Chapter 5: The Insect Perspective
Neal's loft, January 22, 2005. Friday evening.
Neal returned to his loft after saying goodbye to Sara at the tapas restaurant. He resisted the temptation to make a detour to his studio to paint. Stop procrastinating, he lectured himself.
This evening he'd vowed to crack open his textbook for computational art. Any further delay was futile. But after being away from classes for a month, the thought of studying anything, let alone computational art, held zero appeal. Perhaps if the ambiance were better.
He poured himself a glass of wine and inserted a CD of Mozart chamber music into the player. Mozzie swore by the Mozart effect. Supposedly, simply listening to Mozart leads to an improvement in your reasoning ability. Computational art would be a demanding test of the theory. Neal knew he'd need to perform mental pushups to tackle the beast. Just looking at the size of the textbook—all 700-plus pages—was enough to send his cowardly brain cells into retreat. Was the supposedly fascinating world of computational design going to be his Waterloo?
He procrastinated as long as he could, first changing into sweat pants and a t-shirt and then leisurely going through his mail. How long did he need to listen before the effect kicked in? So far nothing was happening. Perhaps he should listen for a few days before attempting to study anything.
He flopped onto the couch and put the textbook on his lap. Oops. Forgot his wine. Can't study without a glass of wine. Once he was back on the couch, Neal gloomily regarded the book cover. The font they'd used on the title was lacking in originality. He could have selected a better one for them. He took a sip of wine. Intriguing bouquet. Was that a hint of anise? After a few minutes of reflection, he returned to the task at hand. His brain still didn't feel any different. Why wasn't Mozzie around when he was looking for a distraction? Mozzie barged in at all hours of the day and night. Why had he abandoned him in his hour of need? Was this a conspiracy to make him open the book?
Getting a grip on himself, Neal opened the book. Chapter 1: "An Introduction to Processing." One obstinate brain cell stood up and whispered in his ear, You could have chosen Matisse. Instead you gave me this? Resolutely, Neal sent that brain cell packing and started reading ...
His phone rang. Yes! Salvation was at hand. Neal glanced at the display. When he saw it was Henry, he grinned and shut his book.
Henry sounded surprised when he answered. "I expected to leave a message. It's Friday night. You're not on a date?"
"First week of classes. Figured I'd get in some studying." Having impressed Henry with his altogether admirable discipline, Neal turned off the music and settled back to relate the tale of woe about his course. He didn't get as much sympathy as he'd expected. Henry thought computational art was just what he needed.
Henry then asked about what he was working on at the FBI. That demanded a little more discretion. Neal had never mentioned anything about Azathoth to him. He'd considered it briefly but when he saw how furious Henry had been over Fowler's frame attempt, he decided not to add fuel to the flames. Neal suspected the real reason for Henry's anger was that he was upset he hadn't been around to help. At least Fowler was out of the picture now, but the same couldn't be said of Azathoth. How might Henry react to him? Instead of going down that rabbit hole, Neal lavished a good fifteen minutes on a dramatic description of the forgery discovery.
"I gather Sara hasn't seen the light and dumped Bryan?" Henry had schemed to bring Neal and Sara together last spring and still had a hard time believing his matchmaking hadn't worked.
"Apparently not, difficult as it to believe." Neal switched the subject to Henry's new assignment. Hearing about the facial recognition software project was much more pleasant, and he could probably draw Henry out for at least a half-hour.
"The project's proceeding well. Soon we'll enter the testing phase. That's one of the reasons I called. I've scheduled several meetings with prospective clients over the next few weeks and will be traveling most of the time. We've already signed up a couple in South America and I'd like to press the flesh with them. I may be out of cell phone range for the duration."
"Why aren't you starting in the States?"
"Can't begin in the majors, kiddo. We want to prove the product measures up to our specifications before approaching the FAA. Win-Win has several partnerships already in Latin America, so this is a natural fit."
"Are you going to have time to do your volunteer work in Ecuador?"
"Still planning on it. I've arranged to meet a musicologist in Quito and he'll take me along to a couple of the villages he's been working with." It was easy to hear the enthusiasm in Henry's voice as he warmed up to the topic. The ability to combine his love of music with working with kids was a powerful motivator.
They continued to talk for several minutes before Henry rang off, claiming he didn't want to keep Neal from his studies any longer. Killjoy. With a sigh, Neal turned Mozart back on and reopened the book to page eight.
Was that a sound on the stairs? Neal sat up and glanced at his watch. Ten o'clock. The music had stopped. He must have nodded off. Hard to believe with such a fascinating book to read.
The footsteps grew louder. Not bothering to knock, Mozzie burst into the room. Even by Mozzie's standards, his attire was extraordinary. His yellow-and-black striped silk ascot and bright yellow vest, coupled with a black corduroy jacket, gave him the look of a prosperous bumblebee.
"What do you think?" His look of smug satisfaction precluded a truthful answer.
Mozzie's theatrical flair had blossomed since he met Janet. It was as if she'd applied a growth hormone to his creative side. The vibrant colors of her fashion creations had opened his eyes to a different palette. Add to that his newfound enthusiasm for all things Hawaiian and his wardrobe was an understandable outcome.
Neal resisted the impulse to put on sunglasses and studied the vision standing before him."Have you considered carrying a walking stick? I can see you twirling it as you stroll."
Mozzie pondered it for a long moment and declined with a sigh, "It might detract, although it would be a subtle allusion to the bee's stinger. I'd thought of wearing a leather aviator cap to accentuate the desired bee appearance, but I wasn't convinced that it would go with my vest."
"You made a wise decision, but you didn't tell me you were going to be one of the models at the exhibition."
"I'm not modeling Janet's art! No one is. The costumes are suspended in the air as if they were living insects transformed."
"Then why do you want to look like a bee?"
"Janet allowed me to set up a booth in the foyer with flyers about the plight of the yellow-faced bee. That poster you made for me, by the way, worked out extremely well. Janet was thrilled." A smile spread over his face. "She was enthusiastic about my campaign and appreciative of how I'd become their champion." Mozzie pulled out a bottle from an insulated wine bag he'd brought along. "We should toast the success of the exhibition. This is what we'll serve at the reception."
Neal examined the bottle and broke into a grin when he saw the label.
"Billy and I had a rush batch made," Mozzie said proudly. "His Hawaiian relatives are a remarkable workforce, by the way. I was introduced to them in Hawaii and we bonded in solidarity."
"Workers of the world unite," Neal murmured.
"Precisely. For the wine we're serving at the reception, we blended a Washington chardonnay with Hawaiian mountain apple and a subtle hint of honey. We're calling it 'Pele's Nectar.' The label you designed is magnificent. It makes it look as expensive as the price we're going to sell it for."
Neal swirled it in his glass. It did have an elegant golden color. Sniffing it, he savored the faint aroma of pear. It was dry but had a refreshing floral bouquet. "Sophisticated, elegant ... I predict you have a winner."
"I've been working on it for the past three weeks to get the blend just right." He looked at Neal accusingly. "I really should have called on your palate more, but you've been otherwise engaged."
"You know I'm happy to help."
"Excellent. I have several other blends in mind. Valentine's Day is almost upon us and I've already begun work on the marketing campaign. Our motto will be Honey Wine is for Lovers."
"It should be a big seller with the college crowd."
Mozzie nodded enthusiastically. "I'll make a list of the posters and labels I need. I can see it now: a bottle of honey wine for every couple. Did you know that honey wine, or honey mead as it is often called, is believed to promote fertility and virility?"
"The virility aspect could sell, but I'd go slow on trumpeting fertility to college students."
Mozzie breezed over his warning as he warmed up to his subject. "In the Middle Ages, it was considered to be an essential element of the wedding ceremony. Newlyweds were provided with enough wine for a month. If I could get every wedding in New York to include a month's worth of wine ... " His eyes widened. "El coordinates many wedding receptions. We'll soon need more storage space."
"I'll try to clear my calendar to help," Neal offered. "I may need to drop my course on computational art. It will be a sacrifice, but the cause justifies it."
"That would be ill-advised. The skills covered in that course are extremely useful. You never know when they'll prove relevant. Particularly fractals. I've long been fascinated by them. Fractals are the key to unlocking some of life's greatest mysteries."
Had fractals joined the long list of Mozzie's obsessions? Neal tabled that dismaying thought for further reflection and returned to the immediate task in front of him. "I should warn you. You're going to see some familiar faces at the reception."
"How many suits are we talking about?" he asked uneasily.
"Not only suits. Aidan and Richard want to come."
His expression brightened. "I haven't seen them since— Wait, they know me as Athos. What have you told them about me?"
"Simply that you're undercover with a new alias and not to expect you with long, flowing locks. Aidan will be coming with his girlfriend Keiko."
"Aidan talked to me about her. I gave him some pointers on the art of courtship. They must have helped. That was before I'd unlocked the mystery of the bee's mating algorithm. I know he'll want to hear my latest theories."
That was a surprise. Neal had thought he was the only one who'd suffered Mozzie's well-intentioned if misguided coaching. He was going to have to compare notes with Aidan. "Good idea. I'm sure Aidan will want a full account, preferably with diagrams. Oh, and Richard's bringing Travis."
His smile faded. "Richard ... and a suit? They're seeing each other?"
"That's right." Evidently, a little extra push was called for. "Don't think of Travis as a suit. After all, he avoids wearing one whenever possible. Think of him as one of my closest friends who risked his career to help me con Fowler. Doesn't that elevate him into a higher category? A non-suit?"
Mozzie nodded slowly. "Perhaps a Vulcanized suit. He does show an unusual talent doe coloring outside the lines." Swallowing the remnants of his first glass of wine, he poured another. "I'm happy for Richard and Travis, of course, but it takes some getting used to. These days, everywhere I look I'm seeing suits. Does this mean I'm in the system now?"
"Not a chance," Neal said firmly. "And remember, these are suits with wallets. They're all potential honey wine customers and donors to the cause."
Mozzie stroked his upper lip thoughtfully. "You make a good point. An untapped market that deserves more attention. A specially blended wine—J. Edgar Hoover's Private Reserve, perhaps—if handled correctly could command four times the normal price." Raising his glass, he said to Neal with a smile, "Bring on your suits! Difficulties mastered are opportunities won."
#
Neal selected a dark turtleneck and corduroy jacket for his evening in SoHo, a haven for artists in Lower Manhattan. He took the subway to the event, getting off at the Prince Street station. SoHo was a popular destination on weekends and the subway stairs were crowded with shoppers. Neal rarely had the time to visit SoHo. He was looking forward to strolling among the art galleries and funky architecture. The Cecile Gallery where Janet was exhibiting was on Greene Street, in the heart of the historic district of cast-iron buildings and cobblestone streets. He noticed that several trendy shops had moved in next to the artists' lofts and bookstores. SoHo was going upscale.
Neal had intentionally arrived early so he could explore some of the art galleries on Prince Street. He missed having Fiona along. She'd been required to attend an evening reception for high-end clients. Neal stopped in front of a gallery that was hosting a one-man show for a contemporary artist with the artist's name displayed on long banners hanging in the windows. Would Neal Caffrey ever be painted on banners like that?
As he stood in front of the window, he felt a sudden prickle of uneasiness on the back of his neck. He was being watched.
He didn't change his stance but scanned the reflections of the passersby in the gallery window. No one that he recognized. Some of Neal's earliest childhood memories were of Ellen teaching him hide-and-seek. At the time he hadn't appreciated that she was training him in how to elude capture. Ever since he felt like he had a third eye that was constantly on the lookout for predators. That third eye was seldom wrong, and it was warning him now.
Neal slowly turned around and checked out the surroundings while pretending to make a phone call. Heading toward him were Peter and El. No enemy in sight. Neal exhaled slowly. The discovery of the flash drive in Flushing must have made him jumpier than he'd realized. He could turn off the warning sirens for Azathoth. Still, it was good to know his third eye was fully operational. Chalk this one up to a practice drill. Neal waved and waited for them to catch up.
"Fiona's not with you?" El asked.
"No, alas. I'm not the only one who's called upon to work weekends. Peter will have to share you with me," he said, stepping up to walk in stride with her on the other side from Peter.
"That means she'll be understanding of your schedule," Peter remarked. "Fiona's earning herself extra points with me."
Neal smiled. Peter teased El about being a matchmaker, but he was almost as bad.
When they arrived at their destination, the reception had just opened. Janet was in the foyer to greet the guests. She was wearing what must have been one of her creations, a hand-painted silk butterfly-sleeved tunic over black leggings coupled with flats resembling iridescent snails. Her hot pink glasses matched the color of the giant eyespots in the design.
The Cecile Gallery's minimalist look was a suitable backdrop for her extravagant use of bright colors. Silk multicolor smoking jackets with furled tails resembling butterflies were suspended from exposed beams. Janet had also designed dresses—short cocktail numbers with antenna headpieces— and high heels. One pair of grasshopper heels was particularly striking in fluorescent green with yellow bulging eyes. Neal noticed a short cocktail dress in black leather and yellow silk which mimicked a yellow-faced bee. That must have been a last-minute creation in Mozzie's honor.
Mozzie's yellow ascot and vest fit right in with the garments on display. He'd already taken his position beside a display on the yellow-faced bee. Neal's poster was prominently mounted on an easel in the center of the display. Neal restrained himself to a small smile when he saw it. He was being exhibited in an art gallery, after all. Mozzie also had a stack of brochures about the yellow-faced bee and, for a donation, offered glasses of Pele's Nectar.
Upon spotting them, Mozzie beckoned them over. "Suit, I know you want to make a donation."
"Of course, we do," El said firmly. Opening her purse, she inserted a twenty dollar bill into the beehive ceramic bank sitting on the table. In appreciation, Mozzie poured them glasses of wine.
Peter sniffed his glass gingerly. "Nice floral scent." The words sounded innocent but unknowingly Peter had tripped a switch in Mozzie's brain since he launched full throttle into a lecture on yellow-faced bees and the harm being inflicted upon them.
"The raping of their environment by heartless corporations and developers is a crime." Mozzie glared at Peter. "Why isn't the FBI working on that?"
"I'm recording this," Neal told Peter. "Mozzie asks the Bureau for help. Time 6:05 p.m., date—"
"I think it's wonderful," Janet said, gazing at Mozzie with admiration. "He's championing the cause of those who can't speak for themselves."
"I agree," El seconded. Turning to Janet, she added, "Your costumes are spectacular. They seem to pulse with kinetic energy like a neon light display."
Janet's face lit up like the clothes with her comments. "Colors can emit pheromones, triggering responses ranging from enticement to a subtle release of long-dormant passion."
Her remarks were cut short when Keiko and Aidan arrived. Neal made the introductions. Keiko was eager to talk with Janet. She explained that she was interested in using the kimono as an art form.
"Looks like you lost your date," Neal muttered to Aidan.
"I expected it," Aidan replied. "Keiko had already planned to attend the exhibition before I mentioned it to her. She and Janet are tuned to the same wavelength." He turned to the champion of the defenseless. "What's shakin', Mozz? I've missed you. Got any new hacks planned?"
Peter raised a brow and murmured to Neal, "Aidan and Mozzie are pals?"
"Apparently so," Neal said innocently. "Who knew?"
Mozzie threw himself with renewed vigor into his yellow-faced bee screed for Aidan, who took it in stride. Neal and Peter took advantage of the diversion to escape. In the center of the gallery, Janet's costumes were grouped with smaller items on pedestals. Along the walls were hung several large photographs of insects by a well-known New York artist.
Neal approached one photo to study it in detail. "Too bad the photographer wasn't able to be here."
"This is a fractal image, isn't it?" Peter asked.
"Yes, that's the reason Aidan's here. In fact, he suggested I attend before he knew I was already coming. The artist is famous for his use of fractals both in photography and videos. I'd been giving Aidan grief over my computational art course and he thought it'd help."
"The course isn't going well?"
"In a word, no. I had my first class on Thursday and was completely lost. I naively thought the focus would be on art. Supposedly no knowledge of programming is needed, but that was a con if ever there was one. I'm out of my depth." It felt good to admit to Peter what was going on, but Neal wasn't sure how he'd react. Would Peter think he sounded like a whining kid? On the other hand, he only had time for three courses this semester. Did he really want to waste one of his options on a course he had so little affinity for? "I'm considering dropping it. I have till the end of the month to decide."
Aidan walked over to them. "Once you get Mozz started, he doesn't stop, does he?" he said with a grin. "Glad to see you're admiring fractals, Neal. You gotta admit they have a magnetic appeal. Peter, support me on this."
Peter nodded in agreement. "You're right. They make a powerful statement. Do you use fractals in your art?"
"I use them in videos, like this one here. Did you see it? It's a fractal animation of a beehive honeycomb." They stood back to watch it. The animation was mesmerizing and a little disorienting as it zoomed in to reveal layers within layers. The images slowly rotated to the sound of ambient space music. Neal felt like he was on a space station drifting in the cosmic void.
"Genius, isn't it!" Mozzie said, approaching them. "I've been investigating honeycombs, research I might add that adds weight to my theory of the extraterrestrial origin of bees. The complexity of their fractal structures is testimony to the connection."
Neal knew his eyes were glazing over. He hadn't realized that Mozzie had merged his passion for bees with his belief in UFOs. He could tell that Peter and Aidan were having the same reaction. It was a relief to see Travis and Richard approach. Neal waved them over eagerly.
When Mozzie spotted Travis, his words trailed off. Travis was sensitive to Mozzie's flight instinct and approached slowly. With a quick wink to Neal, he flashed Mozzie a surreptitious Vulcan salute, holding his fingers low by his side. When Neal saw Mozzie respond in kind, he knew the battle had been won.
"Are the photographs helping you with your course?" Richard asked Neal.
"Not particularly. I have no problem admiring fractal art. Creating it is still the issue."
"Fractals have become so pervasive, they're hard to ignore," Peter said. "Fractal analysis is also being used for criminal investigations."
"And not only for earth-bound investigations," Travis added. "We're using a similar technique as we search for artificial objects on planets. Last week I attended a lecture SETI gave on their methods. Riveting stuff. It may have applications for Mars."
"I didn't know you were involved with the search for extraterrestrial life," Peter said.
"I've been working with SETI for years. I'm on the steering committee. We hold regular meetings at Columbia."
At Travis's words, Mozzie shuffled over to stand beside him. "Did I hear correctly? You're with SETI?"
#
The reception ended at seven and Neal left shortly afterward. Now that the gallery was open to the public it rapidly filled to the point of overflowing with the Saturday evening art crowd. Fiona would be getting off work soon. They planned to go to a late showing of The Merchant of Venice at a theater near Fiona's apartment in Gramercy Park on Manhattan's Lower East Side.
Peter and El left the reception with him. Since their car was parked close to Neal's subway stop, they walked together. Night had fallen but the streets in SoHo were still crowded as restaurants filled up with Saturday night diners.
"Janet should be pleased," Neal remarked. "I'm sure the reviews will be outstanding."
"And she's not the only one," El said, slipping an arm through his. "I heard several people approach Mozzie asking where they could purchase his wine. Many of them also raved about the artist of the poster and wanted to buy copies."
Neal briefly considered acting nonchalant, but why? The posters would be his first sale from an art gallery. He'd have to add a note to the milestones box Byron had given him. Byron had suggested he use it to add notes to remind himself about successes he'd had in staying on his new career path, and he'd already added several. His notes were folded into origami figures. This one would have to be an origami bee.
He was still smiling when Peter asked about the upcoming exhibition at Columbia, a required component of the master's program. It was held in the art gallery on campus and would be the first time his paintings would be displayed in a public setting. He, Aidan, and Richard had been working toward the exhibition since September. "Can your paintings be purchased?"
"I hadn't thought about it."
"I don't see why not," El said. "They're your artworks. You'll no doubt paint additional ones anyway for your second-year thesis exhibition."
As they walked back, the other hot topic of conversation was Mozzie. "I wish you'd taken a picture of him leading Travis off, physically, by the arm—touching a suit—so they could discuss the latest alien sightings," Peter said with a laugh.
Neal shook his head emphatically. "No pictures allowed. Mozzie would have confiscated your camera and destroyed the evidence. I didn't know Travis volunteered for SETI either. Given his interest in sci-fi, it's not a surprise."
"Do you think Travis knows what he's in for?" El asked.
Neal shrugged. "Travis likes to think he can handle space aliens. Mozzie may put him to the test." Difficulties mastered ... Mozzie had stepped up to his challenge. Wasn't it time to stop backsliding and master his own difficulties? Aidan had offered tutoring help. Travis was also willing.
As they walked back along Prince Street, they took their time and lingered in front of some of the windows. El had them stop in front of a display of antique hardware. She was trying to talk Peter into remodeling their powder room. Neal had no desire to be drawn into that contentious debate and retraced his footsteps to the bookstore next door. The display of antique maps in the window included an interesting map of nineteenth-century Manhattan. As he approached the window, his third eye flashed him a warning again. This time he didn't waste any time but quickly spun around. He scanned the crowd of passersby, stepping to the curb for a better view.
"What is it?" Peter asked quietly. He'd left the hardware display and had come back to join Neal.
"I'm not sure." Neal hesitated and looked around. He didn't see El. She must have gone into the store. "Earlier this evening I had the feeling I was being watched, and I just felt it again." He shook his head in frustration. "But I haven't found anyone."
"Do you think you could simply be on edge? Understandable, after we found those photos."
"Yeah, I suppose." But two times in one evening ... Who wasn't he seeing?
Peter eyed him thoughtfully. "Your instincts aren't usually wrong on this. What do you want to do?"
"Nothing we can do besides stay alert." Neal shrugged. No point in dwelling on it. "Did you hear anything from D.C.?"
Peter nodded. "Art Crimes agreed to let you examine some of the Dutchman's works. They'll be here for you on Monday."
That was outstanding news. Neal had been braced for a rejection. "How were you able to get approval?"
"I called Kramer and explained that I have a young hotshot working for me who's going to help us identify the Dutchman. He already knows about your work, you know. Someday you'll have to meet him."
"Thanks. If they were arriving tonight, I would have gone in tomorrow."
Peter frowned. "Surely you have something better to do than work at White Collar on Sunday."
"Not necessarily better but it could be entertaining. I'm meeting Richard and Aidan in the afternoon. Angela's going to teach us how to apply makeup." Neal chuckled and stepped back from the curb.
"Wait a minute," Peter protested. "You can't leave me dangling like that."
"It's for Richard's special effects class. He feels about makeup like I do about fractals. Angela's an expert. She's going to demonstrate some of her trade secrets."
"You get any pictures, I want to see them."
Notes: "Difficulties mastered are opportunities won" is a quote by Winston Churchill. Mozzie used it in the season 3 episode "Deadline."
If you'd like to visit the exhibition, Janet's costumes, the fractal images, and scenes of SoHo are all on The Dreamer board of the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site. For Janet's designs, I borrowed the inspired creations of Stella Cecil, a talented London designer.