Stealing Fire (5 page)

Then I heard the news. There had been a fire at Taliesin West. Helen Fine had burned to death.

I had to squash a laugh. It had cost a fortune to set it up, I'd had to get into bed with Jake Fine's guys to pull it off—BUT
I HAD FOOLED THEM ALL.

I had to get back to my room. My skin was prickling with laughter and success. I needed privacy. To celebrate.

 

Seven

There were two Taliesins. One, the original, was situated on Mr. Wright's childhood property in Wisconsin. It was the true beginning and center of his work. Taliesin West, in Scottsdale, a small town on the north edge of Phoenix, was a warm retreat to work. He and his wife were done with Wisconsin winters.

The wire from Taliesin West was sketchy on information. A fire in a shed filled with building materials. No hint of a cause, so not necessarily arson. Some materials like rags wet with shellac ignite spontaneously. If Taliesin was surrounded by greasewood or sage, one stray lightning strike—everything gone. Greasewood, even when it's soaking wet, will go straight up in flames because of the oil on the bark and needles, and inside the limbs.

It stank like the work of one of Fine's goons in L.A. or Vegas. A burned building is a blow-to-the-gut threat.
We can get to you.

But would they be so careless as to kill Jake Fine's daughter? Unlikely.

And this had to do with more than money. If it was deliberate, it was too big a show for twenty grand. Those guys will spend that much on jewelry for a woman they barely know, but to kill someone and get the law on your ass?

I spoke up. “Mr. Wright, Mrs. Wright, this fire probably isn't an accident. They threatened you in the train station. Now they're threatening you in your winter home. They've even killed one of your Fellows, by mistake or on purpose—we don't know. You need protection, and it may be a bigger job than I can take on.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” said Mrs. Wright, for once clinging to Mr. Wright.

“For a fee I'll get you safely to Taliesin West. From there you're on your own.”

“Yes, please,” Mrs. Wright said. “I'm terribly frightened.” Tears covered her cheeks.

I sat while the two Wrights comforted each other. They weren't ashamed to cry in front of me. I'm sure they couldn't help themselves. I let it wind down, no words. I put myself inside a place that is fierce as water. Flexible. Reflective. Destructive. Careful. Vibrating with energy.

Mrs. Wright pulled herself together first. “Mr. Goldman, every one of our students becomes our family. Helen … we loved her dearly. She was steady and has an extraordinary eye for nature and design. A terrific future in front of her. Who would try to hurt her?”

“Fire,” said Wright. “Fire and fire again.” The man was stripped bare to his bones. Yes, this was someone worth taking care of.

We waited. They held each other.

“Mr. Wright,” I said, “it's almost time to get out and wave.”

She put her fingers in his hair, ran it back. “Can you manage?”

I wished I could spare him, but I couldn't. He had given his word, and I couldn't give up that much money.

“I'll be ready. It won't be the first time I had to promote myself when work was the last thing from my mind.”

“I'm going to walk out on the platform with you,” I said.

“A bodyguard?”

“A friend. Unless there is something that needs taking care of.”

“I'll be ready for the crowd.”

I walked him to his compartment, his tube of blueprints in one hand, leaning on his walking stick with a carved ivory head with his other hand. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and recovered himself.

“For now we'll put these feelings aside,” he said to me. “When you are ready to meet grief, it's there, waiting. No avoiding it.”

I shook his hand white-man style, firm and steady, to help him feel solid.

He went away to wash up, getting ready to wave part of his one-thousand-dollar dining tab away.

I found a conductor. “I need help. It's urgent.”

“Just say the word.” Santa Fe conductors are taught to listen to security people.

I told him to send a wire asking for solid information about the fire. In particular, I wanted to know about any deaths.

*   *   *

I went to the compartment, kissed Iris good morning, shaved, and went to the back of the train to stand next to Mr. Wright while he waved and cried out, “What a great railroad! Hop on and go to Los Angeles! Or Chicago!”

Then we eased our way back to the leather booth where Mrs. Wright sat.

She stirred milk in her tea and said, “You've decided to protect us after we get off the train?”

“Yes.”

“It won't be easy.”

“I know that.”

“You only have the faintest idea of how not-easy it will be, Mr. Goldman.”

“I'll raise my fee if he gives me too much trouble.”

More arched eyebrows. “You can certainly present him with a larger bill.”

“Your tone … You don't want me on the job.”

“I do. I like you and your wife very much. That's why I'm warning you that it won't be easy,” she said. “One train ride and we've already been threatened by a lowlife, and had a fire, and a death.”

Just then the conductor strode up and handed me the telegram. His smile hinted at the news.

NO DEATHS IN FIRE. HELEN FINE OKAY. HER WALLET MAYBE THERE BY ACCIDENT.

Or maybe as a threat.

I handed the piece of yellow paper to the Wrights.

They threw their arms around one another. They hugged and smooched. And again came tears of a mountain.

*   *   *

I waited until Iris joined us, we all had breakfast—I had eggs Benedict, which I love—before I broke the news. “We're off the train in Albuquerque.”

“Taliesin is closest to Flagstaff,” said Mrs. Wright. “That's where we disembark.”

“Which is what everyone expects,” I said.

“What is in Albuquerque,” clink, clink, spoon against the china teacup, “and how shall we get to Taliesin West?”

“We'll go to my family home in Santa Fe. It's historic, big, and I can protect you there. The house is in a walled courtyard off the plaza. We're only about fifty miles from the depot in Albuquerque. I'll have a car waiting for us at the train station.”

“But what about all the others?” said Wright. “The Fellows and apprentices on board with us?”

“They'll get off at Flagstaff as planned.”

“I don't think I like this,” said Mr. Wright.

So, first showdown. “You and I came to an understanding about who calls the shots in this situation.”

He looked down at the tablecloth.

Mrs. Wright shook her head and gave a small smile. “I think Mr. Wright will have a good time in New Mexico.”

“I think I can keep him alive in New Mexico.”

“What could be better?” the old man pitched in.

Crisis passed. I gave Iris a small smile.

Olgivanna Wright—what an unfortunate name—said they usually drove in a caravan from Wisconsin to Arizona, and that cars with the other students were already in Flagstaff, waiting. They even carried their own trailer to cook in—they called it the dinky diner.

“Why take the Super Chief this time?” I said.

“We couldn't bring everyone who works with us on the train, but for the special group, members of Frank's inner circle, we chose to ride the train. It's a special occasion.”

“What for?” said Iris.

“He just got back from New York. His plans are approved for the Guggenheim Museum. It looks as if all foreseeable roadblocks are finally down, and we received a very nice commission for the plans from Mr. Guggenheim.”

“Who handles your business money?” I said.

“Wes Bosley.”

“Has he got the check?”

“Mr. Wright is carrying it with his designs for the museum. I cannot tell you how many drafts there are. The number changes all the time—it is the biggest project he has ever had.”

“The Guggenheim. I haven't heard of it.” I resisted the impulse to act more sophisticated than I am.

“It will be across from Central Park in New York City. Nothing like it ever designed or built before. Some members on the planning board got damned stubborn. Fortunately, Mr. Guggenheim has faith in my vision.”

“Very unique plans for this building,” Iris guessed.

“Yes.”

“Structure must be unique, too.”

Pride perked his voice up. “Extraordinarily so. Every building within sight is a box. The museum will be a balm to the eye. It is a series of concentric circles, smallest at the bottom, biggest at the top.”

I gulped.

Iris recovered, grinned, and said, “Probably some people would like to get their hands on those plans.”

Frank tapped them with four fingers. They were never out of his reach.

Mrs. Wright looked up from her empty teacup into my eyes. “Yes. He has enemies. These plans are truly unique. Some rival architects would like to get their hands on them and publish the drafts with derogatory comments. Try to slow down the project.”

I said, “Maybe destroy it?”

“Possibly. Of course, there are copies, but Frank works by continuous innovation, changing his plans as he goes along. The drafts he's carrying are the most current.”

This was giving me a headache. “So there is a lot of money at stake. A lot of commissions.”

“And prestige. Sometimes I think architects are more interested in prestige and legacy than money, although Frank does love to spend it. It's part of his identity as a free spirit. A genius.”

“Which helps bring in the commissions.”

“Exactly.”

“There are other architects who'd like to have the commission for that museum,” I said.

“You cannot imagine how many.”

I couldn't.

I ordered Mrs. Wright another cup of tea. I had coffee with chili powder in it. Perks up my brain.

Iris spun us in another direction. “Tell about the young woman, the one who did not die in the fire?”

“She came to Taliesin, pestered her way in the door, showed Mr. Barnes some plans she'd drawn. He was impressed and set up a meeting with Frank. She became one of us.”

“A tremendous break for her,” I said.

“Aside from Fellows, who pay to learn,” said Mr. Wright, “we also have benefactors.”

Benefactors? You'd think these people were running a charitable foundation to put vets back to work or find jobs for war widows.

“What exactly,” I said, “does a benefactor do?”

“They pay me to design plans for houses, whether or not they have specific plans to build now.” He shrugged.

“Basically,” I said, “benefactors give you money because they believe in your work. Sometimes a plan turns into a building. Sometimes it doesn't. But the plans are still valuable.”

Ahhhh … Iris saw the lightbulb blinking over my head. Maybe there was hope for me yet.

“All of them may be built someday,” said Wright. “I expect that they will.”

“For now,” said Mrs. Wright, “they give us money to keep Taliesin going. I believe we're in black ink in Wisconsin, at least.”

“They just give money to you?”

“To support the work. The Kaufmanns, their home is called Fallingwater. The Guggenheim and that house will probably be remembered as Frank's greatest achievements. They believe in him and want to make sure he is remembered long after he's gone. As a matter of fact, their son is studying directly with Frank, as was Helen.”

“I'm more keen about the ones that are truly going to be built,” said Mr. Wright. “I have one in Bel Air, California now.

“That one is amazing. It seems to grow out of the earth just like the humped rocks behind it. In fact, Helen, who luckily is alive? Her father has commissioned that one.”

Jake Fine?

 

Eight

The next stop was Albuquerque, and the Wrights were waiting for us in the dining car. Payton had finally crawled out of whatever hole he'd fallen into, and they'd told him they were getting off the train early. I had asked them not to tell anyone exactly where they were getting off, but the Wrights said one person must know so they could make up a tale about why they weren't with the group.

Payton was chosen. He would get off at Flagstaff, as planned, and make sure everyone headed for Taliesin West. We would wire ahead when the Wrights were on the way there. I'd escort them from Santa Fe to Taliesin, and Payton would know when to expect us.

“Payton is always a worrier. He wanted me to leave the plans for the Guggenheim with him so they could work on the elevations until I got there,” Wright said.

“How could they do that without you?”

“The plans are done, well, nearly so. Now the levels will be drawn with different colored pencils. They're used to doing that part of the detail work.”

“Sounds like more than details.”

“I have a group that knows what they're doing.” His eyes sparkled. “And to think, it's only taken me fifty years to assemble such a crew.”

And up came Payton. His Pretty Boy looks and his talent for kissing up were not qualities I admired.

“Frank,” he said, “I don't like to leave you.”

“You've got a bold imagination, but you're not in the protection department.”

Payton was average height, but he wasn't average build. The clothing he wore now was different than the suit I'd first seen him wearing. The T-shirt and jeans defined his body. He was tough, compact, and solid.

“Just a short separation, Payton,” said Wright. “We're simply taking a different route to Taliesin. We may even beat you there.”

The old man was fast on his feet with a lie. A spontaneous embellishment, my grandfather would call it.