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"Sandra said he hadn't painted since his wife died."
"There's a difference between a block and just choosing not to work. He's been sitting around feeling
sorry for himself and wondering if he could have made things different for Celia. You ask me, you should
go back and give him a kick in the pants and tell him to paint."
"You really think he'd respond to that?"
"Of course he'd respond& but I'd want to be there to sec the fight." He looked like Sandra for a second
with the impishness in his eyes. "This isn't like him, you know. I've never known him to back out of a
commission once the money's down. I really can't say what's wrong with him& "
"We could go back and ask this time," suggested Bobbi. "Could you come with us?"
He thought about it, but shook his head. "I'm not too comfortable about that; he's a friend, but this isn't
really my business, after all. I'll be honest about things: if Alex turns down the commission, I might have a
chance to take his place& "
If anyone else had said it they might have sounded grabby, but not Evan.
"Of course it won't be an Alex Adrian, and I can't charge his price, but it'd be the best I could do."
I shrugged reasonably. "We'll see what works out."
It was enough for him. "Great, now I've got to put on a cleaner shirt and walk Sally home."
"We can drive you " I offered.
He held up a hand. "Thanks, but we really would like to walk. Why don't you take Bobbi to dinner in
the meantime. She's looking a little peaked and you don't want to lose those skin tones."
Sally shifted and looked jealous until he put an arm around her and squeezed.
"Keep 'em enthralled, darling," he told her. "Show off some of my paintings." He ducked into the back of
the flat for his shirt.
"I don't know if I can tell you much about them," Sally confessed.
"Paintings usually speak for themselves. If you have to explain them then the artist needs a new job." I
was practically quoting what I'd learned from Sandra.
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She smiled and laughed and led us to a corner of the room, where dozens of odd-sized canvases were
stored vertically in a home-built shelving unit. We pulled out one after another and I got a pretty good
idea why Evan wouldn't be making much money on his work. It was beautiful stuff, the colors were rich
and all over, but for the most part you couldn't make out what they were representing.
He had a few of what I would call regular paintings. He could indeed please the public if he wished, but
he was more comfortable creating his own inner world than recording the one around him. Bobbi
discovered an especially large work and tilted it against the wall so she could stand back and get a good
look. Sally joined her and both their faces were pinched with puzzlement. All I saw were swirls of fleshy
pinks, darker reds, and other warm colors. It looked like another abstract to me. Evan came out, tucking
in his shirt.
"That's my favorite, too, ladies."
"What's the title?" asked Bobbi, who was also trying not to ask what it was.
"No title, really, but it is a portrait of a dear old friend of mine. It represents his joy to be meeting another
friend he likes very much."
"I don't really see it," said Sally.
"There's a trick to it, actually. You have to stand at a specific spot for the meaning to become clear." He
put an arm around each of their shoulders and pulled them back about ten feet tram the canvas and
stepped away. They stared at it, then suddenly broke into twin shrieks of laughter and outrage. Evan
beamed.
I was about five feet from the painting and stepped behind the convulsing girls to get a look and saw
nothing but colors.
"Now you're too far away," he told me, and urged me forward another foot.
It said a lot for his technical skill as a painter that he was able to create such an effect. Too close, it was
nothing but colors, too distant and it was more of the same. Stand exactly ten feet away and you could
see it for the large-scale and quite rude self-portrait it was.
"He's got very good manners and never fails to rise in the presence of a lovely lady. It's one of my best
works," he admitted without a trace of modesty. In the case of this painting, modesty would have been
totally out of place.
Bobbi turned down a second night at Mailman's, stating she was too hungry to wait for things to simmer.
We found a less pretentious eatery and she made short work of a basic plate of meat and vegetables.
This time I didn't bother pretending with a cup of coffee and watched her with enjoyment. She was still
snickering about Evan's masterpiece.
"I don't know where he got the nerve to paint it."
"Perhaps he was inspired."
"It certainly explains the number of nudes he had."
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"Offended?"
"Nab, that kind of stuff doesn't bother me, it just takes a little getting used to. I may take one of my
girlfriends over, she might want to buy it."
"Who is she?"
"None of your business. She's a man-eater and you're the last person I want her to meet."
"What, you don't trust me?" I sounded wounded.
"I trust you, I also have to protect you. She runs through men like I run through silk stockings and leaves
them lying around torn up and ready to be thrown away."
"You're more tidy than that."
"Stinker. What's the time?"
"Nine-ten."
"We better not leave it too late."
"I'm ready when you are."
"I know," she said with some smugness, which did wonders for my ego.
For the second time that night we pulled up to Adrian's house. His car was gone.
"A person could get tired of disappointments like this," Bobbi growled.
"Feel like waiting a while?"
"Like for a stakeout?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
"Sandra said he hadn't painted since his wife died."
"There's a difference between a block and just choosing not to work. He's been sitting around feeling
sorry for himself and wondering if he could have made things different for Celia. You ask me, you should
go back and give him a kick in the pants and tell him to paint."
"You really think he'd respond to that?"
"Of course he'd respond& but I'd want to be there to sec the fight." He looked like Sandra for a second
with the impishness in his eyes. "This isn't like him, you know. I've never known him to back out of a
commission once the money's down. I really can't say what's wrong with him& "
"We could go back and ask this time," suggested Bobbi. "Could you come with us?"
He thought about it, but shook his head. "I'm not too comfortable about that; he's a friend, but this isn't
really my business, after all. I'll be honest about things: if Alex turns down the commission, I might have a
chance to take his place& "
If anyone else had said it they might have sounded grabby, but not Evan.
"Of course it won't be an Alex Adrian, and I can't charge his price, but it'd be the best I could do."
I shrugged reasonably. "We'll see what works out."
It was enough for him. "Great, now I've got to put on a cleaner shirt and walk Sally home."
"We can drive you " I offered.
He held up a hand. "Thanks, but we really would like to walk. Why don't you take Bobbi to dinner in
the meantime. She's looking a little peaked and you don't want to lose those skin tones."
Sally shifted and looked jealous until he put an arm around her and squeezed.
"Keep 'em enthralled, darling," he told her. "Show off some of my paintings." He ducked into the back of
the flat for his shirt.
"I don't know if I can tell you much about them," Sally confessed.
"Paintings usually speak for themselves. If you have to explain them then the artist needs a new job." I
was practically quoting what I'd learned from Sandra.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She smiled and laughed and led us to a corner of the room, where dozens of odd-sized canvases were
stored vertically in a home-built shelving unit. We pulled out one after another and I got a pretty good
idea why Evan wouldn't be making much money on his work. It was beautiful stuff, the colors were rich
and all over, but for the most part you couldn't make out what they were representing.
He had a few of what I would call regular paintings. He could indeed please the public if he wished, but
he was more comfortable creating his own inner world than recording the one around him. Bobbi
discovered an especially large work and tilted it against the wall so she could stand back and get a good
look. Sally joined her and both their faces were pinched with puzzlement. All I saw were swirls of fleshy
pinks, darker reds, and other warm colors. It looked like another abstract to me. Evan came out, tucking
in his shirt.
"That's my favorite, too, ladies."
"What's the title?" asked Bobbi, who was also trying not to ask what it was.
"No title, really, but it is a portrait of a dear old friend of mine. It represents his joy to be meeting another
friend he likes very much."
"I don't really see it," said Sally.
"There's a trick to it, actually. You have to stand at a specific spot for the meaning to become clear." He
put an arm around each of their shoulders and pulled them back about ten feet tram the canvas and
stepped away. They stared at it, then suddenly broke into twin shrieks of laughter and outrage. Evan
beamed.
I was about five feet from the painting and stepped behind the convulsing girls to get a look and saw
nothing but colors.
"Now you're too far away," he told me, and urged me forward another foot.
It said a lot for his technical skill as a painter that he was able to create such an effect. Too close, it was
nothing but colors, too distant and it was more of the same. Stand exactly ten feet away and you could
see it for the large-scale and quite rude self-portrait it was.
"He's got very good manners and never fails to rise in the presence of a lovely lady. It's one of my best
works," he admitted without a trace of modesty. In the case of this painting, modesty would have been
totally out of place.
Bobbi turned down a second night at Mailman's, stating she was too hungry to wait for things to simmer.
We found a less pretentious eatery and she made short work of a basic plate of meat and vegetables.
This time I didn't bother pretending with a cup of coffee and watched her with enjoyment. She was still
snickering about Evan's masterpiece.
"I don't know where he got the nerve to paint it."
"Perhaps he was inspired."
"It certainly explains the number of nudes he had."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Offended?"
"Nab, that kind of stuff doesn't bother me, it just takes a little getting used to. I may take one of my
girlfriends over, she might want to buy it."
"Who is she?"
"None of your business. She's a man-eater and you're the last person I want her to meet."
"What, you don't trust me?" I sounded wounded.
"I trust you, I also have to protect you. She runs through men like I run through silk stockings and leaves
them lying around torn up and ready to be thrown away."
"You're more tidy than that."
"Stinker. What's the time?"
"Nine-ten."
"We better not leave it too late."
"I'm ready when you are."
"I know," she said with some smugness, which did wonders for my ego.
For the second time that night we pulled up to Adrian's house. His car was gone.
"A person could get tired of disappointments like this," Bobbi growled.
"Feel like waiting a while?"
"Like for a stakeout?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]