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It’s the Heart of Dark Desires, and I haven’t seen the piece since I was a little boy. I’ve a memory of it from when I was small, so small I shouldn’t remember, but my mom had it on. I remember her soft and round, and the necklace. I remember once showing baby Lili.
And then…
Nothing. I don’t have memories of what happened. It was just gone.
For that ragged little memory, I want to grab the necklace and run.
I don’t.
MG’s giving off the energy she does when she’s turned on. The pretty dark-haired woman in a suit next to her has got to be her friend, Harry. She’s got a briefcase with her and she’s droning on about ownership.
To the side of the big, wide living room in creams and neutral shades so boring they probably don’t have a fucking color assigned, a room so fucking Hendrick, is the man himself, leaning against a wall in a black suit, his eyes on the necklace, on MG.
Of course Carlos is here, along with Damon, and two other security people belonging to Hendrick.
We’re downtown, and the outside of the building doesn’t match the inside. At all. If I liked Hendrick, I’d be fucking intrigued by this. Because I’m pretty fucking sure he lives here, but I can’t find anything within myself to care.
“Evaluate them,” says Hendrick.
I pass them to the woman, Harry, who fucking drops them, and MG is there first.
“Do not hang on to the necklace, Magdalena,” Hendrick says, nodding. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but…fuck it. I don’t trust you.”
She hands the necklace to Harry, who glances at Hendrick, and puts it on the coffee table. She switches on a lamp that’s been placed there for this reason. Pulling out a loupe, she begins to examine each stone and link.
“If the necklace is real, I can authenticate,” Harry’s saying, “and since neither of you technically own it, I’m obligated to return it to the museum.”
“Over my fucking dead body,” I snarl.
“I agree. Over his fucking dead body,” Hendrick says.
Harry starts to point out all the little things on the necklace that make it real, including that claw. “This is real.”
I want to touch the necklace again and MG does, too, but Hendrick nods to Damon, who comes in and wraps the jewels and hands them back to Hendrick.
Harry goes to her briefcase and opens it. She puts away the loupe, signs a certificate, stamps it, and places it on the table. Then, she swipes a bottle of Japanese whiskey and puts it into the case and snaps it shut.
“Certificate of authenticity,” she says. And, at Hendrick’s look she says, “I’m taking the fucking booze as payment and compensation for all the headaches you put Lena through. Sue me.”
She heads for the door and leaves.
Then Hendrick looks at MG. Then at me and just says, “Wait here.”
He and his guards disappear.
“How is this helping?” I ask her since we’re alone.
“No one owns it.” MG shrugs. “Best bet is you two return it to the museum.”
“Fuck that, MG. No way.”
“Look at it this way. It’ll be easier to steal from there than here.”
Hendrick steps back in. “So what now?”
“She’s seen it, authenticated it, and Harry has to report it to the museum. She might, she might not. I think it’s smart if you hand it over. It’ll end part of your feud. You both claim to have found it and so on. And then, for a small fee…” she smiles, “I can steal it.”
“You’re kidding,” Hendrick says.
