above time by letting it go, holding
nothing back.

"He, uh . . . painted a girl, a young woman, in much the same way,
although she wasn't cooking anything."

"Awesome," Rhiannon said.

"Jade Willow Lady."

"Who?"

"She cooks at Tops in Kaneohe. Mo and I went to look at her once.
That's what I called her."

"So beautiful," Rhiannon said. Joe went for more wine.

As he maneuvered to the table, he noticed a man, about seventy, with a
familiar profile. Joe realized that he was Mo's father. "Excuse me,"
Joe said, reaching for a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. "I was just
thinking about taxes during the reign of Caesar Augustus. Would you
have an opinion on that?"

"Ha, ha. A lot depended on who was doing the collecting. Are you
looking for a system to replace the I.R.S.?"

"It's time, don't you think? I'm Joe Burke, a friend of your
daughter's. I read your book."

"Arthur Soule," he said, shaking hands. "You've got endurance."

"I enjoyed it."

"Actually . . . " He took a sip of wine. "I've come to believe that
systems matter less than the people who run them." He had a dapper air,
amused and ironic.

"I couldn't agree more," Joe said.

The two carried on, getting into the stock market and economics in
general. Arthur seconded Henry Hazlitt's argument that selective tax
breaks were almost always counterproductive when seen in the context of
the society as a whole. From time to time Joe looked for Rhiannon. She
was moving slowly about the main room, studying each picture and
talking with men who were circling her like bees. When he and Arthur
ran out of conversation, he caught her eye and pointed questioningly at
the door. She nodded, and they slipped out into the early evening air.

"I'll walk you home, if you're headed that way," he offered.

"I suppose I am," she said. "That was fun."

"You looked like you were having fun. I noticed Wendell Sasaki paid you
a lot of attention."

"He's nice."

"He has a gallery, did he tell you?"

"Yes. He said to come by any time."

"I bet he did," Joe teased. She pulled a light cotton sweater from her
bag and put it on with lithe movements.

"It's cooling off," she said.

"Good pictures, huh?"

"I liked them," Rhiannon said, "but I don't know anything about
photography. Winifred is very nice."

"Mo--that's what I call her. She is."

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No," Joe laughed. He was going to brush off the question, but he saw
that Rhiannon was serious.