Tatianna had graduated from Brown four months before, with a degree in fine arts and photography, and had just started a job as the third assistant to a well-known photographer in New York, which meant she got to change film for him occasionally, bring him coffee, and sweep the floors. Her mother assured her that that was the way it worked at first. Neither of her children had any interest in working at the gallery with her. They thought what she did was wonderful, but they wanted to pursue their own lives and work. Sasha realized how rare it had been to learn all she had from her father, the opportunity he had given her, and the priceless education she'd had of growing into the business with him. She was sorry she couldn't do the same with her children.

Sasha wondered if one day Xavier would want to work at the gallery with her, but it seemed less than likely for the time being. Now that Arthur was talking about retiring, she felt as though she was drifting toward her roots in Paris again. As much as she loved the excitement of New York, life always seemed gentler to her when she went home. Paris was still home to her, despite dual nationality, thanks to her mother, and sixteen of her forty-seven years, a third of her life, spent in New York. At her core she was still French. Arthur wasn't opposed to the idea of living in Paris again once he retired, and they had been talking about it more seriously that fall.

It was October and the very last of the hot weather, on a sunny Friday afternoon, as Sasha made a brief inspection tour of some paintings they were planning to sell to a museum in Boston. They kept their Old Masters and more traditional work on the brownstone's two upper floors. The contemporary work they were also now famous for was on the first and second floors. Sasha's office was tucked away in a back corner on the main floor.

After her tour of the upper floors, she put some papers in her briefcase, and looked out at the sculpture garden behind her office. Like most of their contemporary work, it was a reflection of Sasha's taste. She loved looking out at the pieces in the garden, especially when it snowed. But snow was still two months away, as she picked up her bulging briefcase. She was going to be out of the gallery the following week. She was leaving on Sunday morning for Paris, to check on things there. She still made a routine visit every two weeks, as she had since her father's death eight years before. She was a hands-on dealer, in both cities, and was used to the commute by now. It seemed easy to her. She managed to have a life, and friends, as well as clients, in both cities. Sasha was as much at ease in Paris as New York.

She was thinking about the weekend ahead, as the phone rang, just as she was about to leave her office. It was Xavier, calling her from London, as she glanced at her watch and realized it was nearly midnight there. She smiled the moment she heard his voice. Both her children were precious to her, but in some ways she was closer to Xavier. He had always been easier for her. Tatianna was closer to her father, and also like Sasha's father in some ways. There had always been something hard and judgmental about her, and she was less inclined to bend and compromise than her older brother. Xavier and his mother were soul mates in many ways, equally gentle, equally kind, always willing to forgive a loved one or a friend. Tatianna had a harder line about people and life.

“I was afraid you'd already left,” Xavier said with a smile and a yawn. As she closed her eyes, thinking of him, she could see his face. He had always been a beautiful child, and was now a handsome young man.

“I was about to leave. You just caught me. What are you doing home on a Friday night?” Xavier had an active social life in the London artists' scene, and a weakness for pretty women. Lots of them. It always amused his mother, and she teased him frequently about it.

“I just got in,” he explained, defending his reputation.

“Alone? How disappointing,” she teased. “Did you have fun?”

“I went to a gallery opening with a friend, and then we had dinner. Everyone got drunk, and things started to get a little wild, so I thought I'd get home before we all got arrested.”

“That sounds interesting.” Sasha sat down at her desk again, and looked out at the garden, thinking of how much she missed him. “What were they doing to get arrested?” Despite his fondness for women, most of Xavier's pursuits were harmless and fairly tame. He was just a young man who liked to have fun and still acted like a boy at times, full of mischief. His sister liked to claim she was far more respectable than he was, and thought the women he went out with were disgusting. She never failed to say so, not only to her mother but to her brother, who hotly defended them, no matter who they were, or how racy.

“I went to the opening with an artist I know. He's a bit of a madman, but a hell of a good artist. I want you to meet him sometime. Liam Allison. He does fantastic abstracts. It was a pretty good show tonight, although he didn't think so. He got bored at the opening, and got drunk. Then he got drunker when we had dinner at the pub.” Xavier loved calling her and telling her about his friends. He had few secrets from her. And his tales of his exploits always amused her. She had missed him ever since he left home.

“That's charming, his getting drunk I mean.” She assumed his friend was about his own age. Two boys misbehaving, all in good fun.

“Actually, it was. He's very funny. He took his pants off while we sat at the bar. The funny thing was that absolutely no one noticed, until he asked some girl to dance. I think he'd forgotten it himself by then, until he got out on the dance floor in his jockey shorts, and some old woman hit him with her purse. So he asked her to dance and swung her around a few times. It was the funniest damn thing I've ever seen. She was about four feet tall, and she kept hitting him with her purse. It looked like a scene from Monty Python. He's a terrific dancer.” Sasha was laughing as she listened, imagining the scene, of the artist in jockey shorts, dancing with some old woman while she hit him. “He was very polite to her, and everyone was laughing their heads off, but then the barkeep said he'd call the police, so I took him home to his wife.”

“He's married?” Sasha sounded startled by that piece of information. “At your age?”

“He's not my age, Mom. He's thirty-eight years old, and he has three kids. They're cute kids. Nice wife, too.”

“Where was she then?” Disapproval crept into her voice.

“She hates going out with him,” Xavier said matter-of-factly. Liam Allison had become one of his closest friends in London. He was a serious artist, with a light touch about life, an outrageous sense of humor, and a fondness for practical jokes, mischief, and pranks.

“I can see why his wife hates going out with him,” Sasha commented about her son's friend. “I'm not sure I'd enjoy going out with a husband who takes his trousers off in public and asks old ladies to dance.”

“That was pretty much what she said when I got him home. He passed out on the couch before I left, so I had a glass of wine with her, and then I left. She's a good woman.”

“She'd have to be, to put up with that. Is he an alcoholic?” Sasha sounded serious for a moment, wondering what sort of people he was hanging out with. Xavier's friend didn't sound like an ideal companion, or not a good influence in any case.

“No, he isn't an alcoholic.” Xavier laughed. “He was just bored, and he made a bet with me that no one would notice for an hour if he took his pants off in the pub. He won. No one noticed till he started dancing.”

“Well, I hope you kept yours on,” she said, sounding like a mother, as Xavier laughed at her. He adored her.

“Actually, I did. Liam thought that was pretty cowardly of me. He said he'd pay double or nothing if I took mine off, too. I didn't.”

“Thank you, darling. I'm relieved to hear it.” She glanced at her watch then. She had promised to meet Arthur at six, and it was already ten after. She loved talking to her son. “I hate to do this, but I promised to meet your father at home ten minutes ago. We're driving out to the Hamptons after dinner.”

“I figured you would. I just wanted to check in.”

“I'm glad you did. Anything special planned for this weekend?” She liked knowing what he did, and Tatianna as well, although she checked in less often. She was trying to spread her wings. And she was more likely to call Arthur these days than her mother. Sasha hadn't spoken to her all week.

“I'm not doing anything. The weather has been disgusting. I thought I'd paint.”

“Good. I'm flying to Paris on Sunday. I'll call you when I get in. Do you have time to come over and see me this week?”

“Maybe. I'll talk to you Sunday night. Have a nice weekend. Give Dad my love.”

“I will. I love you… and tell your friend to keep his pants on next time. You're lucky you didn't both wind up in jail. Causing a riot, or indecent exposure, or having too much fun or something.” Xavier always had a good time wherever he was, and apparently so did his friend Liam. Xavier had mentioned him before, and always said he wanted his mother to see his work. One of these days she would, although there was never enough time. She was always rushing, and when she went to London, she had artists to visit whom she already represented, and wanted to see Xavier. She had told him to tell Liam to send her slides of his work, but he never had, which suggested to her that he was either not serious about it, or didn't feel ready to show it to her. Either way, he sounded like a somewhat outrageous character. She already represented several of those, and wasn't sure she wanted one more, no matter how entertaining Xavier thought he was. It was a lot easier dealing with artists who were serious about their careers, and behaved like grown-ups. Badly behaved nearly forty-year-old men who took their clothes off in public were a headache, and she didn't need one more of those. “I'll talk to you Sunday.”