After a long day of fund-raising, I pull into my parking spot outside the church. The soft work lights spill out the front door of the church, making a path down the stairs to the sidewalk. I sit and look at it for a long time. All around me, the black sky nearly swallows our little town in darkness. In the distance, the streetlamps throw white light like small moons, but for the most part it is bleak. I went to my top four clients and came away with a whopping twenty thousand dollars, which will buy the baptismal trough at the base of the Wall of Water and not much more. It's almost midnight as I climb the steps into the church with a heavy heart. I've been shamelessly avoiding this painful conversation with Rufus, hoping he's so engrossed in his work that he hasn't noticed how distraught I've been. I halfway expected Pedro to find out what Aurelia did, but I guess The Benefactor knew her daughter wouldn't rush home to save the day. Capri was always generous, but never devout. At least some small good came of this renovation. Capri found true love with Pedro. It almost makes the whole mess worth it.

I stand in the nave and watch Rufus sitting on scaffolding as he sands the wall where the stations of the cross will hang. I've seen how much he loves what he does, and it's heartbreaking to think he won't be able to finish his masterpiece. I look around the empty church, imagining what might have been. The dust from the plaster makes me sneeze.

"God bless you." Rufus looks down at me.

"Rufus, I need to talk to you."

He climbs down the ladder and meets me on the floor. "Sounds serious."

"We're in trouble."

"What's the matter?" He wipes the sweat from his face with a bandana.

"The funds have been pulled."

"What do you mean?"

"Aurelia cut us off because she's furious about Capri and Pedro. I went to Father, who went to the diocese. The bishop said he wouldn't give us the money. He said the renovation was too ambitious. He told Father to paint the joint and put the pews back in and call it a day." I have to force the words out.

"Great. What if the popes during the Renaissance had said the same thing?"

"I went to four of my biggest clients today and raised twenty thousand dollars, which buys us the baptismal font. The windows are safe because we paid for those supplies up front. I want you to finish. But we'll have to forgo the Wall of Water. I'm sick about it, but it's too labor-intensive. We need a big crew to pull it off, and we just can't afford it now. It's the most expensive item in the design."

Rufus digs into his pocket and finds his pack of cigarettes. He offers me one. I take it. He lights his cigarette, then mine. Rufus exhales a cloud of smoke that disappears into the darkness.

I look around at my beloved church, in shambles. There are slabs of wood where the stained-glass windows used to be. A pile of rubble sits in the altar's place. The sacristy is filled with Sheetrock, tubs of dry plaster, and cans of paint. "I'm sorry, Rufus."

"It would've been something. Hey, this isn't the first time commerce won over art, and it won't be the last."

Eydie's town car pulls up in front of the Villa di Crespi on the dot of seven. I've prepared a lovely supper of tortellini stuffed with mushrooms in a spicy arrabiata sauce followed by a roasted rosemary chicken and a fresh escarole salad. I've been thinking about Eydie a lot. The crushing disappointment over the church has really depressed me, and I need to replenish my spirits with an evening of good food, expensive wine, and the company of a beautiful woman.

I greet Eydie at the door. She kisses me on both cheeks and hands me her mink. She wears winter-white wool trousers and a pink cashmere sweater. Her long black hair is separated into two pigtails, loosely braided on the ends. "My God, that's extraordinary," I say catching a whiff of her perfume.

"I know, I smell like cookies, don't I?" she says, laughing. "I make my own perfume, you know. Right in my apartment. I buy the pure essence oils in Chinatown from a vendor I know. I take a drop of this and a drop of that in a base of pure alcohol. Then one day I tried a spicy Oriental mist and added a few drops of creme de cacao. That's what you're going gaga over," she explains.

"I knew it!"

"And I can't keep the men away!" She laughs.

I invite her into the living room, where I've set up a small table for dinner. "This is lovely," she says, pointing to the table. I pour her a glass of wine.

"Where did you get this?" She points to the marble statue of the Blessed Mother on the mantel.

"You know the statues that Asher sent me from England? Well, one of them was defective, and inside was that little statue."

Eydie picks it up carefully and turns it over. "This is a Modigliani."

"What?"

"It is. Here's his marking." She points to it.

"How is that possible?"

"World War II, the bombings? Asher said they hid things-"

"But inside the statues?"

"Obviously." Eydie is so excited, she places the statue down on the mantel and peers at it closely. "There was a story that Modigliani got so angry once in Venice that he threw a bunch of sculptures into the canal. They're still searching the canals for them. This statue could be from that period."

"I'll have to return it to Asher."

"You'll do no such thing. You found it."

"By accident. I paid for Lucia dos Santos, not this."

"Don't be an idiot. It would be generous of you to give him a finder's fee, maybe fifteen percent of what you sell it for."

"I don't want to sell it. I like it."

"I don't blame you. Lots of people like having great art in their homes, but the museums would fight over this."

"Really? Do you think it's actually that valuable?"

"It's one of the few sculptures of his that remain. He was known as a great painter, mostly."

"How much do you think it's worth?"

"Two hundred thousand dollars, at least," Eydie says. "Or more."

"You're joking! I've never been lucky in my life. I've never won at bingo, or guessed the right amount of jelly beans in the jar, or been the one hundredth customer at the free shopping spree at the Ben Franklin's. This is crazy!"

"You're going to be rich, my friend." Eydie smiles.

I can hardly eat my dinner. Eydie chatters on about Modigliani's life-what a handsome, temperamental cad he was, how he became a legend in the Parisian art world and a fixture in that city's wild nightlife. All I can do is look at the statue of Little Mary and dream.

How did this stroke of luck happen to me? I always wondered what it would be like to be rich, how it would feel to know that you have so much money that work is a hobby, not a chore. I am giddy with the possibilities. There are so many things I would love to do with this money. A house on the Golfo di Genova, for starters, or a year in Hong Kong watching the local artisans make silk. Or design school in London, where I would learn how to design wall treatments to the trade. The list is endless!

"I have to get back to the city," Eydie says after we've talked until midnight.

"Don't go."

"I have to," she says sadly. "When do you want to bring"-she indicates the sculpture-"to town?"

"Monday morning?" I ask.

"Meet me at my apartment, and I'll take you to the best appraiser I know at Sotheby's."

We stand in the doorway for what seems like minutes but is only seconds. I take Eydie in my arms and kiss her. She kisses me back, and I fill up with all sorts of emotions. I want her. This isn't like it was with Mary Kate, who gobbled me up like an oatmeal cookie. This is grown-up stuff, complete with untapped desires and feelings.

She gently pushes me away. "Bartolomeo, this is a bad idea." She smiles.

"Why?"

"I'm not the right person for you."

"How do you know, if we don't give it a chance?" I kiss her again, and this time she reciprocates with the passion I had hoped for. Her lips and skin are softer than the silk charmeuse I used to line Toot's duvet.

"Trust me," she says, breaking away from me. "This is a bad idea." She opens the door and turns to me. "But I adore you," she says with a smile. I watch her go, wishing she'd stay, but a little relieved she isn't. I like happy endings. Always leave on a high note. How could we top that kiss?

I place the last of the clean dishes back in the cupboard. I go to the living room and put the stacking tables back in their corner. I empty the ashtrays and take them to the kitchen. As I turn out the lights and head off to bed, I think about Eydie and me. She's probably right. We aren't right for each other. Two artists in a romantic relationship is one too many. When we're together, I can't get enough of her. I'd be overbearing and smother her.

I open the window in my bedroom to let the night air swirl through. I take my pajamas out of the dresser and lay them on the bed. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and put on the night-light in the bathroom (a habit since I was a boy). As I undress, I fold my clothes neatly and put them away. I put on my pajamas and climb into bed. I lie back on the pillows and think about Eydie. I wonder if she's thinking about me. The phone rings loudly, nearly giving me a heart attack. I reach over to answer it.

"I had to call," Eydie says breathlessly into the phone.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just a little stunned."

"What's wrong?"

"I looked up your Little Mary statue. Oh, B."

"Don't tell me, it's worth less than you thought."

"More. How does three hundred thousand dollars sound to you?"

I can't speak.

"B? Are you there?"

"Oh, Eydie."

"I know. This is some news, isn't it?"

When Aurelia went to the local police to file a missing-persons report on Capri, they gently explained that a forty-year-old woman who leaves a note saying she is running off to get married does not fall into the category of "missing." I encouraged Father Porp to go over and have a chat with her, but Aurelia threw him out of her house, just as she did anyone who tried to reason with her.

With the news from Eydie, I skip up the stairs of the church. I holler, "Rufus! Rufus?"

"I'm over here," he shouts. I run to him.

"You know, it's a real shame," he says, surveying the work in progress around us. "Pedro is almost done with the windows."

"How do you know? You've heard from him?"

"They're at the warehouse in Brooklyn." Rufus's eyes twinkle with the news. "They got married yesterday. City hall in Manhattan."

"Good for them."

"So, what do you want us to do here? Wrap things up?"

"Not quite. I have a plan."

"A plan? Did you figure out a way to keep going?"

"Rufus, let's just say I've run into some money."

"Legal?"

"Oh yes. Legit."

He picks up a scraper and chips away at the wall, then stops. "I'm glad. I really wanted to finish. I've worked on a lot of places, but this one-well, let's just say I'm hooked on the idea of Fatima."

"Don't tell me RC Incorporated got under your skin?"

"Nope. Don't sign me up yet."

"What, then?"

"It's her." Rufus points to the old canvas painted by Michael Menecola. This time the Blessed Lady seems to wink at Rufus.

"You're kidding."

"Nope." He goes to his paint can and stirs. I watch him for a few moments.

"Why do you work in churches?"

He laughs. "I'm nuts. There's nothing worse than working for Defenders of the Faith. They're all like Aurelia. They want it majestic, but on their terms."

"It's so frustrating."

"Yeah, but there's a lot of history in these old barns."

"But you don't really buy the final product: salvation."

Rufus smiles. "Oh, I believe in that."

"I've never once heard you speak of faith. You've told me that dogma is for idiots. So, what's your motivation?"

"Women."

"Oh, come on." I throw my head back and laugh.

"What's yours?"

"I don't know. Beauty, I guess."

"Maybe we're talking about the same thing. Any man who tells you he creates something for his own pleasure or his own ego is lying. He builds and creates and struggles for one reason and one reason only: to impress a woman."