana McGarry, have your eyes on a country home and taking care of rug rats. Just make sure the rugs come from B. Altman’s carpet section on the fifth floor.”
“That’s a given. Now what shall we select for the Christmas party? I was thinking of a mousseline of lobster, a truffled pate, salmon trout tartare, and assorted tartes flambées.”
“It’s a good thing you asked me to come along and help. First, what about quiche? Are you having a Christmas party or a clambake?”
“A dreadful oversight,” Dana said with fake dramatic flair. “Brett hates it, but if he’s going to buy a house in Bedford, then he can handle the quiche as well.”
“Next, he’ll be baking bread and attending Lamaze classes,” Andrew joked. “But back to the matter at hand. You have to include gougeres with blue cheese. I insist.”
Dana put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “The runner has stumbled. Gougeres with gruyere or nothing at all,” she said emphatically.
“Very well,” said Andrew. “Boring, boring, boring.”
The two friends burst into laughter at the imagined gravity of their conversation.
“We haven’t done that in a long time,” Andrew observed.
“
Too
long,” Dana agreed. “Maybe it’s because we’re both in good spirits today.”
Andrew looked around the patisserie while Dana placed her order. He supposed she was right. He was indeed happy, but he also knew that sometimes happiness came with a price. He wondered if Dana had learned that lesson yet.
Dana rejoined him and they were about to leave Lenôtre when Andrew took his friend’s hand and halted. “Come over here for a minute,” he told Dana. “I want you to meet a friend of mine. I hired him as a consultant for the installation of the store’s American Designer’s Gallery.”
They walked to a table in the corner where Andrew’s friend was sitting with a woman with her back to them. The man looked up, smiled, and stood. “Andrew Ricci! How are you?”
“Great,” Andrew said. “Max, this is Dana McGarry. Dana, this is Max Helm, Curator of American Decorative Arts at the Metropolitan Museum.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dana,” Max said. “I’d like you both to meet my friend, Rosamond Bernier.”
Bernier turned in her chair, smiled, and shook their hands. Dana’s heart skipped a beat as she stood inches away from one of New York’s most glamorous and adored women.
Rosamond Bernier was a world-renowned art lecturer who was a close friend of some of the most important artists of the twentieth century. When Henri Matisse, for example, was bedridden, he invited Rosamond to his home to show her his new creations from miniature cut-outs. Picasso had urged her to travel to Barcelona and report on a collection of his early work. Her interviews regularly appeared on television, and in 1955 she co-founded the art magazine
L’OEIL
, which featured the works of the masters of the School of Paris. Leonard Bernstein had proclaimed that she had a gift for instant communication, and she had lectured at the Louvre in Paris. She’d begun a career as a lecturer in 1971 and gave yearly sold-out lectures at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Andrew and Dana had attended her series without fail for the past three years, hanging on her every word. Though seated, she was a tall slender woman. She had a pretty, oval face, an aquiline nose, and a broad, welcoming smile.
“It’s an honor, Ms. Bernier,” Dana said. “Andrew and I never miss your lectures, and we loved your talk last week on Picasso. And I absolutely adored the Balenciaga that you were wearing—my favorite this season.”
“How very kind of you to say so,” Bernier said in her inimitable and cultivated voice. “I never tire of talking about Picasso. He helped launch our magazine with his Albrecht Altdorfer drawings based on
The Body of St. Sebastian Recovered from the
Similar Books
