Just North of Bliss (5 page)

“Ah, there it is.”

Mr. Richmond’s satisfied pronouncement
jerked Win out of his contemplation of Miss Monroe’s lovely face
and form. Lifting his gaze, he espied the Cantina. He’d eaten there
once and had found the food offered therein tasty. “They serve good
food,” he said, opening the door for the ladies before Mr. Richmond
could reach it. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

Miss Monroe waited for the Richmonds to
enter the restaurant, then herded the children inside, girl first.
She murmured, “Thank you,” as she sailed past him.

“You’re quite welcome.” He thought he heard
her sniff, but wasn’t sure.

# # #

Belle stared at the menu and wondered what
it all meant. She’d never heard of the things listed on it. Bother.
She hated not knowing things. It was a normal state of affairs for
her these days, however, and she guessed it would be wise to
acknowledge it. Far better to admit ignorance than to pretend and
be found out.

Naturally, she waited until the Richmonds
had decided on their menu choices, consulted their children, and
consulted Mr. Asher, before offering an opinion. When Mr. Richmond
boomed in his hearty voice, “And what would you like to eat for
luncheon, Miss Monroe?” she said, “I’m not sure what anything is,
actually.”

Mr. Asher turned his head and stared at her.
She frowned back. It wasn’t her fault she’d never eaten anything
called something-or-other
picada
before, or a
sopapilla
. She couldn’t even pronounce that one. Lifting her
chin, she spoke directly to Mr. Asher, who’d said he’d been here
before. “Perhaps you can explain what these things are, Mr.
Asher.”

He lifted his shoulders. “Sure.” He
proceeded to do so, although his explanations didn’t help Belle all
that much. She was used to grits and cornbread and potato pone and
greens and bacon. Southern food. Good food. Knowing she had to
choose, even if she didn’t know what she was getting, she finally
decided on a stuffed
sopapilla
. What it was going to be
stuffed with, Belle was almost afraid to find out.

Everything turned out to be quite tasty in
the end. Belle was vastly glad about that, as she’d suffered qualms
for her delicate southern stomach. As she attended to the children,
she kept her attention fixed on the conversation being carried on
by the adults at the table with her. Mr. Asher, she soon
discovered, was a very persuasive gentleman.

“I envision this series of studies as a
portrait of America, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond,” he said. “I intend
them to depict the true wealth of our great nation.”

“Wealth is good,” Mr. Richmond stated
uncertainly.

Mr. Asher smiled. “Wealth is very good. But
what I perceive as this wonderful country’s greatest asset is her
people. When I shut my eyes, I can see a series of portraits
featuring a mother and her sweet children embodying all the best
qualities of every family in America.”

Mrs. Richmond, Belle was interested to note,
blushed and appeared quite gratified. She shot her husband a
glance. He caught it and grinned at her. Belle was touched by the
exchange and had to wipe a stray tear from her eye and wished she
weren’t so emotional—not up here in the North, where southern
sensibilities weren’t appreciated.

“I’m not sure I’m expressing myself very
well, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond, but perhaps you can understand anyhow.
I envision these pictures as symbolic of the United States. They’ll
depict the best our nation has to offer. They’ll show the world
that perfect freedom, perfect beauty, and perfect harmony can be
found here, in the United States of America.” He went so far as to
thump the luncheon table, making Belle’s glass of water slop
slightly. She reached out to steady it.

He didn’t notice. “If that weren’t so,
people wouldn’t be flocking to our shores. These portraits will be
a tangible demonstration of the American quality of
e
quality. And hope for weary masses of humanity who
have no opportunities in their native countries.”

Mr. Richmond’s face had been wreathed in a
complacent smile. With Win’s last words, his smile tilted. “There
are too many dirty immigrants here already, if you ask me.”

Mrs. Richmond patted his hand. “Now, now,
George. You know they aren’t all dirty and ignorant.”

“Humph.”

Mrs. Richmond smiled sweetly at Win. “George
gets quite upset when he contemplates the immigrant situation, Mr.
Asher.”

As if he didn’t want anything to spoil his
vision, Win quickly chimed in. “But don’t you see, Mr. Richmond?
These pictures will inspire all who come here to achieve greatness!
Nobody will want to wallow in the ghettoes after they get a look at
the series I visualize.”

Both Richmonds considered this. So did their
children. So did Belle. Mr. Asher smiled at them all in turn, then
cleared his throat. The way he straightened, as if he were steeling
himself to tackle a tough problem, puzzled Belle. Until he next
spoke.

“So, the thing is, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond,
your children are charming. Perfect. They’re exactly right for what
I want to do. And so are you. But—well—you see, what I’d
really
like to do is use your children and
Miss Monroe in this series of portraits.”

The gasp of surprise was universal.

Chapter Three

After the initial gasp of shock, which he’d
expected, the reaction from the Richmonds was also very much what
Win had expected. Mrs. Richmond’s eyes grew large, then narrowed.
She tried to hide her disappointment and annoyance, but couldn’t
quite do it. Mr. Richmond looked uncertain and slightly confused,
as if he didn’t know whether or not blowing his top would be
appropriate.

Win might have anticipated Miss Monroe’s
reaction, too, if he’d been thinking about it. He hadn’t been. He’d
merely assumed that any pretty young woman would love to have her
pictures plastered all over the United States, particularly since
she was going to be held up to all who viewed the studies as a
superior example of American womanhood. He had not anticipated her
reaction, however, and both she and his lack of foresight annoyed
him.

“
What
?” Her shriek caused all other
diners to turn in their chairs and glance at their table. Win
didn’t mind the surprised scrutiny particularly, since he’d never
been averse to public interest in himself or his work. Miss Monroe
turned apple-red.

He tried to hide his exasperation. “You are
the one I first saw walking with the children, Miss Monroe, if
you’ll recall. It was the three of you as a unit that prompted my
initial inspiration.”

She flapped her small gloved hands in the
air. Win got the impression she was hoping in this way to stir up a
coherent explanation for what Win considered a unreasonable degree
of apprehension. Dash it, it wasn’t as if he aimed to ravish her.
Besides, even if he’d like to do such a thing, he couldn’t. Not
with two little kids hanging around.

“But—but—but, I thought you only wanted the
children,” she stammered at last. “I had no idea you wanted to
photograph
me
!” She pointed at her bosom, as if she hoped
Win had mistaken her for someone else.

He shrugged. “I saw the three of you walking
along the Midway and knew it had to be that particular trio.”
Because he figured the children’s parents would need a good deal of
mollification, he turned to them and smiled one of his
prize-winning smiles. “You see, it’s an odd thing about
photography—or any art form, I suppose. Sometimes, while a family
will be a perfect, congenial, cohesive group in person, they won’t
photograph that way together. The combination of Miss Monroe and
Master Garrett and Miss Amalie captures something—something . . .”
He paused to suck in air and try to find the right words.

Miss Monroe uttered an unintelligible
squeak. Win paid her no mind. She could berate him later, after
he’d won the approval of the Richmonds to his proposed project.

Win finally settled for saying, “The
combination of your charming children and Miss Monroe practically
announces
perfect, happy family
to the viewing public in
America.”

Mr. Richmond frowned. “And my wife and
children and I, together, don’t do that? I’m not quite sure I
understand, Mr. Asher.”

He understood, all right. He just didn’t
want to admit it. Even though trying to convince folks that he was
the artist and they were mere subjects was Win’s least favorite
part of his photography business—aside from dealing with squirming
brats and their mothers—Win held onto his temper and tried more
persuasion. He plastered on the charm. “Of course you present the
image of a happy family, Mr. Richmond.” He added a rich chuckle to
oil the gears. “Anyone looking at you can tell you have been
blessed by our Maker with a successful life together.”

Mr. Richmond expelled a self-satisfied
grunting sound. It encouraged Win, so he kept talking, throwing a
smile in Mrs. Richmond’s direction every now and then to let her
know she was important, too, even though she really wasn’t. The
only important people at this particular table were Win himself,
the kids, and Miss Monroe, if he were to make his vision come to
life.

“It’s the composition of the work and its
presentation that immediately struck me when I saw your children
and Miss Monroe together.” Another thought attacked him, and he’d
have slapped himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand for
not thinking of it before if he wasn’t in a public place. But it
was clear that he ought to have thought of it sooner, if only
because it was a sure way to pave the road to success.

“Naturally, I’ll take a series of plates of
you and Mrs. Richmond and the children, Mr. Richmond. It’s only
fair that I do so, if I’m going to be borrowing your children. It’s
my thank you for your patience with my vision, you see.” He added
another chuckle to make the Richmonds think he was a great guy.
“But the idea I’m hoping to market to the press and public is truly
an unattainable ideal.”

His quick glance darted between mother and
father. He thought he detected the flicker of burgeoning
understanding, if not of his artistic vision, at least of free,
professionally taken photographs. Still, he also knew it wouldn’t
hurt to keep talking.

“You might want to think of this study I’m
proposing as akin to a series of paintings by William Hogarth. I
don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him . . .”

“Of course, we have,” Mr. Richmond said
instantly, smiling in a slightly superior way. “Mrs. Richmond and I
took in Mr. Hogarth’s work when we toured Britain.”

Win might have expected as much. Most rich
Americans “did” Britain and the rest of Europe at least once. Such
a trip was
de rigueur
if one wanted to shine in American
high society. “Ah, good. Then you know what I’m talking about,” he
purred.

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Richmond. “Mrs. Richmond
is quite the little artist herself, you know, Mr. Asher.”

“Oh? No, I didn’t know that.” Win smiled at
Mrs. Richmond in what he hoped was a manner conveying camaraderie
with a fellow artist. He didn’t know why she didn’t look more
pleased with herself.

She told him. “I must say, Mr. Asher, that I
don’t approve of this project one little bit if, the subject matter
will be akin to some of the studies done by Mr. Hogarth.” She gave
him a severe stare.

Whoops. Win had forgotten the subject matter
of some of Mr. Hogarth’s studies. He laughed again, aiming for a
lilting and good-humored tone. “Good heavens, no! Not for Win Asher
the depressing study of the degeneration of a young rake or a
harlot.”

Miss Monroe squeaked again. Win shot her a
frown. He’d deal with her later, but he really didn’t want her
having hysterics at present. He had too much convincing yet to do
and didn’t care to have any distraction.

“Good heavens, no,” Mrs. Richmond said
faintly.

Win guessed he shouldn’t have said
rake
or
harlot
aloud, and suppressed a sigh.

He was confirmed in his surmise when Amalie
said, “What’s a harlot, Miss Monroe?”

“Amalie!” cried Mrs. Richmond.

After sending Win a hideous frown, Miss
Monroe bent over Amalie. “We’ll talk about this later, dear. You
must be still now, because your mother and father are discussing
something important with Mr. Asher.”

Amalie looked disgusted, but obeyed. Garrett
had been gazing with intensity at the adults in his life. Even
though his sister had just been rebuffed, he dared to say, “I think
it would be fun to have a bunch of photographs taken, Ma. What’s
wrong with what Mr. Asher wants to do, Pa?”

Miss Monroe put a hand on Garrett’s
shoulder. “You, too, must be still for a little while longer,
Garrett. I’m sure your mama and papa will explain it all to you
later.”

“Right. Be a good lad now, and we’ll get
this all straightened out,” his father told him. He looked
grumpy.

Figuring some fence-mending wouldn’t be out
of line under the circumstances, Win said, “Sorry about the Hogarth
reference, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond. But it does illustrate my point.
Those studies of Hogarth’s depicted a small sliver of life in
England during the late 1700’s. I want to do a series of
photographs that reflect a much more commendable sliver of life:
the perfect American woman and her perfect American children, as
they live in today’s society. This is a great country, Mr. and Mrs.
Richmond. It’s not like England in those days. It’s progressed!
It’s become enlightened. America is an example to the rest of the
world. It shows what people can do with a little imagination and a
lot of freedom to use it!” Win could tell Mr. Richmond was
weakening, so he pressed on. “When I saw your two charming children
and Miss Monroe on the Midway, I knew they were my subjects.” He
lifted his hands in a gesture meant to convey his inability to deny
the truth or change the facts. “They just . . . were. I don’t know
how else to say it.”