The Artist Colony

by Joanna FitzPatrick

  She wanted to paint the girl’s portrait again. Sirena’s exotic cat-like eyes would be the essence of the painting. Her other facial features vague, almost flat like a mask. A pale blue sea would complement the pigments of her violet eyes.

  She squeezed a pure red and a Monterey azure onto her palette and added a generous amount of pearl white at the bottom. With her fingers dipped in linseed oil, she smudged the oils onto the canvas with circular strokes and then continued with brushstrokes and bold swaths with her palette knife adding the white until she got the colors she wanted. It was her way of using the canvas as a palette for blending hues.

  After a few hours of concentrated work, she was pleased with the results. It was only then that she became aware of Albert sitting patiently below the easel with his leash hanging from his mouth. She wondered if he had learned such patience by waiting for Ada to take a break from her work.

  “Okay, Albert, I understand that you want to take us away from these poisonous fumes and breathe in the good stuff—pure blue air.”

  They were just on their way out the front door when Sirena came bounding across the street in her saffron coveralls over a bathing suit with a towel draped around her neck. She was fanning her face. “Can you believe how miserably hot it is? I came by to see if you’d like to join me for a swim.”

  Sarah had been working on the color of Sirena’s eyes and was irritated to look into the actual eyes of her model and know she still hadn’t captured the correct palette. Sirena’s irises were the color of the wild lupines growing in the Point Lobos fields, but capturing their iridescence was like trying to capture fireflies glowing in the night air.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I was about to take a walk with Albert.”

  “He can come along. C’mon, you said you used to swim in Lake Michigan. It’s not any colder. Go get your bathing suit. You can change at the bathhouse.”

  Sarah hesitated. Even though she now knew Ada hadn’t drowned and there were far more dangerous things on land than in the sea, she was still afraid to go swimming. But maybe this was just the right moment to get past that fear.

  “All right.” She looked down at Albert pulling on the leash. “Would you take him with you while I find a bathing suit?”

  Sirena took the leash and rushed off before Albert had a chance to say no.

  When Sarah got to the bathhouse, Sirena was down on the beach and sitting beside her was a man in street clothes. Sarah couldn’t see his face, but the hat looked similar to the trilby that Robert had been wearing at the Tea House. Albert came running up the sandy slope, his leash dragging behind. She unclipped it from his collar and told him to wait for her.

  She quickly wriggled into the one-piece bathing suit she’d found in Ada’s closet, yanked it up over her bare breasts, and slid her arms through the straps. She shoved her clothes into her knapsack, slung it over her shoulder and stepped back into the warm sunlight. With Albert leading the way, she ran down the dune to the beach below.

  She dug her bare feet into the warm sand while looking up and down the shore. There was no sign of Robert, if it had even been Robert, and Sirena was already swimming out past the crashing waves. Beachcombers were scattered here and there. A few painters had set up their easels. Sandpipers pranced and pecked for food along the shore, leaving their forked footprints in the damp sand. An optimistic Albert ran off to try to catch one.

  Sirena had left her towel near the tideline and there were two indentations where she and the stranger had been sitting. A game of tic-tac-toe, X’d out in the sand, was now being erased by the incoming tide. The towel would soon be soaked. Sarah dragged it to higher ground.

  She saw Sirena’s head bobbing up and down and waved but her friend was too far out to get her attention. Bracing herself, she ran out into the water and banged into what felt like a turquoise wall of ice. Its force crashed against her, pushing her back on the shore. She stood there stunned. She’d had no idea how powerful the Pacific could be, but she could be powerful too. After several underwater somersaults, she managed to dive deep enough and emerge on the other side of a giant wave.

  Sirena saw her and waved her over. Sarah began a breaststroke and swam toward her. Her arm and leg muscles welcomed the physical exercise that warmed her body. Her recent fear of swimming in the ocean was soon forgotten.

  Sirena disappeared behind another surge of rough unfurling waves. Sarah dived again and resurfaced in calmer waters, then flipped over to lie on her back. The sun heated her face and the tension from the past two weeks went out of her body as she let the natural buoyancy and rhythm of the sea soothe her.

  It wasn’t until she sat up to dogpaddle that she realized the current had pulled her way out. Albert was now only a brown dot on the beach.

  A sudden massive wave crashed over her and its turbulence pulled her down under. Before she could regain control of her body, she was caught in a succession of waves that tossed her about like she was a Raggedy Ann doll. She thrust out her legs, pushed with her arms, and surfaced, gasping for breath, only to be dragged down again.

  A break in the waves gave her a chance to swim to shore, but the strong current kept pulling her back three feet for every one foot she gained. She thought she heard Ada shout: Hold on. I’m coming and tried to swim toward her.

  An icy hand clamped onto her wrist like a vice and pulled her back. She panicked and tried to shake free, but it was much stronger than she was. An arm hooked around her chest, flipped her on her back, and held her in its grip. The sky blackened and she went limp.

  When Sarah regained consciousness, she was lying on the beach, but it wasn’t Ada hovering over her.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m so sorry,” Sirena cried out. “When I saw the current dragging you farther out, I swam after you. I finally caught up and reached out for you, but you fought me and went under. I dived after you, grabbed hold of you, and pulled you to shore.”

  Sarah tried to sit up but fell back down. The girl helped her up and she began to cough up saltwater. Sirena wiped the sand off her face and Albert jumped up on her lap. She hugged the wet, trembling dog. Sirena said he had tried to swim out to her but the waves tossed him back on the shore.

  Sirena kept blaming herself and apologizing. Sarah kept thanking her for saving her life. Minutes later, realizing the danger was over, they began laughing and hugging each other and Albert was yapping and running in a circle around them.

  They walked back up the beach and stretched out on their towels, depleted.

  After a while, Sarah turned to Sirena. “Was Robert here earlier? I thought I recognized his hat.”

  “No. That was just a local beachcomber.”

  They walked up to the bathhouse and changed into their dry clothes and then all three walked together up to the Sketch Box gate. Sirena was turning to go to the lodge when Sarah invited her to come in. She shrugged okay.

  Sarah piled some kindling in the fireplace, put a log over it, lit it and stoked the flames until the wood cackled.

  Sirena lit their cigarettes and they lay back on the rug and blew out smoke rings that floated over them and dissolved into the air just like their earlier panic had dissolved.

  “I feel so much better now,” said Sarah, consoled by the warmth of the fire after nearly drowning.

  “When are you leaving for Paris?” asked Sirena as if they’d just been talking about Sarah’s return trip.

  Sarah rolled over on her side to face Sirena. “Not until I find out how Ada died. And I still have to find the portraits.”

  Sirena sat up on her knees. “Don’t cancel your show, Sarah. Go home. That’s what Ada would want you to do. That’s what I want you to do.” Her luminous eyes pleaded as she begged, “Please go.”

  “Then tell me the truth, Sirena. Tell me what really happened between you and deVrais in Ada’s studio. Were you planning to steal the portraits?”

  “Of course not,” said Sirena indignantly. She jumped up and put another log on the already brisk fir
e.

  “Then why didn’t you tell me that deVrais came to the studio? What are you hiding from me?”

  Sirena took a long drag from her cigarette, tossed it in the fire and turned to face Sarah. Her eyes now cold, the warmth gone.

  “As I told you before, Ada asked me to crate the portraits and arrange for them to be shipped to the Crocker Gallery in New York. But you’re right that isn’t all that happened. Ada went for a walk with Albert while I was packing—” She hesitated.

  “Is that when deVrais showed up?”

  “Yes. He swaggered into the studio as if he owned it. I told him he shouldn’t be there while Ada was out, but he ignored me. And when he saw the New York shipping address on the crate I was packing, he flew into a rage. He ordered me to stop crating the portraits and said he would manage Ada when she came back.”

  “So deVrais was at the studio when Ada fired you. But why lie?”

  “Because I was afraid you’d be angry with me.”

  “Why? What have you done that would make me angry?”

  Sarah could see she was frightening the girl and she needed to take it easy or she’d learn nothing. She stood up and invited Sirena to join her on the couch where they’d be more comfortable, but Sirena returned to her kneeling position on the rug and cradled her head in her hands.

  “Did you do as he asked?”

  “No. At least not right away. I told him I worked for Ada and she would have to tell me to stop the shipment, not him. That’s when he told me he was very worried about Ada’s recent behavior. She had gotten this crazy idea in her head that he was no longer her dealer, which wasn’t true. And she’d be in a lot of trouble legally if the portraits were sent to another gallery owner. He could even have her arrested.”

  “But you had signed Ada’s will. It stated very clearly that he was no longer her dealer.”

  “So you know about that, too. She only showed me where to sign. I never read it. And like I told you before, Ada had been acting very strange. Even hysterical at times. So what he was saying seemed quite possible, especially after what happened later.”

  Sarah found it hard to accept Sirena’s obstinate belief in Ada’s suicide but it was more important now to find out about the portraits than argue with her over Ada’s sanity.

  She asked Sirena to continue. And the girl now seemed more than willing, almost supplicant. As if it was a relief to finally confess.

  “Ada had given me permission to work in her studio and I’d hung a few of my paintings on the wall to dry. Finally, he stopped complaining about Ada and walked over to look at my work. That was when he offered me a show in his gallery. I thought he was really interested, until he asked me for a favor in return.” Sirena joined Sarah on the couch. “You know what it’s like. I would’ve done anything at that moment to have a show in his gallery.”

  Sarah did understand. Hadn’t she done just about anything to get a dealer interested in her work? But she’d also suffered for it later. She handed Sirena a cigarette and after lighting it, said, “What was the bargain he made?”

  “Change the shipping order to his gallery/address. I was just telling him I would if it would help Ada when she burst into the studio. She’d heard everything from the kitchen and was furious. She fired me on the spot and told us both to get out of her studio.”

  “Do you remember the date?” asked Sarah.

  “How could I forget such a miserable day Ada and I had been such good friends and in an instant she hated me. It was the first of July.”

  “Did you ever see the portraits again?”

  “No. After I learned Ada was dead, I went back to the studio to remove my paintings. The crates were gone and so were the portraits. I thought Ada had shipped them and was surprised when you said they never arrived in New York.”

  “Did deVrais still offer you a show?”

  She nodded yes. “He invited me to his gallery and showed me where my paintings would hang, but said there was still something I needed to do for him. I was afraid he’d ask me to deliver the portraits and I’d have to tell him they were no longer in the studio.”

  Sarah was relieved that deVrais had been telling her the truth and that he believed the portraits were still in the studio. But if he didn’t have them, who did?

  “So if not the portraits, what did he ask you to do?”

  Sirena looked down at her half-smoked cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray. “He commissioned me to paint a violent seascape. Like someone suicidal might paint. He showed me a picture of Dante’s Inferno and told me to use those same pigments on my palette.”

  Sarah had suspected Sirena but still hoping she was wrong, she asked, “That was you in the studio?”

  The girl lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Sarah got up and paced in front of the fireplace for several minutes until she felt calm enough to approach Sirena.

  She pointed her finger down at the girl. “It was you who painted A Bleak Morning and put Ada’s name on it.”

  “He didn’t tell me Ada’s signature would be added later.” Sirena started crying.

  Sarah didn’t know whether to throw the girl out or take pity on her. She decided on sympathy. She knew personally what an artist would do to have her work shown in a gallery. DeVrais had taken advantage of Sirena and the girl had suffered enough. She returned to the couch and enfolded Sirena in her arms. “Don’t cry. Your secret is safe with me. I bought A Bleak Morning.”

  “Why would you do that?” sniffled Sirena.

  “I couldn’t have people thinking it was Ada’s last work. DeVrais had it delivered here a few days ago. It’s in the studio.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Sirena, the work I’ve seen of yours is far better than that disgusting painting. Promise me you will never do anything like that again.”

  “I promise,” she said solemnly and then asked in a whisper, “Are you going to have me arrested?”

  “Arrested? Sirena, you just saved my life. Why would I do that? It’s Paul deVrais who should be arrested. Not you.”

  The dark cloud over Sirena’s face was chased away by a wide smile. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Sirena got up and slung her towel over her shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I promised to help set up the Del Monte Gallery for tomorrow night’s invitation-only opening. I get a bit of pocket money helping out. I mustn’t be late.”

  “Who are the artists?”

  “You don’t know? Everyone’s talking about the William Ritschel and Armin Hansen exhibition. It’s going to be a sensation. You must come.”

  “I haven’t been invited.”

  “That’s no problem.” She winked. “I have connections. Meet me tomorrow at the entrance of Hotel Del Monte at six. There’ll be quite a crowd, but you can slip in the back way with me.”

  Before she could reply, Sirena was gone. Sarah remained seated by the fireplace and thought long and hard as she held the poker and drew Sirena’s name and a big question mark in the cinders.

  SATURDAY, AUGUST 2

  —20—

  Ada’s extravagant teal-blue hat shaded Sarah’s eyes from the late afternoon sunlight as she walked along the wooden boardwalk parallel to Monterey Bay’s shoreline. She paused to admire the foam-crested waves spreading across the sand like a brush of titanium silver. She turned inland toward the Hotel Del Monte.

  There were a few clusters of people standing near the hotel’s arched entrance. She was early so rather than wait there for Sirena, she followed a sign pointing toward the Maze where she and Ada had gotten lost in its deceptively simple pathways leading to its center.

  At the arched entrance, dense cypress hedges carved into bishop and knight chess pieces still peered down on her as they had when she was a small child, but they didn’t seem as frightening now, or as tall. The last time she was here Ada had to take her hand before she’d even enter, and Ada was the one who found the center of the Maze.

  Inside, betwee
n the tall chessmen, Sarah became less and less confident in her sense of direction as she kept reaching dead ends, until she felt completely lost. Panic set in and she cried out for help. Her cry only to be muffled by the tall hedges.

  “Stop being a child,” she said to herself. Then heard Ada say, You will find your way. Just keep going.

  Just then a shaft of sunlight shone down between the shadows of the knights and bishops and with newfound courage she started walking again. Minutes later she reached the center of the Maze. Very pleased with herself, she sat down cross-legged like she and Ada had done for an afternoon tea party on this tapestry of smooth river stones. At the same time their mother had been frantically looking for them on the hotel grounds. Their giggles from behind the hedges had finally brought her to the center of the Maze.

  Mother had been so relieved to find them safe she plopped down between them in all her finery, took the imaginary teacup offered by Sarah to her lips, and drank the elixir that Sarah now raised to her own lips.

  She took a moment to say a silent prayer for her mother and father and Ada, who had all died brutally before their time.

  When Sarah returned to the Del Monte entrance, the queue stretched down the front lawn. As she found a place at the rear of the well-dressed art aficionados, she noticed curious glances from people mingling around her, who quickly looked away when she stared back. It took her a moment to realize it was Ada’s eye-of-the-peacock sun hat that was drawing their attention and not the plain sundress she’d inappropriately worn to a society event at the Del Monte.

  A gentleman in front of her had the broad shoulders of Robert Pierce. She was about to tap his shoulder when he tipped his trilby hat to a friend joining him. She looked away, disappointed it wasn’t Robert.

  She spotted Sirena coming toward her in saffron-striped black bolero trousers, a stand-up-collar tux shirt, and a silky yellow bow tie. She took Sarah by the hand, pulled her out of line, and swiftly led her under the porte-cochère side entrance and into the hotel.