Page 107 of Love Is an Art
“Will you come to my friend’s wedding with me?” he asks.
“Yes.” Yes! This isn’t just a fling. I didn’t think so, but dating in New York can be a minefield.
“Where are our paintings?” I ask.
“In the closet. I didn’t want to throw them out, but I didn’t want the reminder. But let’s hangDalmatians Gone Wildon that wall today.”
“Why did you want to date an artist?” I ask. “You don’t actually seem that interested in art.” He has a poster with a black-and-white photo of the Brooklyn Bridge on his bedroom wall, but no paintings.
“I wanted someone creative,” he says. “Because it seems to work well with my parents’ marriage. My dad is creative and constantly thinks of things outside the box. And my mom loves that. But my mom is the one who keeps it all on track. I had no idea that lawyers could be so creative.” He kisses my shoulder.
“You’re pretty creative too.” I kiss him back.
Breakfast can wait.
Chapter thirty-four
Tessa
Iamstillbubblingover with giddiness as I enter the small office of the building security company located in Queens. Yesterday was a perfect first day as a couple: a late, leisurely brunch, a walk with Brit around Central Park holding hands, cooking dinner together, and staring into each other’s eyes as we made love, being open and vulnerable and giving. I blush and wave my hand at my suddenly heated face.
I school my expression to be more sober.Focus.
Two guys who look like ex-cops occupy desks near me. An American flag hangs in the corner. I sit in front of an old, brown desk and explain my request to Mr. O’Brien, an elderly man with a buzz cut.
They have footage from the past thirty days. He pulls it up on his monitor. Mr. Howard shows up several weekends on Saturday morning and doesn’t leave until Sunday. They even have footage of Mr. Howard and Ms. Morris kissing hello in the hallway when he arrives and going out together holding hands. But as Zeke pointed out, they could have gotten back together after Ms. Robinson died. It’s not conclusive.
I bite my lip. There’s Ms. Peres who said Mr. Howard lived there and was only now moving. But she probably won’t want to testify against her neighbor.
“Do you have any CCTV footage from earlier this year—say January through May?” I ask.
“We might have some old footage around. We’re supposed to record over them, but we’re not always diligent about it. And we have some files that we were holding for another case, I think during that time period.” He clicks on some folders on his computer. “Let’s try these. They’re from March.”
He plays it back for me.And there it is.Mr. Howard came consistently every March weekend. And he is kissing Ms. Morris in the hallway and going out holding hands when Taylor’s grandmother was alive and he’s alleging he was in a loving relationship with her.
Yes.There’s nothing like that thrill when your case comes together.
But also, how dare he? How dare he try to take away Taylor’s apartment?
“This is great,” I say. “This is such a tremendous help. I can’t thank you enough. This CCTV footage is the smoking gun in this case.”
“LikeLaw & Order? That’s my favorite TV show.”
“Well, you have a starring role in this one. Would you be willing to testify in court about how this footage is kept? I might need to establish custody.”
“Yes. Wait until I tell my wife.”
I text Taylor that we have the footage. I can’t wait to cross-examine Mr. Howard. And I text Zeke.
As I walk into my office building, through the imposing, marble reception area, past the guards at the reception desk, Stuffed Shirt is ahead of me, a cup of Starbucks coffee in hand. He looks back, sees me, and stops. I catch up.
“You missed the litigation department lunch,” Stuffed Shirt says.
“I had to do something for a pro bono case.”
We turn and join the queue waiting at the bank of elevators.
He shakes his head. “I keep telling you. Pro bono is not going to get you partnership.”
