Mia said, “My taxi driver thinks you’re too young, too green to know your butt from your elbow and your daddy and mommy are bankrolling you. And what does a Bostonian know about what New Yorkers want and need?” She smiled, paused a second. “Are you ready to deal with opinions like this?”

To her surprise, Harrington threw back his head and laughed, a rich laugh. Sincere? Mia waited, the smile still firm on her mouth, and watched him.

He stopped laughing and straightened, suddenly serious. “I consider myself a New Yorker. I’ve lived here seven years now, it’s my home. As I’m sure you know, I’ve been in charge of the New York office of the First Street Corporation for six of those years, which means my elbow and my butt have done a lot of living in New York, and believe me, I’ve learned a lot. Am I green? Well, if your taxi driver means am I buddies with all the movers and players in the political game here in New York, I’m not, but that has its benefits, too, and I’ll be saying so in my campaign. When I’m elected you can be sure I’ll meet them fast enough because they will come to me, and I’ll be the one who decides what I’ll give them, if what they want is in the interest of keeping New York the greatest city in the world. That’s what a good manager does, Mia, in politics or in business; I’m a very good manager with years of practical hands-on experience, and I have the vision and drive to make New York flourish under my hand.”

She typed in canned, fluent, a dollop of humor, well spoken.

Her attention was caught again by the chunky silver chain-link bracelet. Why not? She pointed. “Tell me about the bracelet, Alex. Does it have any special meaning to you? Is it a gift from a friend? A lover? Have you had it long?”

He cocked his head to one side, his smile as firmly on his mouth as Mia’s was on hers. He raised his hand and studied the bracelet. “My first bracelet was a gift from my uncle Xavier on my thirteenth birthday. He said, and I quote, ‘A real man does and wears whatever he wants.’ He told me never to forget that as long as I live.”

“Uncle Xavier?”

“My father’s second cousin, not really my uncle. My family thinks he’s a nasty old man because he thumbs his nose at all their rules, still likes his cocaine, and spends much of his time cruising the Back Bay, carefree, his own man. Ah, but when I was thirteen, he was my idol.” He laughed, shrugged.

Was that the truth? Or was Xavier a bit of exaggerated family lore to show her how human he was? “You said the original bracelet. Have there been others?”