51. Serendipity

"I've got some news," Bear said. Their footfalls echoed loudly in the Friday-afternoon-in-summer stillness of the hallway. "I just had a meeting with Cummings about the timetable for the Lebrun. He wants it finished, ideally, by the middle of August. Early September at the latest."

Bonnie could not hide her dismay. "So soon?"

He nodded. "It's too bad the Duchesnays' general neglect of the painting preserved it so well. If only they'd dropped it a few times, stored it an unheated basement, or used it for dart practice, we'd have some serious condition issues to treat."

She saw he was ribbing her, and smiled ruefully. "Of course I'm glad we haven't turned up any major damage. I just hate the thought of giving it up in a matter of weeks."

"If it's any consolation, the plan is to make the painting's debut a gala event. These two weeks have confirmed it's a powerful draw — the number of visitors is up thirty percent over this time last year — and the Steering Committee's looking to capitalize on that to bump up membership in the Jeffersonian Society. It'll be a black-tie affair for Society members only, with cocktails and dinner in the Great Hall before the unveiling, and a party with music and dancing after. According to Cummings, they're going to pull out all the stops."

As her parents and grandparents were longtime 'Major Donor Club' members, Bonnie had attended her share of the Institute's more extravagant soirées. If past experience was any guide, La Coupe d'amour's reception would be the height of luxury and elegance. "A celebration is definitely in order."

"I agree. I only wish it didn't mean me having to spend hours in a monkey suit. I have to go," he explained, when she looked a question at him. "It's part of my job as Cummings' assistant to represent the department at these kinds of functions and talk up the work we do. He wants you there, too, but he can't require it. You're under no obligation to work on a weekend night."

"I wouldn't dream of missing it! When is it?"

"First Saturday in September, whatever day that is. On the bright side, you can bring a date. If you want."

Bonnie did not hear the question so much as read it in Bear's suddenly intent gaze. "I… don't think so. The point of my going is to mingle and be available to answer questions, right? Then, chances are good whoever I invite along would spend most of the evening listening to me talk to other people, and I can't imagine that would be much fun." They descended a few stairs in silence before she ventured, "How about you? Will you bring someone?"

"Me? No."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he had, apparently, no more to say on the subject. "The day after the party," he went on instead, "the painting will go on public display, and hang in the gallery until mid-October, when it'll be taken down, crated up, and transported to the Louvre. Perrin's already busy setting up a range of events to mark its arrival: meetings with the press, a special exhibition devoted to the French Rococo, a symposium for Lebrun scholars and enthusiasts, and, of course, a gala celebration of their own."

Bonnie crossed her fingers, and hid them in the folds of her skirt. "Any word on who'll accompany the painting to Paris?"

"That's going to depend on how much of the cost the French are willing to bear, but it's safe to assume Cummings will go as the Jeff's liaison, and I'll probably supervise the move, and stay to give a technical overview of the painting's conservation at the symposium. As to your making the trip…" He broke off to acknowledge the night security guard's wishes for a pleasant evening, and stood aside to let Bonnie precede him out the main door. "It's not out of the question, but don't get your hopes up, either. It's all still very much up in the air."

It was not the reassurance she'd hoped for, but at least the possibility remained open. "I understand."

They emerged into the balmy afternoon, the sun over-bright after a day spent indoors. At the bottom of the exterior stair, they stopped, Bonnie thought, to say their goodbyes, but Bear said, "You should consider submitting a paper of your own for the symposium. If it's accepted, you'd qualify for a Jeff travel grant, so funding wouldn't be a problem. Plus, presenting at an international conference would look good on your resumé. You could catalogue the physical differences and similarities between our Coupe d'amour and the Louvre's, for example."

Or she could propose her theory explaining the radical shift in the painting's composition. She still needed strong supporting evidence, though… "That's a great idea. Thanks! I'll plan on it."

They continued to stand, she smiling up, Bear looking back with a more guarded, almost troubled expression. As the moment stretched, Bonnie had time to wonder if, just maybe, he was thinking of asking her join him and Danny for dinner, and what her answer would be if he did — she was practically sure she'd decline — but then he said, "Well," with a certain finality, and cocked a thumb over his shoulder. "I have to…"

"Me, too," she said hurriedly, back-pedaling a few steps. "Have a great weekend. Tell Danny I said hello."

He nodded, retreating in the opposite direction. "See you Monday." With that, he spun on his heel and strode away.

Bonnie looked after him a long moment, and then turned in the direction of the Founding Fathers. She thought about flagging a cab, but the weather was so glorious, she decided to treat herself to a leisurely stroll instead. As she walked, she went over de Clermont's findings in her mind, trying to hit on some angle, some promising lead to exploit, but the only good notion to come from this exercise was a decision to forward the email to her grandfather post haste for his expert consideration. She was glad enough to arrive at the restaurant with five minutes to spare, and, perching on the outside bench, drafted a short plea for help to accompany de Clermont's message. She had just pressed 'send' and was putting her device in her bag, when she heard a loud gasp, followed by a high-pitched, "Bonnie!"

Looking up, she discovered a hugely-grinning Vanna stopped on the sidewalk in front of her, cornflower blue eyes wide with delight. "I can't believe this!" she said, plunking herself down on the bench. "I've been meaning to call you all day, and now, poof! Here you are! Fancy that!"

Bonnie had to smile at so much ebullience. "It's good to see you, Van. You're looking very festive."

Vanna glanced down at the sequins and mirror work liberally bedecking the bodice and hem of her burnt-orange dress, and laughed. "I know it's a bit much, but it just screamed 'party' when I saw it at that vintage clothes shop you recommended, and I couldn't resist." A discreet cough caught her attention, and, glancing up, she gestured to a tall, thin man awkwardly obstructing the flow of pedestrians. "You remember Steve Yates?"

"Of course." Bonnie stood, and, smiling, held out her hand to him. "How are you?" In sharp contrast to Vanna, he was simply dressed in a dark t-shirt and jeans, and, for all answer, merely smiled pleasantly as they shook hands. "So," she said, looking from one to the other, "what brings you to this part of town?"

"We have this thing for campaign staffers later," Vanna said. "At Karied Away — you know, the karaoke bar just a few blocks from here? — and we thought we'd grab some dinner first. How about you?"

Bonnie opened her mouth to reply, but was distracted by the sight of Trev on the other side of the street, preparing to wend his way through traffic. He waved when he was half-way across, and, making the most of a small opening, jogged the rest of the way to her side. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. His hair was attractively mussed from the short dash, and his shirt was open at the collar, his tie loosely knotted around his neck. "You haven't been waiting long?"

"Hardly at all," Bonnie assured him. "And anyway…" She tipped her head meaningfully. "I've had company."

Trev turned to greet the other couple, his polite smile broadening into a grin when he saw who it was. "Oh! Hey, you two!" he said, reaching out to pump Steve's hand and planting a quick buss on Vanna's cheek. "What're you kids doing out this way?"

"Looking for a good place to eat," Vanna told him. "Nothing gourmet or exotic. Steve's a fussy eater. Any suggestions?"

"Well…" Trev slanted Bonnie an inquiring look. At her infinitesimal nod, he continued, "If you feel like plain American pub fare — salads, hamburgers, steak and fries — the Founding Fathers is pretty hard to beat. We're just heading in, ourselves. You should join us."

"Oh, no!" Vanna said, recoiling a step. "Thanks, but we couldn't possibly horn in your date."

"Don't be silly," Bonnie said. "The more, the merrier. Besides, didn't you want to talk to me about something or other?"

"Yes, but…" She gave her head a quick shake. "It can wait."

"Maybe so," Bonnie countered, "but now that you've piqued my curiosity, it would be mean not to tell me."

"And you wouldn't be intruding," Trev insisted. "Really."

Still Vanna hesitated, and it was only after a wordless conference with Steve that ended in his offhand "yeah, why not" shrug, that she gave in. "You're sure you don't mind?"

Bonnie threaded her arm through Vanna's and tugged her toward the restaurant entrance. "Positive."

Dinner passed over very pleasantly. Steve found his appetizer, entrée and dessert so entirely to his liking that, while he dutifully followed the conversation, he contributed little of substance to it. Bonnie tried once or twice to draw him into their discussion, but he seemed content to let Vanna do his share of the socializing as well as her own. And Vanna did bring a lot to the table, including a couple of favors she needed.

"The reason I was going to call you, Bonnie, is this year's Girls, Unlimited Career Day. It's an event we organize to expose the girls to the wide variety of jobs currently being done by women in the area. We try to showcase jobs, like yours, that aren't stereotypically female, jobs the girls might not know exist. Each speaker usually gives a brief talk about the work she does, and takes a few questions, and then, there's a tea at the end where the girls can follow up with their favorite speaker. It's a full afternoon's commitment, I'm afraid, but I was hoping you could make the time."

Bonnie, flattered to be asked, promised she would, and then, it was Trev's turn. "My mother's helping out with a local beauty pageant, and she's short one judge. You'd be perfect, Trev! No, hear me out! You're something of a celebrity, you're one of D. C.'s most eligible bachelors, and, best of all, you already own a tux!" She clasped her hands together in mock supplication. "Please say yes! I'll be eternally grateful."

"And well you should be," Trev said, chuckling. "All right. Yes."

Over dessert, talk turned to the nitty-gritty of the Senator's campaign: the recent poll numbers, the schedule for upcoming appearances, the contributions so far collected and strategies for raising more. Steve suddenly became more animated, leaving Bonnie something of the odd man out, but she was happy enough to sit back, savor her coffee and listen.

The only disagreeable moment came when the waiter brought the check, and Trev would not hear of splitting the bill. "I invited you to join us," he said, handing the server his debit card. "That makes you my guest." No amount of arguing on Vanna's part could make him change his mind. He even refused Steve's offer to leave the tip.

"Since you wouldn't let us pay a dime," Vanna said, when they were once again out on the sidewalk, "how about you let us treat you to a night of karaoke? We've rented a room for twenty, and only fifteen people confirmed. C'mon! It'll be a blast!"

"Oh!" Bonnie'd been thinking well ahead, waiting only for Steve and Vanna to take their leave to propose an excursion to Paradise Lost. She met Trev's questioning look, and winced inside to see his undisguised enthusiasm for the plan.

At her pained smile, Trev laughed indulgently. "Bonnie's not a huge fan of karaoke bars," he said, mistaking the reason for her reluctance.

Vanna swung toward her, face bright with interest. "Because your grandfather was shot in one?"

"What? No!" Bonnie objected. "How do you know about that, anyway?"

"I read about it in Parts of the Whole. Such a traumatic scene! I can see where you'd have a negative association."

"It's not that," Trev said, a teasing light in his eyes. "Truth is, Bonnie can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"Hey! You're no great shakes, yourself!"

"That's not what you said when I played Danny in Grease."

"That was in high school! You were just less awful than the rest of the cast."

"I love that musical," Vanna chimed in, warmly. "Those old songs have really great energy. Do you still remember You're the One that I Want? We could do it as a duet!"

Trev raised his brows at Bonnie, the appeal unmistakable in his eyes. "What do you say? We don't have to stay long."

"And no one's going to make you sing," Vanna assured her. "Steve usually doesn't."

"Unless I'm plastered out of my gourd," he put in, unexpectedly.

Bonnie looked at her three companions, all patiently hanging on her decision, two of them so hopefully. She stifled a sigh. Deena Clemens would have to wait. "Fine. Let's go."