wondered who hated me enough to disgrace me. Five years ago I’d have jumped all over Arsenault asking questions. But life goes on. Priorities change.”
“Like you said, it was a big order.”
She considered her response. “You’re not much of a diplomat, are you?”
“It cost me an ambassadorship.” I told her good luck with the Japanese and used the doorknob.
Jean Sternhagen was staring at a painting of a cracked water jug when I came out into the gallery. She spoke without turning. “Does that look crooked to you?”
I hung a cigarette off the corner of my lip. “I think it’s the jug that’s crooked.”
“I think so too. I hope I have the courage to tell the artist when he threatens to pull out of the show. Last time he took home everything but the hooks. One of the guests thought the apple in a still life looked like it had a worm.”
“Did it?”
“It wasn’t an apple. It was a pomegranate.”
“You handle the artists as well as the pictures?”
“Lily does all the wheeling and dealing. I fetch and carry and keep the customers warm.”
“I guess you wouldn’t know anything about the Arsenault sale.” I primed the pump. “Executive over at Imminent Visions, an architectural firm.”
“Oh, him. We busted our rumps on that deal. Any time a customer’s willing to pay full price on an order that size we go the extra mile and a half.”
“Full price, no haggling?”
She nodded. “He ordered limited-edition Impressionist prints, reproduced from new plates taken from the original canvases. That runs into money, but we can knock twenty to thirty percent off the purchase price in quantity.”
“Like selling in bulk.”
“Right. Only we don’t call it that in the art world.” The wide mouth got wry. “I guess Mr. Arsenault was in a hurry. He bought twenty prints and paid ten thousand dollars. It must be nice to be so rich you don’t have to—”
“Jean, why don’t you go to lunch? Everything’s under control here.”
She turned and saw Lily Talbot. Walking noiselessly in boots on a waxed floor is an art you can’t hang in a gallery. Jean’s face flushed. “Sure. I was just asking Mr. Walker if he liked The Mortal Thought. He was looking at it earlier.” Her eyes pleaded.
“I don’t,” I said. “I didn’t like the gas chamber either.”
“I’m glad. I keep hoping someone will buy it so I can stop having nightmares about it.” She told me good-bye and went out the back.
“I prefer to be present when my employees are being pumped for information.” Lily wasn’t hugging herself now.
“Don’t ride her too hard,” I said. “She has to get along with the temperamental types. That means talking.”
“Her job’s secure. I’m just deciding whether it might be worth breaking a few things to have you thrown out the back door.”
“I’m not an architect. For me, pitching two to three thousand dollars down a hole just to save a couple of minutes takes a big hole. Does that kind of thing happen often?”
“A lot of different kinds of people collect art. Some don’t like to haggle.”
“Rich people.”
“It helps when you can afford it.”
“Eight years ago I bet he’d have taken the discount.”
Her lids narrowed; and she had long feral eyes to begin with. “Tell me something. Does the sun ever rise in your world, or do you see shadows wherever you look?”
“I don’t have to look as hard as I used to.”
She said the door was in the same place it was when I came in. It was the first thing she’d told me that didn’t lead to more questions.
Ten
I LIKED L YNN A RSENAULT . A Lot.
I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d never met whom I was so crazy about.
Suddenly I was hungry. I washed down a Reuben with a glass of milk downtown and stopped at the telephone to call Imminent Visions. The silver-haired receptionist I’d met earlier apologized and said Mr. Arsenault hadn’t yet checked in from whichever building was in crisis. I listened hard,
“Like you said, it was a big order.”
She considered her response. “You’re not much of a diplomat, are you?”
“It cost me an ambassadorship.” I told her good luck with the Japanese and used the doorknob.
Jean Sternhagen was staring at a painting of a cracked water jug when I came out into the gallery. She spoke without turning. “Does that look crooked to you?”
I hung a cigarette off the corner of my lip. “I think it’s the jug that’s crooked.”
“I think so too. I hope I have the courage to tell the artist when he threatens to pull out of the show. Last time he took home everything but the hooks. One of the guests thought the apple in a still life looked like it had a worm.”
“Did it?”
“It wasn’t an apple. It was a pomegranate.”
“You handle the artists as well as the pictures?”
“Lily does all the wheeling and dealing. I fetch and carry and keep the customers warm.”
“I guess you wouldn’t know anything about the Arsenault sale.” I primed the pump. “Executive over at Imminent Visions, an architectural firm.”
“Oh, him. We busted our rumps on that deal. Any time a customer’s willing to pay full price on an order that size we go the extra mile and a half.”
“Full price, no haggling?”
She nodded. “He ordered limited-edition Impressionist prints, reproduced from new plates taken from the original canvases. That runs into money, but we can knock twenty to thirty percent off the purchase price in quantity.”
“Like selling in bulk.”
“Right. Only we don’t call it that in the art world.” The wide mouth got wry. “I guess Mr. Arsenault was in a hurry. He bought twenty prints and paid ten thousand dollars. It must be nice to be so rich you don’t have to—”
“Jean, why don’t you go to lunch? Everything’s under control here.”
She turned and saw Lily Talbot. Walking noiselessly in boots on a waxed floor is an art you can’t hang in a gallery. Jean’s face flushed. “Sure. I was just asking Mr. Walker if he liked The Mortal Thought. He was looking at it earlier.” Her eyes pleaded.
“I don’t,” I said. “I didn’t like the gas chamber either.”
“I’m glad. I keep hoping someone will buy it so I can stop having nightmares about it.” She told me good-bye and went out the back.
“I prefer to be present when my employees are being pumped for information.” Lily wasn’t hugging herself now.
“Don’t ride her too hard,” I said. “She has to get along with the temperamental types. That means talking.”
“Her job’s secure. I’m just deciding whether it might be worth breaking a few things to have you thrown out the back door.”
“I’m not an architect. For me, pitching two to three thousand dollars down a hole just to save a couple of minutes takes a big hole. Does that kind of thing happen often?”
“A lot of different kinds of people collect art. Some don’t like to haggle.”
“Rich people.”
“It helps when you can afford it.”
“Eight years ago I bet he’d have taken the discount.”
Her lids narrowed; and she had long feral eyes to begin with. “Tell me something. Does the sun ever rise in your world, or do you see shadows wherever you look?”
“I don’t have to look as hard as I used to.”
She said the door was in the same place it was when I came in. It was the first thing she’d told me that didn’t lead to more questions.
Ten
I LIKED L YNN A RSENAULT . A Lot.
I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d never met whom I was so crazy about.
Suddenly I was hungry. I washed down a Reuben with a glass of milk downtown and stopped at the telephone to call Imminent Visions. The silver-haired receptionist I’d met earlier apologized and said Mr. Arsenault hadn’t yet checked in from whichever building was in crisis. I listened hard,
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