Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 03 - In Good Faith by Catharine Bramkamp

mother suggested it.”
    “Why do I think your mother is some kind of superhero?”
    “She is, on her own tightly controlled planet. She is the Little Prince; she lives in her own world, and so, is the queen. Since you asked, there’s an event at the Lost Art Museum. I thought we’d go, and I could ask if anyone came across pieces of Beverley’s collection.”
    The word pieces was a good one. I paused for a moment to swallow my shrimp again. I remember the last time the Executive Director of the Lost Art Museum and I spent time together was during a particularly difficult period that involved controversial art, my own difficult clients, and the Executive Director’s poor - now late - father. That exchange didn’t end well, either.
    “ Come, we can look at our panel again.” Ben cajoled.
    “ And the new bathrooms you paid for.”
    He nodded.
    “Sure, send me the invitation.” I acquiesced.
    I realized, that since we first met, I spent too many nights worrying about whether or not I could afford Ben. Despite my grandmother Prue ’s insistence that I should only marry for love (that’s another story), I was still wary.  Discovering that Ben could, after all, actually support himself left me feeling awkward and embarrassed about my own doubts. Did I secretly want him to need me financially? Was that my only contribution to the relationship? Nope, I was also excellent at getting him into trouble.
    Carrie and Patrick arrived. Carrie, bless her heart, managed to look much better than the President/CEO’s secretary at about 1/100 of the cost.  Carrie wore the same red dress she had worn to seduce Patrick. Judging from the way Patrick held her arm and casually pulled her close as they talked, the dress was still working.
    Carrie accepted a flute of sparkling wine and smiled winningly at the President and CEO who hurried over to greet Patrick, who, in turn, nodded solemnly and looked official.
    Patrick Sullivan, born into money, understands his place and his job. He doesn’t  relax until he is far from the public eye.  Carrie assures me Patrick really is great fun. She reported that he accurately mimics the full Steven Martin Wild and Crazy Guy DVD without missing a single joke. He even owns a banjo and a fake arrow that he wears on his head in the evening. 
    I should ask him to recite my favorite scene from Picasso at the Lapin Agile .
    Ben blew in my ear . “Hey.” 
    His color was a bit better. When a fundraising volunteer gets too close, Ben retreats. I wondered if he contracted hives during the PBS pledge week. Maybe, he left town.
    “Having fun yet?” I asked.
    “How much should I give them?”
    “Let’s wait until after the dinner; you still need to critic the menu.”
    “Patrick.” Ben reached around me and shook Patrick’s hand. Ben, we may add here, was not wearing a tuxedo; he wore an old suit, not so old that the general population would notice, but it was old enough so that I noticed, and people such as Martha Anderson and the secretary draped in sequins, would notice. I sensed this was an old habit.  I wonder if his attitude bothered Beverley, who reported always made a grand  entrance, while Ben clearly enjoyed playing the role of awkward escort: wrong suit, wrong shoes, indifferent tie. Very passive aggressive. 
    I hadn’t the heart to point out that the old suit gambit only made every woman in the room want to take him home and reform him, or at least make him change . And watch him do it. 
    We fell comfortably behind Patrick and Carrie’s wake. They moved together as if they were already a royal couple. Carrie’s dark hair contrasted dramatically against the red dress. Even in her high heels, her head barely reached Patrick’s shoulder. She looked delicious. Without her rival, Carrie had clearly come into her own. Since she began her career in Rivers Bend as a secretary for the Senior Center, this must be sweet indeed.
    Ben leaned into me. “They work well together.”
    Carrie