Paris."
      "All they can talk about in Paris is your painting," she said, turning her head and offering him a cheek to kiss. He chose instead to kiss her hand. She pulled it away with an expression of distaste when he had finished.
      "May I offer you some wine?" asked Dali.
      "No, thank you," said Gala. "Why are you so breathless and red of face?"
      "It is entirely due to the pleasure of seeing you, of course," he answered.
      "You seem nervous, Salvador," she said.
      "Me?" he asked innocently.
      "Have you been seeing another woman while I was gone?"
      "Certainly not. I have been painting my masterpiece while you were gone."
      She walked to the bedroom and stared at the neatly-made bed, then went to the studio, turned to face him, and spoke: "I'll believe youâfor now." She glanced at some half-finished canvases. "How many commissions have you gotten since you produced The Persistence of Memory ?"
      "Four."
      "For how much?"
      "What difference does it make?" responded Dali. "I will never hurt for money again."
      "What difference does it make?" repeated Gala. "Are you mad? Overnight you have become the preeminent artist on the continent, the only man mentioned in the same breath as Picasso. You must demand payment equivalent with your status. Now, how much were you offered?"
      He named a figure.
      "You are worth three times that much," said Gala. "I think I will become your manager as of right now. And the first thing we will do is renegotiate those fees."
      "But I have already begun preliminary work on two of the paintings," protested Dali.
      "Don't you understand?" said Gala. "You are Salvador Dali! If these men don't agree to the new fees, then I will sell them on the open market for even more!"
      Dali shrugged, feeling overwhelmed as he always did in Gala's presence.
      "And now you will take me out to the best restaurant in Madrid," said Gala.
      "Are you hungry?" asked Dali.
      "Why else would I go to a restaurant?" she said.
      To see and be seen , he thought, but he merely shrugged again and said nothing.
      "Let me just step into the bathroom and fix my make-up and we'll leave," announced Gala.
      Dali instantly grabbed her arm. She turned to face him, and for an instant he thought she might hit him.
      "It's a mess," he said. "I was washing paint off, and it's all over the sink and mirror. I'll clean them later. Come on, let's go and you can put on your face at the restaurant."
      Her nose wrinkled. "I don't smell any oil or turpentine," she said. "Perhaps it's not as dirty as you think."
      She took a tentative step toward the bathroom, and he retained his hold on her arm.
      "I was using water colors as a preliminary medium," he said. "That's why it doesn't smellâbut it's filthy. You have such a lovely suit on, I would hate to see it ruined."
      The thought of ruining her suit convinced her to listen to him, and they headed for the front door.
      As they did, a blue eye watched them through the keyhole of the bathroom door.
      Poor man , she thought. You have many faults and many weaknesses, but you deserve better than this.
Â
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Chapter 13: Wedded Blitz
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      The change occurred almost overnight. Suddenly every painting Dali produced was eagerly
      "All they can talk about in Paris is your painting," she said, turning her head and offering him a cheek to kiss. He chose instead to kiss her hand. She pulled it away with an expression of distaste when he had finished.
      "May I offer you some wine?" asked Dali.
      "No, thank you," said Gala. "Why are you so breathless and red of face?"
      "It is entirely due to the pleasure of seeing you, of course," he answered.
      "You seem nervous, Salvador," she said.
      "Me?" he asked innocently.
      "Have you been seeing another woman while I was gone?"
      "Certainly not. I have been painting my masterpiece while you were gone."
      She walked to the bedroom and stared at the neatly-made bed, then went to the studio, turned to face him, and spoke: "I'll believe youâfor now." She glanced at some half-finished canvases. "How many commissions have you gotten since you produced The Persistence of Memory ?"
      "Four."
      "For how much?"
      "What difference does it make?" responded Dali. "I will never hurt for money again."
      "What difference does it make?" repeated Gala. "Are you mad? Overnight you have become the preeminent artist on the continent, the only man mentioned in the same breath as Picasso. You must demand payment equivalent with your status. Now, how much were you offered?"
      He named a figure.
      "You are worth three times that much," said Gala. "I think I will become your manager as of right now. And the first thing we will do is renegotiate those fees."
      "But I have already begun preliminary work on two of the paintings," protested Dali.
      "Don't you understand?" said Gala. "You are Salvador Dali! If these men don't agree to the new fees, then I will sell them on the open market for even more!"
      Dali shrugged, feeling overwhelmed as he always did in Gala's presence.
      "And now you will take me out to the best restaurant in Madrid," said Gala.
      "Are you hungry?" asked Dali.
      "Why else would I go to a restaurant?" she said.
      To see and be seen , he thought, but he merely shrugged again and said nothing.
      "Let me just step into the bathroom and fix my make-up and we'll leave," announced Gala.
      Dali instantly grabbed her arm. She turned to face him, and for an instant he thought she might hit him.
      "It's a mess," he said. "I was washing paint off, and it's all over the sink and mirror. I'll clean them later. Come on, let's go and you can put on your face at the restaurant."
      Her nose wrinkled. "I don't smell any oil or turpentine," she said. "Perhaps it's not as dirty as you think."
      She took a tentative step toward the bathroom, and he retained his hold on her arm.
      "I was using water colors as a preliminary medium," he said. "That's why it doesn't smellâbut it's filthy. You have such a lovely suit on, I would hate to see it ruined."
      The thought of ruining her suit convinced her to listen to him, and they headed for the front door.
      As they did, a blue eye watched them through the keyhole of the bathroom door.
      Poor man , she thought. You have many faults and many weaknesses, but you deserve better than this.
Â
Â
Â
Chapter 13: Wedded Blitz
Â
      The change occurred almost overnight. Suddenly every painting Dali produced was eagerly
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