·CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO·

Frankie

Frankie generally got up at 5:30 a.m. But as soon as Charlie began spending the night she awoke even earlier. When she and Jack had lived together she always brought him morning coffee. Lying in bed with Charlie, she realized how much she missed that early-morning ritual with a lover before the outside world intruded.

On Saturday morning Charlie made Frankie promise they’d sleep late. When she finally got up to bring him coffee the phone rang.

“Yes, this is Frankie Weissman,” she answered.

“Francesca,” Charlie whispered, still half asleep.

“My name is Morgan Crown,” the low voice continued. “I was Jil Taillou’s estate lawyer. Sorry to call so early on a Saturday.”

“Jil was a wonderful man. His death still hasn’t registered for me.” She turned away from Charlie.

“I am calling because Jil left explicit instructions in his will that he did not want his friends to gather for a shiva or any religious function in his apartment.”

“Jil never really talked much about being Jewish. He spoke about being an immigrant from Budapest.” Frankie poked her hair out of her eye.

“Was Jil Jewish?” Charlie snuggled back toward her.

“What he did stipulate was that in the event of his death he would like certain close friends to come to his house and select something meaningful to them from his collection of art, paintings, and personal possessions.”

“And you’ll let me know when this would be?” she asked.

“He was emphatic that this collection take place the weekend after his death and that the invitation be made the day of, so there is no opportunity for either religion or sentimentality. Only shopping. Those are his words.”

“So it’s at Jil’s house tonight?”

“Yes, tonight at around seven,” he confirmed.

“I will see you there.”

“I look forward to it. Jil spoke so fondly of you.” He hung up the phone.

Charlie sat up. “What’s at Jil’s home tonight?”

“He left instructions for his friends to come by his apartment and take home a memento. I’m sure you’ll have a message on your service.”

“I’m sure not,” Charlie answered her quickly. “And for that matter, I’m sure Samantha won’t have a message either.”

“But you were his close friends. I knew him because of you.” Frankie was not following.

“Samantha and I aren’t Jewish.”

“But for all intents and purposes neither was Jil.”

“Jil was a man who lived a life of subterfuge,” Charlie explained. “He never completely told the truth about his sexuality, his early life, or his religion. He was a highly cultivated, deeply suspicious man. But of all of us, he trusted you.”

“Charlie, this makes no sense. He was escorting Clarice Santorini when he died. I hardly ever saw him.”