Death of an Artist (7 page)

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” she said. “I think it's the best thing she ever did.”

“It's beautiful.” That seemed inadequate, but he didn't add to it. When he finally turned away from the painting, he said, “She should be recognized, have her work shown to the world.”

Marnie shook her head. “She says she isn't ready.”

The three earlier shoppers had left, Tony saw, and now two different boys, high school boys from the look of them, entered the shop. “I should get back to work,” he said. After one more lingering look at the painting, he turned and walked out.

*   *   *

M
ARNIE
'
S
GLOWING
ACCOUNT
of her granddaughter, Van, had set him up to like her, Tony thought that Sunday when he was admitted inside the front house on the ridge, Marnie's house. And he did like her almost instantly. Her level gaze, strong, straight eyebrows, long black hair in a low ponytail, tiny gold studs in her ears, and no makeup. She was inches taller than Marnie and her mother both, slender, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a gray sweatshirt that looked much laundered, a bit faded. Her handshake was as no-nonsense as her appearance, and there couldn't have been a bigger contrast between her and Stef if she had labored to achieve one. Where Stef was all clashing colors, nervous energy, her hands never quiet, Van was composed, and her movements were purposeful or absent.

“And this is Josh,” Marnie said, completing the introductions.

A pretty child, he had the same kind of eyebrows as Van, and hair that was as straight and black. He shook hands with Tony soberly, then asked, “Are you a policeman?”

“No. I used to be one.”

Josh looked disappointed and turned a reproachful face toward Stef. “You said.”

“I said he was once.”

“Can I go out and play with Tipper now?” he asked Van.

Her response was reflexive. “
May
I.”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “You can come, too.”

Tony suppressed a smile and Van said, “Get lost, brat. Out with you.”

Josh ran out with Tipper, and as the others entered the living room, they could see the pair race across a fenced deck and vanish around the side. There was no backyard here, as the ground fell off steeply, leaving a small level area on the side of the house.

This was another good house, Tony thought as Marnie excused herself to finish up dinner. Like the rear house, the back of the living room here was mostly glass, with the same stunning vista. That day the sea was the deep blue of picture postcards, and high clouds moved along briskly. A dark-leather-covered sofa and chairs flanked the windows, a coffee table within reach. Other chairs were arranged before a television on the opposite side of the room. Among them was a half-size chair, a Josh chair. A dog bed was near it. Many books were on end tables, and a bookshelf was overfilled with more books. Not one book had been visible in Stef's house. An array of potted plants on a stepped bench was at one end of the windows.

No one explained two paintings on a wall, but they had obviously not been done by Stef. One was a battleship, and the other a destroyer, navy ships. They were amateurish, but carefully executed. Near them hung a map rack, with maps that could be pulled down to be displayed or rolled up like window shades. One was open for inspection, a map not readily recognizable to him. Another time, he thought turning from them, he would have a closer look.

Stef was talking. “I like a little something before dinner. How about you guys?”

“Maybe wine,” Van said. “Tony?” He said wine, and she started to move toward the kitchen.

Stef waved her back. “I'll get it.”

“And I'll let her,” Van said, smiling. “It's been a tough year and all I want to do is absolutely nothing. Except sleep, that is.” She looked thoughtful. “What we need to develop is a sleep bank. A human sleep bank. You know, the way bears gorge, storing fat for hibernation.”

Stef brought a tray with wine and her own mixed drink, and after the brief interruption Van continued, “I'd be willing to sleep twelve, fifteen hours a day and store the excess in preparation for the future.”

“For her internship,” Stef said. “It seems they work the slaves eighty hours or longer week after week.”

“Do you know where it will be?” Tony asked.

“Chicago,” Van said with a shrug. “I had hoped for the West Coast, but it's going to be Chicago for the first year, then Newport General for year two. Rural areas, small communities like ours, are begging for more help and it gives me a real break.”

“Can you imagine what it's going to be like for her?” Stef said sharply. “After living out here, bang, Chicago.”

“I've lived in Portland for quite a few years,” Van pointed out.

“A small town with delusions of grandeur and traffic,” Stef said.

From across the room where she was putting something on the table, Marnie said, “You adapt. People do. I got used to New York City, and you, Stef, learned to live in Paris, not just a strange big city but a foreign one with a foreign language. Van will do just fine in Chicago.”

“The hardest part will be leaving Josh here,” Van said. “I won't be able to take care of him while doing an internship.”

“You know that kids' book the nuts raised hell about, somebody has two mommies?” Stef said. “Lucky Josh, he has three.” She added to Tony, “He'll stay with Marnie and me, and I intend to spoil him shitless.”

“It's time to bring him in,” Marnie said, going back around the counter to the kitchen. “Dinner in five.”

Van paused on her way to the sliding door. “I keep thinking of all those young mothers and fathers going off to Iraq, leaving little kids. At least I won't be going into a war zone, and I'll have an end date. Count my blessings.”

Chicago, Tony thought but did not voice, might prove to be more of a war zone than she realized, especially when she did a stint in the ER.

*   *   *

T
HE
DINNER
WAS
wonderful, Tony said later quite sincerely, the best he'd had in years. Pork loin with a crust of spices and garlic, tiny new potatoes, asparagus. Van waved her hand over the table and said, “She always makes my favorite meals when I come home. I love it! Talk about being spoiled.”

“Will you specialize?” Tony asked Van when Marnie began to clear the table.

“No. Too many specialists. Internal medicine, family practice, general practice, that's for me. And right here in my own territory.” Van rose to help Marnie.

“What do you want to be when you get big?” Tony asked Josh when it appeared that Stef was going to remain speechless for the time being.

“A painter like Gramma,” Josh said. “I got an easel and paints but they're in my other house.”

For a second Stef's mobile expression registered displeasure perhaps, or something else that Tony couldn't interpret, and at the same moment he was aware that Van, putting a bowl on the counter, had stopped.

Then Stef said brightly, “I intend to set him up in the studio this week. A fellow artist.”

Van put the bowl down a bit too hard, and a few seconds later she and Marnie were back with strawberries and cream.

“California berries,” Marnie said. “Nothing like the ones we'll get from the valley later on, but not bad.”

Josh had kept his bread dish and was playing with a piece of bread, ignoring the berries. When Marnie asked if he didn't like them, he shook his head. “Too sour.”

“The kid has taste,” Stef said to Tony, and poured herself more wine.

At that moment there was a knock on the back door, and a draft of cool air flowed through the room. Marnie rose to see who was there, but she stopped abruptly when Dale appeared at the kitchen door to the back hall. She sank back into her chair.

“Stef, have I got some great news for you!” He glanced at the others and nodded toward them.

Stef had turned partway in her chair and said icily, “Dale, have you noticed that we're having dinner? And that Marnie has a guest.”

“Oh. Sorry. Excited, I guess.”

But Dale had noticed, Tony knew. A suspicious darting glance had taken him in, flashed to Stef, to him again. Tony had started to rise, but when the newcomer stopped at the door, he remained seated, watching. The man looked like a male model, a walking ad for an upscale male fashion magazine. Raw-silk jacket in dove gray, dazzlingly white silk shirt, open at the throat, fine worsted trousers. A thousand-dollar casual outfit, Tony estimated.

Stef turned her back on Dale and deliberately picked up a strawberry, swirled it in cream, and popped it into her mouth. A look of satisfaction crossed her face, vanished. At the same time Van became aware that Josh was rolling little, discolored bread balls. “Josh, stop playing with your food. If you're done eating, let's go wash your hands.” Josh jumped up without hesitation, she murmured, “Excuse us,” and they left the room.

“I won't stay,” Dale said. “Stef, come over as soon as you can. I can't wait to tell you.” He waved generally at the room, revealing a Rolex watch, and went out the way he had come in.

“My husband,” Stef said, and drank her wine.

“Tony, do you drink coffee?” Marnie asked in the silence that followed.

“Yes. Probably too much. Can I help?”

“No. It's ready to pour.” She went to the counter and brought back a tray with three cups and a carafe. “One thing we can get all over this state is decent coffee,” she said, pouring. “I'm afraid I'm rather addicted, and it seems that Van is, too. I think it goes with the territory for students.”

Van and Josh returned. He was holding a box. “It's a puzzle,” he said. “I found it on my bed.”

Smiling, Marnie said, “Whoever keeps coming in here and leaving things knows what you like, I guess.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Josh went to the coffee table to open the box and spread out jigsaw-puzzle pieces.

“His newest favorite thing,” Van said, taking her seat again.

Abruptly Stef rose. “I'd better go.”

Marnie watched her walk out, then started to reminisce about her year in New York City. “I was eighteen, and terrified at first…”

*   *   *

L
ATER
,
AFTER
T
ONY
had left and Josh was in bed, Marnie and Van sat talking quietly. “I like him,” Marnie said, speaking of Tony. “And I know that Stef does. She respects him, too.”

“Did you notice that he didn't say a single revealing word about himself? And I bet he didn't miss a thing going on here. I'd put money on it that he knows what color socks Dale was wearing.”

“Not a bet I'd go against. Maybe that's one of the reasons I like him. He notices things and he's not full of himself. On the other hand, he was pretty much surrounded by three women who didn't give him many openings.”

Van made a rude noise. “The men I've known never waited for an opening. They jumped right in and ran with the ball.”

Marnie smiled. “You've known too many instructors and doctors.”

“Damn right.” Van yawned. “I'll go over and see how stormy it is. Maybe I'll be back. Okay with you?”

“You know it is. The door will be unlocked.”

Marnie suspected that Van would be back soon, and then she pondered the quick look of satisfaction she had seen on Stef's face when Dale appeared. Stef had known he would be back, Marnie thought, and Stef had not called him. She had expected him to return, and before long she would be the one to slam the door in his face. No man could be allowed to make that decision, it was hers alone. And it would be soon now, Marnie believed.

*   *   *

A
S
SOON
AS
Van entered the upper hall in the rear house, she could hear Stef yelling.

“I don't give a shit about your millionaire fuck! It's not for sale! And I don't want to hear another goddamn word about a fucking patron!”

Van closed her bedroom door, but it didn't help. Stef's voice was still there.

“I told you to haul ass out of my life! I meant it, you bastard!”

There was the sound of something breaking, a glass, cup, something. Hoping it wasn't a window, Van gathered up a few things she would want ovenight, but with her hand on the doorknob, she paused, listening. Stef was coming upstairs. Sighing, Van backed away from the door and sat on the side of her bed to wait.

“What part of
no
don't you understand, you bloody idiot? How many times do I have to say it? No! N-O.” Stef ran into the studio and slammed the door.

Van could hear every word as Dale said in an anguished voice, “Stef, please don't do this. I'm begging you. I'm sorry I didn't talk it over with you first. God, I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking of selling anything, just to get legitimate offers, so we could go on from there. That's what this is, a legitimate offer by someone who recognizes your genius. I know I can't sell anything without your approval. I wouldn't even consider doing such a thing.”

He paused, and when there was no response, he said, “Stef, listen a second. I have a duty to protect your work, to protect you. It's a sacred duty to me. To take a valuable painting like that from a secure place and put it in the shop is too dangerous. There could be a fire, or a maniac could mutilate it. It could be stolen. You'd be devastated if anything happened to it. Or to any of them.”

He sounded as if he were choking on tears then as he said, “Stef, I can't stand this. It's tearing me up. I can't sleep or eat. God, if only I could take it back, undo it. Please, Stef, please. Give me three minutes, and then if you say get out, that's it. Please.”

Stef came out of the studio. “You fool! You said he would be my patron. Now you're saying it's not about a sale. You can't keep your story straight for five minutes. There's nothing to talk about!”