“His wife says this guy is dangerous,” I said, though I didn’t think there would be much of an occasion for worry. It was a fundraiser for libraries. I added, “I want you to be careful,” sort of a disclaimer. In addition to disparagements and denunciations from Maddie, I had a dossier on Mick from Liz. It was more than what I could find on the internet. But none of the above provided the handle, the hook, the something that I’d need to turn the guy. It’s the questions you don’t know to ask that have important answers. My inarticulate instruction was, “We need to get a sense of the guy.”

“People are acting all the time,” she said, moving her hands as if that would show me the ideas that were happening so vividly for her, dancing in front of her mind. “Like what politicians do. Businesspeople sometimes. They put on acts. They perform. But it’s real actions into real worlds with real consequences. Most people have their work act, their married act, maybe their parent act. Most people, once they develop a role, they get stuck in it, nearly forever. Typecasting in life. Right now, I’m doing short-term performances. I can go completely into one, which is what I want, then out of it tomorrow.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ACROSS A CROWDED ROOM

“Some Enchanted Evening”

RICHARD RODGERS & OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN

THE MCMUNCHUN HOUSE WAS NAMED Ravensview.

It was a mansion, though not nearly the size and extravagant splendor of the Vanderbilt or Rockefeller establishments. Maybe “historic home” would have been the right phrase. But there were historic houses that were much smaller, on much smaller parcels of land, in much less striking locations.

It was clear that I was still underestimating how much money was in play.

—

A couple of boys—maybe Bard students—were working as valets. They took my car. They weren’t impressed with it. They admired Allison. One escorted us the short distance to the house with a large umbrella to protect us from chilly rain.

Madelaine greeted us at the door. I hadn’t told her about Allison. My instinct was that the more surprise there was, all around, the more revelations would follow. Madelaine examined the girl, then me. Her cat’s eyes immediately appeared. Before the claws followed, I said, “This is my niece. Her father is a single parent and he had to go to Argentina and he asked me if I could look after her for a bit. I said that of course I would.” Allison saw it, too. I presumed it was not the first time that older women, especially wives, had looked at her that way.

She said, “Thank you for having us,” very politely and correctly, then, “What a marvelous, amazing house. I’d love to hear about it,” which was the perfect thing to say.

Madelaine responded with true property pride. “It originally belonged to one of the Livingstons.”