CHAPTER THREE

THREE
“You made Page Six today,” Patti announced as
she entered the living room of my brownstone. She
was wearing a cream color satin shift belted to match
her mid-thigh-length red leather coat. She knows I
love the color red on a woman. What she does not
know is how much I want her; or, if she suspects, she
has no idea of the way in which my desire would
manifest.

Patti is possibly the highest paid personal
assistant on the planet, and worth it. Now almost
thirty years old, she is an attractive young woman
with reddish blonde hair, a trim, gym-maintained
body, and a wide white smile. I hired her a decade ago
when she was still living with her mother in Queens.
Patti wishes I would love her. That is not going
to happen, at least not the way she wants. I married a
human once and now know better. I cannot deny that
there is a strong attraction. How could there not be?
“Did you get extra copies?” I asked.
“A dozen, of course. Though you don’t need
them. I could download copies from the internet.”
“It’s not the same. Did they mention the show?”
“Of course they mentioned the show. Ben is
responsible for the placement. You know how good he
is about details.”
I nodded in agreement. Ben Cody is the
publicist for Pretty Lady, and one of the best in the biz.
“And how did it go with Morris?”
Morris Karn is my gold broker.
“Fine. I cashed in the hundred Liberty heads, as you requested. I filled out all the paperwork. The check was deposited at noon.”
She reached into her pocketbook, took out a banded stack of ten thousand in hundred dollar bills and handed it over.
“Here’s the cash you wanted.”
“Oh, thank you, darling,” I said, accepting the money. “Did Morris balk about the cash?”
“A little. He made a point of saying that only since there is so much gold changing hands now is he able to do part of the deal in cash. I promised him tickets to opening night and that made him happy.”
“Well done.”
At the end of the War Between the States, I confiscated one million dollars in twenty dollar gold pieces from two Yankee soldiers. They had murdered five of their comrades-in-arms before making off with the coins, which the platoon had been entrusted to guard. I say “confiscated” which sounds official. It wasn’t at all.
I drained them both of their life blood, then stole and stored the 50,000 coins in a private vault. I seldom resort to cashing in any of the coins as they constitute the bedrock, the foundation of my fortune. Right now, though, the price of gold is so high that cashing in a few coins seems prudent. In any case, there is always more gold. I can just take it from some blood sacks.
“What did Page Six have to say? Was it nice or nasty?”
“It was cute. Let me get it and read it for you.”
She went out into the hallway to retrieve a copy of the Post from the stack she had deposited on the parson’s table there, where my mail and papers are always placed. I pinched together a few of the hundreds and extracted them from the bank wrapper and shoved them into my trousers pocket. I picked up the antique brass spittoon resting beside the red damask wing chair in which I sat, turned over the brass urn, gave it a twist, and the false bottom parted from the bulbous body.
My stash was replenished. I hope the show will soon be providing a cash flow so that I don’t have to dip into my gold reserve again. My chore was complete and the spittoon back in place before fifteen seconds elapsed and Patti came back in with the tabloid newspaper in hand.
This speedy action was by virtue of habit; it is not that I do not trust Patti. It should be obvious that I do trust her if it is possible to hand over a hundred gold coins and not worry. She was nineteen when she started as my assistant and I have learned to trust her implicitly during the interim.
There is a palpable attraction between the two of us. I find myself hungering for her when she gets close. Life has left her largely unsullied; thanks in large part to the advantages working for me has provided. I know her blood would be exquisite to consume.
Patti’s attraction is carnal in a quite different way. Her body craves sexual completion. She wants me. Her body pulses with blood heated by desire. What she does not know, and can never learn, is that sex truly does equal death if she indulges her passion with me. It is up to me to keep both our desires in check.
“‘Augustus Windham the fourth’ . . .” she began to read from the newspaper.
I interrupted. “I wish they’d call me Gus.”
She continued “. . . ‘known as much for his ever-present dark glasses as for his stage productions, was at his usual table in Elaine’s late Tuesday night, surrounded by a bevy of beauties. The five leggy ladies were dancers from his revival of Pretty Lady. Windham’s grandfather, also called Gus, backed the original production of the same musical, which was helmed by the late Broadway legend Julian Marsh, in 1932. The show is currently in rehearsal and previews are scheduled to open next Tuesday. Dare we say break a leg?’ See, they made it clear that you’re a Gus, too.”
“Sort of.”
Actually I was quite pleased by the piece but enjoyed acting nonchalant about it just as much. I love it when Page Six mentions me.
“Send Ben Cody a bottle of VC and a note saying good job on the placement tomorrow, please.”
I always send a bottle of champagne as a bonus for a Page Six notice.
“It’s already done.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
Patti is an adept at anticipating these things for me. My reliance on her is absolute. She does far more for me than fetch newspapers or cash and send bottles of champagne. She is my eyes and ears during the day.
I thought I might lose her services three months ago. She and my director had a falling out as the casting process for Pretty Lady drew to a close. Patti came to me in a hissy fit. She refused to tell me what Danny Limm, the director said to set her off.
She demanded that I fire him and find someone else before rehearsals began.
Never before had Patti displayed such ire. She threatened to quit, and seemed quite serious. All she would say is that Danny was “bad mouthing” me. I assumed he had made some lewd sexual remark about me. He is more than capable of that. I was able to talk Patti away from the edge after a couple of nights passed. Since then, I kept her interaction with my volatile director to a minimum.
Tonight Patti and I spent a productive hour going over various business details. Then she promised to meet me with a friend at Elaine’s after the opera. They were going to see La Boheme at the Met.