The signature of Amelita Galli-Curci across the title sheet of La Traviata and a necklace of costume jewelry that she had worn in the performance, both kept in his mahogany candlestick box, were the most valuable items that Avrum Feldman possessed.

After his gift of the black boa, Avrum confided, he would stand on the street at the stage entrance when Amelita Galli-Curci performed and watch for her to exit the theater, and if she wore the boa, he was warmed with pride. Once he believed she recognized him. There was a look, a pause in her eyes, a flash of a smile.

Avrum shared the secret of the gift of the boa with me many times over the years, as he also shared the secret of his gift of the roses at Sul Monte. Joy and bitterness, he explained. He wanted me to understand the power of secrets.

“They lift you up, they bring you down,” he said. “But you can do nothing about them. You can only remember.”

I thought of Avrum and his gifts to Amelita Galli-Curci as I waited among the offerings of antique dealers in the Galli-Curci Theater for Amy to purchase a walnut secretary that was, I believed, an excuse to walk away from the print of Jean Archer’s painting, and from a secret that was dangerous and clouded with regret.

I put the secretary into the car and drove back to Amy’s house, forcing more idle chatter that we both knew was forced—Carter’s romance with Libby, the frequent and funny fights between Carter and Rene, Joey Li’s dream of returning to Taiwan and becoming a political power, the closing of the resorts. Chatter. I wanted to ask her about the painting hanging in Jean Archer’s bedroom, but was afraid the question would make her flee from me, and there had been too much fleeing.

The workmen were still at the house. I helped her take the secretary inside and place it, and we agreed to have dinner at the Dollhouse Lodge and Restaurant at seven. I explained that I had to see Carter about Avrum’s will.

“Tell him I’ll talk to him soon,” she said.

I asked if we should invite Carter and Libby to dinner.

“To be honest, I’d rather spend the time with you,” she replied. “They’ll still be here when you leave. I’ll want to see them then.”

“And to be honest in return, I’m glad you said that,” I told her.

She kissed me lightly, out of sight of the workmen.

I did not know if Carter would be at his office, but he was, and he was eager to interrogate me.

“Tell me about it, boy. Don’t leave out a thing, and I mean nothing.”

“We’re both getting divorces,” I said seriously, settling into one of his leather armchairs. “And then we’re going to get married and have a half dozen children.”