Grand Central exuded a completely different atmosphere on weekends. The people who wandered through did so at a more leisurely pace, which offered Virginia the opportunity to show off her workplace to Ruby without being trampled by passengers.
“You’re practically giddy, Mom,” said Ruby. “This is hilarious.”
Virginia didn’t care that she was coming off as a train geek. “You have to imagine what it was like back when it opened in 1913. Imagine this railing all painted and clean.” She waited while Ruby snapped a couple of photos of the brass filigree. “And over here, check out the timetable in this waiting room. It’s still a blackboard.”
Ruby stepped back to fit it in the frame. “Those sconces on either side are glorious.” More clicks.
Together, they meandered through the terminal, Ruby shooting not only the beautiful but also the ruined, like a Botticino marble water fountain filled with garbage. To Virginia’s surprise, her daughter stopped a few of the workers, including a train conductor and a janitor, and convinced them to let her take their portraits.
“These doors, you’ve got to see these doors.” Virginia brought her to the entrance to the small police station Dennis had taken her to. She’d read in the trainee handbook that it used to be a grand office called the Campbell Apartment.
In the hands of metal artisans, the heavy wrought-iron double doors looked like Irish lace, with an interlocking pattern of four-leaf clovers. They were massive and solid but somehow came off as weightless and transparent.
A woman’s voice rose from behind them. “It’ll work better close up. You’ll get less reflection.”
“Doris?” Virginia smiled and gave her coworker an awkward half hug. “Doris! What are you doing here on a Saturday?” She introduced her to Ruby.
“Nice to meet you.” Doris looked tired, with dark rings under her eyes. Her wig was slightly askew. “I’m taking extra shifts. My husband got laid off.”
Virginia understood the pressures she was under all too well. “I’m so sorry.”
“Well, what are you gonna do? What’s with the photos?” She gestured toward Ruby’s camera.
“We’re doing a little project. Trying to show the prettier side of the terminal. Ruby’s studying photography.”
“Hey, that’s great. Good for you.”
“Do you know a lot about photography?” asked Ruby. “You’re right, the doors are even better close up.”
“Nah. Just made sense, is all.”
“Can I take your photo?”
Doris put one hand to her hair. “You want a photo of me?”
Virginia cringed inside, hoping Doris wouldn’t lash out or be offended by the request.
“Yes.” Ruby pointed to the wall. “If you stand here, the light is really nice.”
Doris did as she was told, pasting a wide smile on her face, turning into a movie queen for the time it took Ruby to snap a few photos, offering a completely different side of herself from the scowling clerk Virginia knew.
They said good-bye, and Doris tromped off.
“She seems nice,” said Ruby.
“Doris is one of the pricklier clerks, to be honest. A tough nut. I can’t believe she agreed to have her photo taken. You must have the magic touch.”
“You really like these folks, don’t you?”
Virginia nodded. They were decent and smart, each and every one of them. “How about you, do you like the people at Bemelmans?” Since Ruby had started working, she seemed to have a newfound sense of purpose. She took her role as barmaid as seriously as she did her photography, chatting with Xavier and Finn about complicated cocktail recipes over dinner.
“Yes. Everyone’s great. Ryan’s known as the best bartender in all of Manhattan, the master of the martini. The tips are nothing to sneeze at, either.”
There’s an idea. “If the clerks in the information booth got tipped every time they answered a question, we’d be rolling in it.”
Ruby rewound the film, another roll filled. “Hey, you could put out a tip jar.”
“Someone would steal it within five minutes. Unfortunately, Grand Central is no Bemelmans.”
A week later, Finn and Xavier were regaling Virginia with the plot of the opera they’d just seen, something involving a castle and a torture chamber, when Ruby burst into the apartment. “I stayed late at the darkroom at the Photography Institute, and the Grand Central photos are ready. Do you want to see them?”
“That was fast.” Virginia was delighted with her daughter’s enthusiasm.
“I was dying to see how they turned out.” She laid them out on the dining room table, one after another.
In black and white, the original splendor of the terminal reemerged. The ornamental motifs over the doors curved with shadow and light; the bare bulbs on the mammoth bronze chandeliers glowed like fireflies.
“What a shame,” said Virginia.
Ruby turned to her. “You don’t like them?”
She quickly reassured her. “I love every one. It’s just too bad we can’t get them out in the world, as they might change people’s minds about putting a skyscraper over the terminal.”
“Who says no one will see them?” Xavier put his hands on his hips. “Let’s do an exhibit.”
“An exhibit?” asked Ruby. “Where?”
Finn jolted upright. “Right here. We’ll do it in one of the Carlyle’s private rooms on the second floor. Invite everyone we know, and have a party after in Bemelmans. I’ll talk to the manager first thing tomorrow.”
“You’d really do that? You think they’re that good?” Ruby bit her lip. “It’s not like I’m anyone important.”
“Not yet,” said Xavier. “Leave it to us. We’ll aim for a couple weeks after the holidays, when all the Christmas festivities are over with and everyone is bored and dying for an excuse to go out.”
Ruby clapped her hands together. “I’ll mount them on something stiff. That’s easy enough.”
“Exactly. Let’s keep it simple. Let the photos speak for themselves.”
Virginia hugged her brother and Xavier. “The best Christmas present ever. Thanks, guys.”
Holiday madness hit the city, clogging the streets with tourists and shoppers. New Year’s fell on a Wednesday, basically shutting down the entire week to post-revelry recovery while further delaying any update on the watercolor from the Lorettes. Virginia had tried them again after the holidays, only to be told by the maid who answered the phone that they were out of town, returning mid-January.
The morning of Ruby’s exhibit, Virginia called their number. Mrs. Lorette answered, her voice more gravelly than Virginia remembered.
“The Lorette residence.”
“Mrs. Lorette, it’s Virginia Clay. I’m sorry to bother you on a weekend, but I was eager to find out if you’ve heard anything about the painting. I understand you’ve been out of town.”
“Right. Yes.” A pause. She seemed distracted. “I had meant to get back to you sooner.”
“That’s fine, of course. The holidays and all.”
“That’s true. I’m afraid I haven’t been as attentive as I should have been to your inquiries. Mr. Lorette’s been ill. The excitement from your discovery has taken a toll on his health. We had to visit some specialists, see if they could help.”
“Oh no. Is there anything I can do?” A blister of guilt bubbled up inside her.
“My dear Virginia, you’re too kind. But we’re taking it day by day.”
“I understand completely.”
The Sotheby’s auction was in two and a half months. Surely, they had plenty of time. She was saying so to Mrs. Lorette as Ruby walked in the front door, tossed her keys on the table, and rummaged around in her fringed suede purse. Virginia gave her a quick wave before turning away and lowering her voice. “Let me know how it goes, Mrs. Lorette.”
“Of course. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can on the watercolor. You’re a sweet girl, so patient.”
She didn’t have much of a choice, really. Or maybe she did. “Why don’t you give me the number to Sammy, the expert who’s been looking at it? I can deal with him directly and that way you won’t have to be bothered.”