"Where are you from?"
"Gary, Indiana."
"Really?" He looked at her in surprise. "That's where I was born. So, you're a Hoosier, eh?"
Lara smiled. "That's right. I have such fond memories of Gary. My father worked for the Post-Tribune. I went to Roosevelt High. On weekends we'd go to Gleason Park for picnics and outdoor concerts, or we'd go bowling at the Twelve and Twenty. I hated having to leave."
"You've done well for yourself, Miss Cameron."
"Lara."
"Lara. What are you up to these days?"
"The project I'm most excited about," Lara told him, "is a new building I'm putting up in Queens. It's going to have thirty stories and two hundred thousand square feet of floor space."
"That's interesting," Guttman said, thoughtfully.
"Oh," Lara said innocently. "Why?"
"It happens that we're looking for a building just about that size for our new headquarters."
"Really? Have you chosen one yet?"
"Not exactly, but..."
"If you'd like, I can show you the plans for our new building. They've already been drawn up."
He studied her a moment. "Yes, I'd like to see them."
"I can bring them to your office Monday morning."
"I'll look forward to it."
The rest of the evening went well.
When Horace Guttman reached home that night, he walked into his wife's bedroom.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better, darling. How was the party?"
He sat down on the bed. "Well, they all missed you, but I had an interesting time. Have you ever heard of Lara Cameron?"
"Certainly. Everyone has heard of Lara Cameron."
"She's quite a woman. A little strange. Says she was born in Gary, Indiana, same as me. Knew all about Gary - Gleason Park and the Twelve and Twenty."
"What's strange about that?"
Guttman looked at his wife and grinned. "The little lady comes from Nova Scotia."
Early Monday morning Lara appeared at Horace Guttman's office, carrying the blueprints for the Queens project. She was ushered in immediately.
"Nice to see you, Lara. Sit down."
She laid the blueprints on his desk and sat across from him.
"Before you look at these," Lara said, "I have something to confess, Horace."
Guttman leaned back in his chair. "Yes?"
"That story I told on Saturday about Gary, Indiana..."
"What about it?"
"I've never even been to Gary, Indiana. I was trying to impress you."
He laughed. "Now you've succeeded in confusing me. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep up with you, young lady. Let's look at these blueprints."
Half an hour later he was through examining them.
"You know," he said reflectively," I was pretty well set on another location."
"Were you?"
"Why should I change my mind and move into your building?"
"Because you're going to be happier there. I'll see that you have everything you need." She smiled. "Besides, it's going to cost your company ten percent less."
"Really? You don't know what my deal is for the other building."
"It doesn't matter. I'll take your word for it."
"You could have come from Gary, Indiana," Guttman said. "You've got a deal."
When Lara returned to her office, there was a message that Philip Adler had telephoned.
Chapter Nineteen
The ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria was crowded with patrons of Carnegie Hall. Lara moved through the crowd, looking for Philip. She recalled the telephone conversation they had had a few days earlier.
"Miss Cameron, this is Philip Adler."
Her throat went suddenly dry.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to thank you earlier for the donation you made to the foundation. I've just returned from Europe and learned about it."
"It was my pleasure," Lara said. She had to keep him talking. "As...as a matter of fact, I'm interested in knowing more about the foundation. Perhaps we could get together and discuss it."
There was a pause. "There's going to be a charity dinner at the Waldorf Saturday evening. We could meet there. Are you free?"
Lara quickly glanced at her schedule. She had a dinner meeting that evening with a banker from Texas.
She made a quick decision. "Yes. I'd be delighted to go."
"Wonderful. There will be a ticket at the door for you."
When Lara replaced the receiver, she was beaming.
Philip Adler was nowhere in sight. Lara moved through the huge ballroom, listening to the conversations around her.
"...so the leading tenor said, 'Dr. Klemperer, I have only two high C's left. Do you want to hear them now or tonight at the performance?'...'
"...oh, I admit that he has a good stick. His dynamics and tonal shadings are excellent...but the tempi! Tempi! Spare me!..."
"...you're insane! Stravinsky is too structured. His music could have been written by a robot. He holds back his feelings. Bartok, on the other hand, lets loose the floodgates, and we're bathed in emotions..."
"...I simply can't stand her playing. Her Chopin is an exercise in tortured rubato, butchered textures, and purple passion..."
It was an arcane language that was beyond Lara's comprehension. And then she saw Philip, surrounded by an admiring coterie. Lara pushed her way through the crowd. An attractive young woman was saying, "When you played the B flat Minor Sonata, I felt that Rachmaninoff was smiling. Your tone and voicing, and the soft-grained readings...Wonderful!"