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glass. “Anyway, I went sailing with Phil and his wife and kids one day. Four kids.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo—this Emil guy told you that he took photos of Phil’s sons for a Boy Scout ceremony. He wants you to get the proofs back.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œDid you wonder why he picked you?”
    Eddie shrugged. “Somebody saw me with Joseph Belt. Emil thought I was a friend of Castle’s.”
    Gary shook his head. “Phil Castle didn’t have any shortage of friends. There isn’t any reason Emil had to come to you. And, whatever he wants you to recover for him, it isn’t photos of a Boy Scout ceremony.”
    â€œHow do you know that?”
    â€œBecause Phil Castle only had daughters.”

CHAPTER 4
    Willed Imagination
    (I)
    A URELIA HAD KNOWN LIFE with a Garland would be different but had no idea just how different. Kevin Garland was nine years her senior, an executive at his father’s small investment firm, with a lovely smile, a warm sense of humor, and considerable liquid assets. Naturally, the leading clans had pointed their daughters his way, but Kevin seemed happy on his own. The Czarinas could not fathom such a phenomenon. Behind cupped hands, they speculated on whether he might be one of
those.
Aurelia changed everything. From the first month of her arrival in Harlem, Aurie had attracted a coterie of suitors, and Kevin, along with Eddie Wesley, had led the pack. Eddie was smarter, Kevin was more fun. Eddie was always serious. Kevin loved to tell little jokes. Eddie was a terrible dancer and not terribly romantic, but he could teach her things about history and politics. Still, she could learn the same things from books if she wanted. Kevin sent her flowers at least once a week and danced like a dream. Unlike Eddie, he never talked down to her. He knew everybody, and could show her places no book could describe. True, Kevin tended to like things the way they were, but he could also provide for her like royalty, bringing to life the foolish dreams of childhood.
    One evening during their courtship, Kevin said he had a surprise for her. They took a taxi to a fancy hotel on Central Park South, the sort of place Negroes dared not enter, even in the absence of a formal color bar. Kevin crossed the lobby as if he owned it. They rode the elevator to a suite overlooking the park. A pair of guards stood before the door. Inside, Kevin introduced Aurelia to Richard Nixon, the Vice President of the United States. Nixon made an awkward fuss over her. He told her that the Garlands were wonderful people, that they were in the front rank in the fight against the Red menace. He clapped an embarrassed Kevin on the back, and pronounced him a future leader of the Negro people. Nixon was in the city to address the United Nations, where America at this time was feared and envied but not yet hated. He had a sad, shy, jowly face, a flat-footed walk, and a way of dropping his head without hunching his shoulders and still watching you. He smiled like a man not sure just why.
    â€œWe don’t want to take too much of your time, sir,” said Kevin.
    â€œYour husband’s a hero,” said the Vice President, waggling a finger. “One day the story will come out.” Nixon winked. Kevin looked at the floor.
    â€œHe’s not my husband,” said Aurelia. Seeing Kevin’s crestfallen face, she felt constrained to add, “Not yet.”
    â€œWell, hold on to him. He’s rich.” The Vice President was famously not rich. His suit was relentlessly inexpensive. A few years earlier, he had deflected an influence-peddling scandal by assuring the nation in a televised address that his wife, Pat, wore a cheap cloth coat. “And a good man. Remember that.”
    â€œThank you. I will.”
    â€œHear great things about you.”
    â€œAbout me?”
    â€œColumn you write. Fans everywhere.” The shy smile as an aide appeared to say it was time for