Olivia (Logan 5)

"Yes. Good night, Daddy," I said.

"Have a good time. Both of you," he called.

Clayton's car was immaculate. He opened the door for me and I got in and remarked about it as soon as he got in.

"It's five years old," he said without gratitude for the compliment. It was more like he expected it. "You really have to keep a car about seven years these days to make the most of your investment," he said, and then went on to talk about depreciation schedules.

When we sat in the restaurant and were given our menus, Clayton reviewed each entree, explaining the cost and value to me.

"We handle a dozen restaurants," he continued, "so we know what the best values are."

"Why don't you just order for me then," I said dryly and handed the waiter my menu.

"I would be very happy to do that," Clayton said and did. Finally, his conversation turned to something other than assets and liabilities. Or, at least I thought it did when he began to ask me questions about myself, the work I did for my father, and what I did to entertain myself.

Throughout the course of the meal, he glanced at his watch and commented about how we were doing. Most of the time, he concluded we were on schedule, but when the desserts he had ordered took longer than he anticipated, he became a little agitated.

"We really don't have to be there just when it all begins, Clayton," I said. He looked at me as if being late for something was a violation of the eleventh commandment.

"People are known by their sense of

responsibility, how well they keep to their schedules," he assured me. "That's why our clients feel confident about doing business with our firm."

"Oh. Well, not everything is business, Clayton."

"In the end," he insisted, "everything is business."

I didn't feel like arguing. We had our desserts and I let him rush me along. He remarked that we had arrived at the gallery two minutes later than he had anticipated, but it would be all right.

"Thank goodness," I said. "I was beginning to worry." He nodded, missing my sarcasm.

Many of the people who attended knew both Clayton and me. I saw the look of amusement in their eyes when they realized we were on a date. Many of them had nice things to say about my appearance.

Clayton did appear to know a great deal about art, but he managed to evaluate each piece in terms of its potential market value, deciding which would be a good investment and which wouldn't.

"Maybe some people want to buy it because they like it," I remarked, "and not for how much money it might bring them in twenty years."

"You should always consider what something's going to be worth down the line," he retorted. "No matter what you do from birth to death."

I was beginning to think Clayton Keiser had no emotions, no heart, just a calculator in his chest. However, after what he had planned to be our allotted time at the gallery, he surprised me by asking if I would like to see a piece of property he was considering purchasing.

"I think it's the perfect location for a house," he said. "Just far enough away from people to give you privacy, but not so far that you feel out of touch. And there is a view," he added, "which of course raises its potential value."

"Of course. Yes, I'd like to see it," I said. "Do we have enough time left on our schedule?" I kidded, but he didn't smile.

"I believe so, yes."

We drove about two miles out of Provincetown, south on the highway until he slowed down and made a turn up a side road. It was barely a road, with only a gravel bed, but it ended on land that rose and then sloped down toward the sea. There was a wonderful view of the night sky.

"Well?" he said.

"This is a beautiful place. You're right, Clayton."

"Thank you," he said.

"Should we get out?" I asked after a long silent moment.

"No. It might be muddy or rough out there. You can see it all from here anyway," he replied dryly, but he didn't start the engine. Again, a long silence passed.