Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Goes Into A COMA
by Tux Toledo
Page 5
Fortunately,
the house I was staying in was devoid of modern art. One day
at the COMA was enough for me. I had managed to find my way
into a temporarily vacant Presidio Heights home and I was enjoying its
antique splendor tremendously. Presidio Heights, by the way,
is one of those old San Francisco neighborhoods that oozes 1890's charm.
I settled into a comfortable chair in front of a comfortable fire and
sipped Bass Ale until it was time to dress for dinner - you know how I
feel about dressing for the occasion. Lars had invited me to
dine with him at the Pacific Union Club, a stuffy club of stifling
proportions patronized by washed-up near movers and shakers.
Such a venue called for the utmost in conservative attire. I
eventually decided to wear a dark blue suit with widely spaced, pale
gray stripes, and a predominately silver checked tie. Very
sensible, very suave, very Savile Row.
"The Rolls is ready, sir," James said.
"Very good."
We settled into the Silver Cloud III and he set a course for Nob
Hill. He deposited me at the Pacific Union Club then went off
to wherever it is he goes off to after dropping me off.
Lars had already arrived at the club and he rescued me from the stuffed
doorman who, despite my impeccable attire, was unconvinced of my
worthiness to enter the Club.
"What do you think, Winston?" Lars asked after we had been
seated. His perfectly sculpted silver hair adorned the top of
his head like a flag on a mast pole. He dressed the part of a
patriarch with a conservative blue suit, probably Brooks Brothers,
penetratingly white shirt with a tasteful foulard print tie sitting
symmetrically between a starched straight collar.
"I do not have any ideas yet," I said. "But I wouldn't be
surprised if it turns out to be an inside job."
"Lord, I hope not. That would be very bad. That
would be the worst scenario. What makes you think it might
be?"
"There's no sign of a break-in."
"What about professional thieves? Wouldn't they be extremely
careful and leave no trace?"
"I doubt that they would have been perfect. And it looks
perfect. Still, with all of the construction going on I
suppose it's possible that someone slipped in during the day and stole
the sculpture."
"Yes, perhaps someone disguised as a workman or delivery person," Lars
said.
"Perhaps. Mary Bain doesn't think so."
"Mary Bain knows about art, but not much else," Lars said. He
brought his napkin to his mouth and looked at me with raised eyebrows.
"And who's this Fred Nilless fellow?" I asked.
"He's the director of the museum. He handles administrative
matters, arranges acquisitions, sets up special exhibits, that sort of
thing."
"Has he been with the museum long?"
"Five years. That's nearly as long as the museum has been
open."
"How are things financially?" I asked.
"Getting by. We have a tight budget, but Fred does a good
job. You don't suspect him, do you?"
"I don't think we can afford to overlook anyone," I said.
"Maybe you should report this robbery to the police."
"No, not yet, Winston. We've got to avoid the bad publicity
if we can."
"I'll do my best," I said.
"I know you will. I appreciate your efforts."
"I'm always willing to do my part for the arts." I lifted my
glass of 1982 Chateau Pavie. The wine needed more aging but
it is rude to criticize your host's choice. After all, Lars
was a man who sometimes rushed things.
© 2008 David Biagini