Angelica Lost and Found (17 page)

Dos Arbolitos
,
Endlessly Rocking

I gave Dr Levy notice and moved on to my third shrink, Dr Long. Dave Michnik, one of our painters, said he was a no-bullshit guy. Dr Long worked out of a houseboat called
Dos Arbolitos
at Sausalito. The dancing ripple pattern on the ceiling was reassuring and the gentle lapping of the water endlessly rocking made me feel sleepy and safe.

‘
Dos Arbolitos
,’ I said. ‘Two little trees.’

‘You know the song?’

‘I’ve got a CD with it but all I remember is the title and the fact that it’s a
huapango
. Is there a story behind that name for your houseboat?’

‘There’s a story behind everything but let’s talk about you.’

Dr Long was a tall man in jeans and a denim shirt. He had startling blue eyes and a long face that always seemed ready to – and frequently did – break into a half-smile.

‘You don’t look like a shrink,’ I said.

‘I charge like one though,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you? If anything.’

‘I have a reality problem.’

‘That’s called life.’

‘But I’m living in two realities. Maybe more.’

‘And?’

‘I’m trying to understand them, trying to define what they are.’

‘Why?’

‘So I’ll know, so I can deal with them.’

‘Knowing won’t help. That’s a waste of energy. Get practical.’

‘How?’

‘It doesn’t matter how many realities there are or what they are; just handle them one at a time and do whatever needs to be done.’

‘That’s theory; practice is something else. I want to talk about Volatore Two.’

‘But you haven’t told me about Volatore One yet.’

So I told him all there was to tell about Volatore.

‘And I still don’t know if it was real. I mean, how can a woman have sex with an imaginary creature that only exists in a book?’

‘
Everything
is real – try to remember that.’

‘Even a hallucination?’

‘Even a hallucination. You experienced it; whatever it was, it happened to you and is part of your reality.’

‘You’re batting a thousand, Doc. I’m ready to throw away my placebos. Have you read
Orlando Furioso
, by the way?’

‘Yes, I have. Did you make up the name Volatore?’

‘No, he, the hippogriff, told it to me.’

‘Are you in love with him?’

‘Yes, but I want him to be somebody I can walk down the street with, and he can only assume human form if he takes over someone else’s body. I’ve told you all that.’

‘What if you
did
walk down the street with him in his original hippogriff form – do you think other people would see him?’

‘I’m afraid to try that experiment. Can we move on to Volatore Two?’

‘OK.’

‘He had the same smell and he knew about the painting of Ruggiero and Angelica in El Paso. He himself did a weird painting while in a sort of trance, then he came out of it, didn’t remember doing the painting, and hasn’t painted since. I keep wondering if Volatore played any part in that.’

‘Where is the original Volatore now?’

‘I don’t know. Somehow we dropped out of the Ariosto story and now we’ve lost touch.’

‘Have you tried to contact him?’

‘No, this double-reality stress got to be too much for me and I’ve just been trying to get my head straight for a while now.’

‘Do you
want
to find him?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘So will you try to reach him now?’

‘Yes, I will. It’s something I have to think about.’

‘What is there to think about?’

‘How to do it.’

‘Don’t you know how?’ The ripple pattern on the ceiling was moving faster, as if speeded up by his voice.

‘It’s a trial-and-error thing,’ I said, ‘and I’ll have to do it in my own time if you’ll allow me.’

‘You sound defensive.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I feel attacked.’

‘I’m not attacking you.’

I looked at my watch.

‘Isn’t my time up?’ I said. ‘You probably have someone coming for your next session.’

Dr Long shook his head.

‘Is it possible,’ he said, ‘that you’re not altogether sure you
want
to be with Volatore again?’

‘I have to go now,’ I said. ‘I’m expected elsewhere.’

Chapter 45

Random Passes, Wide Receivers

Olivia Partridge, my partner at Eidolon, is more of a pragmatist than I am; her thinking always leads to action.

‘We promised Ossip Przewalski a new show,’ she said, ‘a while before our recent Volatore binge, remember?’

‘I remember.’

‘So let’s do it, OK?’

‘OK.’

Przewalski rides a Harley Davidson and he paints nudes on Harley Davidsons. His approach is somewhere between Kokoschka and Redon and his last show was a sell-out. We swung into action planning the layout of the show, composing the ad for the art magazines, making up the invitation list and organising the catering.

I did this automatically while my mind was on other things. Sometimes I ask myself whether being human in the usual way is enough. Whether something isn’t missing. Some animality in another dimension. Well, I would say that, wouldn’t I? I have coupled with an imaginary beast and I can still see his strange eyes, his beaked face close to mine. Not a dream, not a hallucination. Part of my humanity. Maybe I’m not the only one. Maybe others have had imaginary-animal lovers.

Dr Long says not to bother with definitions but to deal with things in the simplest way practical. Occam’s razor and all that. But what
is
the simplest way? It seems that the original Volatore is transmitting something of himself to receivers who don’t necessarily have any connection with him. Joe Fontana had read
Orlando Furioso
and knew about the da Carpi painting but Alyosha Zhabotinsky, who might have read Gogol but not Ariosto was picking up scrambled Volatorisms such as ‘dim red taverns of sheep’. Are these the people he’s trying to reach? Not likely. He’s firing off random shots because he’s unable to aim his transmissions. I know he’s trying to reach
me
.

Dr Long asked me whether I was sure I wanted to be with Volatore again.
Am
I sure? Well, no. It’s a heavy trip, and scary because I sense in it the danger of losing my mind. R. D. Laing said, at the height of his vogue in the seventies, that the breakdown is often the breakthrough but that idea hasn’t had too many adherents lately and I don’t think it would work for me. I’m afraid of falling through a hole in reality if I keep messing with two kinds of it. So are my fears and doubts creating a barrier to communication from Volatore? I won’t think about that any more right now, I’ll think about other things.

Chapter 46

Expectation

‘Irene,’ I said. ‘You’re losing your figure.’

‘But you’re gaining a litter,’ said the look she gave me.

‘So who’s the father?’

‘I didn’t see his face – it was a speed-dating kind of thing.’

‘Maybe it’s time to have you spayed.’

‘What, you don’t believe in free love?’

‘Irene, nothing about love is free.’

‘Has life made you bitter? Talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.’

‘Some other time, Irene. Now I have to think of names for your love-children.’

‘You’re all heart, Boss.’

Chapter 47

Cometh the Hour

The painting stayed on the easel. We hadn’t framed it and we mostly kept it covered. People came and went; for some, but not many, we uncovered it but it stayed unsold. One day the Volatore smell walked in, bearing on its waves a small man with a beautiful hairpiece that concealed his baldness so realistically that it was like the acting of a method actor whose realism emphasises the artfulness of his art. This man was wearing Armani, Rolex and a confident smile. He had a red-carpet kind of walk; in his small way he was grandiose.

Olivia and I uncovered the tiny, tinies and stood on either side of his avenue of approach. He looked at the painting, sighed, closed his eyes, opened them and turned to us, at the same time taking out a large chequebook.

‘How much?’ he said.

It was a moment or two before I was able to take in the reality of his words.

‘You want to buy it?’ I said.

He nodded, and speaking slowly, as to a foreigner, said, ‘It is for this reason that I flourish my large chequebook.’

‘This one speaks to you, does it?’ said Olivia.

He closed his eyes again.

‘In a dream have I been there with the tiny, tiny dancing giants in the dim red caverns of sleep.’

‘Have you had this dream recently?’ I asked him.

‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

‘This is the first time I’ve heard of anyone seeing the subject of a painting in a dream before seeing the actual painting. You don’t happen to know Lenore Goldfarb, do you?’

‘This pleasure,’ he said, ‘I have not yet had. Again I flourish my chequebook and express my wish to know the price of this painting.’

‘This one is a rarity,’ I said. ‘In fact it’s unique, the only work of a man who gave up painting after producing it.’

‘As one would,’ said the odoriferous gentleman, uncapping his Mont Blanc. ‘I am ready if you are.’

‘Very well then.’ I drew a deep breath. ‘The price is one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.’

Unperturbed, he found a table to lean on, wrote the cheque in a large round hand, waved it in the air once or twice to dry the ink, and presented it to me. I looked at the signature: ‘Volatore’.

‘Volatore!’ I exclaimed.

‘Ah,’ he said preenfully, ‘this name makes a bell to ring, yes?’

‘Yes. Tell me why.’

‘Do you go to the movies?’

‘Sometimes. Are you an actor?’

‘Actors! Pfft!’ (With a snap of the fingers.) Have you seen
A Midnight too Far
?’

‘I’ve seen it,’ said Olivia. ‘Lola Trotter and Rodney Stark.’

‘And the credits?’ said Volatore. ‘Did you read the credits?’

‘No.’

He passed his hand over his wig and gave us a sidelong glance.

‘Hairstylist!’ said Olivia.

‘Hairstylist!’ he said, drawing himself up to his full shortness. ‘I, Volatore, made of Miss Trotter a thing of beauty, Ah!
che bellezza
! Without my art she would receive from no one a second glance.’

‘You’ve done a great job on her,’ said Olivia.

‘Thank you,’ said Volatore, bowing modestly. ‘I am also known for Volatore’s TurboScalp System (patent pending) which has stimulated Mr Stark’s performance to a level well beyond the limits of his talent.’