Something Borrowed

Where others see a series of buzzsaws, I see clockwork. Where some see a boundless forest, I see a hedge maze. And where all others see a mess of scattered shards, I see a puzzle waiting to be put back together. I suppose that’s why, despite the protests, I decided to steal the portrait of Duchess Ophelia from the study in Blythe Manor. Everyone said it couldn’t be done, that there were too many moving parts and wandering eyes. But such things are only concerns for the unimaginative. After all, moving parts only need direction and wandering eyes a pleasant distraction. In all my years working in this precarious vocation, I’ve learned that with proper preparation nothing is ever impossible. No matter the obstacle, there was always a way around it. And if there wasn’t, there would invariably be a way through, over, or under it. One’s resources are only limited by their imagination and calculation.

So, forgive my imprudence for saying, I’m a cut above the rest.

            And truthfully, I need to be to pull this one off. Because, despite my confidence, there were a lot of moving parts and, not to mention, we were on a tight deadline. The portrait was only making a stop for auction at the Blythe Manor Gala Event. Come sunup on December 17th the portrait would be in the hands of a wealthy dignitary attending the event. And there it would stay, locked away in some basement vault in one of several properties never to see the light of day again. It’s new, fickle owner too obsessed with the act of purchase to ever admire it properly. Such a cruel fate, I simply couldn’t abide. The portrait is exquisite, and like any breathtaking work of art, it needed air to breathe, room to move, and the eyes of the world upon it.

It needed freedom.

Although pulling this off would amount to a significant payday for myself and the crew, think of it less as a heist and more an act of liberation. A preemptive jailbreak for a piece of art that belonged atop a stage, not locked in a dungeon.

            But even with my meticulous preparation, Blythe Manor was a fortress. We had done all the necessary preliminaries; the vetting, the once over, twice over and obligatory thrice over. I insisted on being thorough. I wanted to know every gradient of every tile of the Manor’s interior if I could. I wanted the weight of the chandelier in the foyer, the color scheme of the den’s upholstery, not to mention its square footage. Such things only felt trivial until they became the exact answers you needed. I was of the belief, that while perfection could never be achieved, one shouldn’t aspire to anything less. However, preparation was over. Tonight was the night.

Curtains up.

            I stood, shielded in an expensive tux and by equally expensive false credentials. The ballroom was abuzz with the type of frivolous conversation one could expect at a place where every guest’s neck was sore from turning up their noses. Glitz and glamor shined through the massive hall in the form of sparkling dresses, elegant hair and dashing gentlemen. It wasn’t my cup of tea, but it would be worth it if everything went according to plan.

            Fifteen minutes to midnight.

            “Hey, Wynne, you in position?”

The voice hummed in my right ear.

I looked down and shuffled my feet forward an inch or two.

“Yeah, I’m on my mark.” I muttered before taking a sip of champagne and looking about the room. “Cameras? Security?”

“Hey, c’mon Wynne. What do you pay me for?”

“Sometimes I wonder that myself.” I jeered.

“Haha. Very funny, Wynne. Like you wouldn’t be lost without me. Cameras going down in, three… two… bingo. And don’t worry about security. Ida and Jordan should have them distracted by now.”

I nodded passively, trying not to appear conspicuous.

“Good job, Leo. You know when a plan comes together, there’s really nothing in the world more…” My eyes stopped suddenly on a woman at the back of the room. Her backless dress fell like ruby sheets, loose and flowing, over her petite frame. “…beautiful.”

“Wow! Well, I gotta say, I don’t always feel appreciated for everything I do. Sometimes I just feel like the man in the van, but when you say things like that, it really…”

I pressed the speaker in my ear, muting Leo’s voice.

            I knew it was her, the same way I knew what perfume she was wearing, Clive Christian’s Chasing the Dragon. It was the same way that I knew every curve and secret which was so thinly veiled under that silky dress. And that there were exactly thirteen hair pins inside that perfectly shaped hair-bun. She was my wife. Or, ex-wife, as she would no doubt insist. It was far from a surprise to find her here. She was, like me, a professional procurer of the unprocurable. That was how we met, after-all. Still, no matter the circumstance, no matter how expected or unexpected, she always took my breath away.

            I didn’t approach, just watched her in silence. I was curious, both on a personal and professional level. I wanted to know what her next move would be and was equally curious if I could guess it myself. Currently, she had just so happened to find herself in the company of Daniel Blythe himself. The owner of the estate. A suave gentleman without candor, bachelor with a wife of eighteen years, and young stallion of about sixty. Every woman’s dream. Or that’s what Madalyn would have him believe as she giggled at the gentleman’s every word. Admittedly, I was a bit jealous, but it was worth it to watch Matty work.

            If things were going to proceed as planned, I needed to let the others know. I unmuted Leo to find him still talking.

            “…I’d love to have a chat about increasing my cut. Not by much just…”

            “Leo. It’s Matty. She’s here.”

            He stopped dead.

            “You’re kidding.”

            “Afraid not.”

            “Well, whatever you do, don’t engage…”

            “I’m going to confront her.”

            “Wynne, no! That’s a terrible idea!”

            I muted him and studied Matty some more.

            With a wink, a laugh, and one or two glasses of champagne she was able to schmooze her way into Blythe’s good graces and then, shortly after, usher him out of sight. She lured him, just another old cad on the hook, into one of the private studies on the second floor. I watched, impressed as ever by her form, not to mention her figure. Only a moment or two passed before she came out of the study alone. Two go in, one comes out, no ones the wiser. Perhaps her perfume was laced with something, maybe her lipstick if the gentleman were so lucky, but Matty  had always been the hands-on sort. Very likely Daniel Blythe would be waking in an hour or two with a throbbing headache and foggy memory and it won’t be the champagne that put him in such a bad way.

            I had followed them as they made their way up the staircase, away from the crowd. I leaned my back against the banister which overlooked the ballroom, a smile streaking my face. As she walked out of the study, her bubbly smile replaced with a look of intense focus, she pulled at the trim of her dress and made her way down the hall toward the double doors of the library. It was behind those doors that the portrait was being stashed until after the auction. She strutted her way down the hall, her singular focus kept her eyes fixed on the door and off of me.

            I cleared my throat as she passed. She turned, briefly irritated before realizing it was me. She flashed a smile, shaking her head. Her emerald eyes brightened; I half expected to be turned to stone.

            “Oh, it’s just you, Wynnie. I thought I was in trouble for a second.” She continued toward the door.

            I followed.

            “No, not in any trouble Matty. You can thank me for that later if you’d like.”

            “I did notice that security was a little thin. Ida and Jordan take care of them?”

            “That’s right. You know the drill. Leo’s got the cameras on a pre-recorded loop. Smooth sailing.”

            “Very smooth.” She said as she placed her hand on the doorknob to the library. “A shame you won’t be the one leaving with the prize. After all, I think you’ll be needing this.”

            She pulled the key from her purse. Large and ornate, like everything in this house.

            “Well, it looks like you really outplayed me this time, Matty.” My words dripped with sarcasm, before I dropped a key from out of my cuff and inserted it into the door. “But, considering I’ve already got you this far, I may as well open the door for you like a true gentleman.”

            She smirked at me expectantly.

            “Neat. How long have you had that?”

            “About a week. Since we got into the cameras. A few well-placed pictures of the key and we had a 3D copy made back at the shop.”

            I opened the door and stepped aside with a bow.

            “After you, Madam Teller.”  

            She strutted past me into the library. I stole a glance at her back as she entered, trying to repress memories of silk sheets and long nights but finding myself welcoming them with little resistance. So, trying to try, I suppose.

            “It’s Madam Shaye, actually. Teller is the surname of my insufferable ex-husband. But I’ll forgive the slip of the tongue, Mister Teller.”

            The portrait was placed at the far end of the room. It was beautiful, not to mention valuable. But Matty looked ravishing in her dress, so my eyes quickly returned to her. She looked back, catching me staring at her.

            I collected myself, “Ex-husband? What a shame. It’s funny though, I don’t remember him signing any papers.”

            She stared daggers back at me, “He will. Any day now, I’m sure.”

            I shrugged, “Well, regardless, he was a lucky man for however long it lasted.”

            “Not so lucky as he thinks.”

            “No, not lucky, just prepared. Who needs luck when you know the finer details?”

            “Like, say, that I was going to be here tonight?” She prodded.

            I smiled, always impressed by her intuition.

            “That’s right. I had a hunch.”

            She laughed, “A hunch? You had more than that. Do the others know?”

            “Maybe.”

            “So, you really thought of everything, huh Wynne?”

            “Don’t I always?” I smirked.

            She placed her hands on her hips, “Yes you do, that’s the problem. You don’t know how to just let things happen, let life happen. You always need to have control. It’s suffocating.”

            I laughed harshly, “Oh, please! I might be controlling, but you couldn’t stick to a plan to save your life. Your idea of letting life happen is just an excuse to run from the things in life that might actually be good for you.”

            She snorted, “What? Like you, Wynnie?”

            I cocked my head, “Yeah, like me.”

            For a moment there was silence. Then, she shook her head and softened her voice.

            “We’re too different, Wynnie. It was fun…”

                        “It was more than fun.”

            “But it never would have worked.”

“They say opposites attract.”

            “Opposites? Maybe. Polar opposites? Never.”

            “I believe they’re called magnets, actually.”

            Ignoring me, she walked around the large table in the center of the library, delicately lifting the portrait from its display. Not some grand painting, just a small portrait similar in dimensions to the Mona Lisa. Matty held it out in front of her and admired it.

            “Beautiful.” She said.

            “Perfect.” I affirmed.

            She caught me looking at her again.

            “Well, it was lovely seeing you, Wynnie. But I really need to be going now.”

            She walked past me with the painting in hand, she was headed toward the window. The clock on the wall had two minutes to midnight. I swiped the painting from her hand as she passed by. She turned, her lips pursed.

            “Don’t do this Wynnie. We both know I’m leaving with the painting.”

            “Do we?” I held it up mockingly. “Because last I checked it was my plan that got us in here, and I’m the one holding it.”

            She lunged at me, going for the painting. Whether it be professional courtesy or something more, neither of us struck the other. It was more of a dance, really. Leverage, wrist control, and shifting body weight. She was light and dexterous, and I was firm and balanced. After a time, we were both left panting. I held the painting just out of reach, her eyes fixed on mine. At last, the bells rang. The clock had struck midnight. My eyes briefly fell on the clock and as they did, Matty leaned in and kissed me hard. Our lips locked, I brought my hand around to the back of her head and pulled her in close.

            Until…

            Click! Clack!

            She stepped back. My heart racing from the kiss. She held up the painting in front of me.

            “Consider that my thanks.”

            She turned toward the window. I tried to step forward and stop her, but felt my wrist caught on something. She had cuffed me to the leg of the large table. She opened the window, the cold wind rushed through her light dress. She perched on the windowsill, about to leave.

            “Matty wait.”

            She turned.

            “You’ve got a new team?”

            “Careful, Wynne. Do I detect jealousy?”

            “Not jealous, just curious. Are they as good as us?”

            She smiled, looking straight through me.

            “No one’s as good as you, Wynnie. Sign the papers.”

            She leapt out the window, slipping through my fingers yet again. Taking with her, my heart, the portrait, her perfume, and all twelve hair pins…

            I dropped one of her hair pins from my sleeve and used it to pick the lock on the cuff. I pressed the unmute button on my earpiece as I walked to the open window.

“Leo.” I said.

“Wynne, what the hell? Did you get her? Did you get the Duchess?”

I watched Matty scaling the shingled roof with a feline’s dexterity before sliding elegantly into the snow below.

“No.” I said. “She got away. Maybe next time.”

“What?! But Wynne!”

I muted him. Shelving my head in my palm, I leaned out the window letting the cold air nip at my face. She jumped into a car at the end of the driveway. Before closing the door, she looked up at me. Her eyes shinned in the moonlight.

I waved, she smiled.

Closing the door, she drove off into the night. A beautiful work of art in need of air, space, and freedom; and I, her utmost admirer. I looked down at my watch. Five passed midnight.

I smirked watching the taillights disappear into the distance.

“Good morning, Matty. Happy anniversary.”

END