Riverside Park by Laura van Wormer Page A

had been nervous her mother would think her cheap or something.)
    On the shelves were other pretty or well-made things that had caught her eye: a variety of crystal doorknobs, an iron crucifix, a satin rope pull, a small circular silver serving tray, a crystal decanter (without its stopper), a silver calling-card holder. She also had a box holding Victorian calling cards she had been collecting forever.
    Charlie was staring at the wall behind her. She laughed. “Isee you’ve spotted Madame X,” she said, turning to look at the ink-and-watercolor sketch hanging next to the powder-room door. “It’s not a Sargent sketch,” she said, “but it sure looks like Madame X in the Met, doesn’t it? My guess is someone made a sketch of the real thing. Or maybe they copied it from a print.”
    â€œWhere did you get it?”
    â€œI talked my father into buying it for me at an estate sale in White Plains when I was in junior high. I think I must have liked her attitude,” she added, cracking a smile. Yeah, Madame X in the old days. Just putting myself out there with all the confidence in the world.
    â€œYou could get good money for that,” Charlie told her, stepping closer to look at it. “It’s well-executed, the subject is recognizable and it’s got some age to it.”
    â€œWhat’s good money?”
    â€œFive or maybe even six hundred.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” she said, looking at it with new appreciation. “I think Dad bought it for twenty-five dollars.” She grimaced. “But I love it, how could I ever sell it? Besides, my father got it for me.”
    â€œWhat I’m trying to say here, Celia,” Charlie said, taking off his glasses and gesturing with his hands. He hesitated, looking for the words. “You’ve got,” he said slowly, “an eye . And damn, little lady, I’d sure like to have whatever your father didn’t buy you.”
    They laughed. She was starting to enjoy herself, starting to feel the same kind of connection with Charlie she felt with these things. It was hard to explain. “What about those doorknobs? I have no particular attachment to them.”
    â€œWell, you could go two ways. You sell them as a boxed lot or you could pitch each one on eBay, for example, to find those particular buyers who are looking to match or replace in aperiod house. That one’s pretty common,” he said, pointing, “but that—” he held one up to the light “—that looks European. Eighteen-fifty or so.”
    â€œI always look around on eBay but I’ve never registered or anything.”
    â€œWell, you should,” he told her. “For someone like you it would be a lot of fun. You know, I mean, why not?”
    â€œCharlie,” she said, “I’ve got a ton of stuff in storage. Furniture, Victorian photo albums, tools, china, God, you name it. My roommate made me get it all out of here. Would you go through it with me? See if there’s anything you could sell?”
    â€œSure! That’s part of my job. Scouting. I get a bonus.” He slapped his back pocket while explaining the sliding commission rates of the auction house, took out a well-worn wallet and pulled out a card.
    â€œThese are about to go into storage,” she said, opening the closet door. They were simply boards, planking and slats standing on end.
    Charlie put his glasses on again and went through them. “Oak, ash, cedar, burled walnut—that’s gorgeous, that walnut.”
    â€œI know. It’s that nutty color that makes me all zingy,” she confessed.
    â€œKid, you gotta do something with this eye of yours,” he said, closing the door and taking off his glasses. “You gotta make it a gift or I’m tellin’ ya, it’s gonna be a lifelong curse. People yelling at you to get rid of stuff and you can’t.”
    â€œI know,” Celia said,