The Misfortunes of Others

by Gloria Dank

  When he entered, Alice and Nikki were facing each other in the middle of the room.

  “Stop copying my work!” Alice was shouting. Her pale skin was mottled red with emotion. “Stop copying me! I see you looking over while I’m working!”

  There were tears rolling down Nikki’s cheeks. “I’m not copying you …” she wavered.

  “Yes, you are! Anyone can see! Look at this bit here, and here!”

  “No … oh, no … you’re wrong.” Nikki turned to Weezy in mute appeal.

  Weezy surveyed the two drawings impartially. Her hair had escaped from its clips and was frizzing around her face. She looked exhausted and frustrated. There was a long silence.

  “I don’t see it at all, Alice,” she said at last.

  Alice slammed the top of her paintbox down. “Fine! Just like you didn’t see it last time with Jennifer!” She gathered her stuff up with a clatter and headed for the door.

  “Bitch,” said Jennifer distinctly.

  Alice swung around. “What did you call me?”

  “I called you a bitch.”

  Alice stared, her mouth working.

  “Alice, dear …” interposed Weezy.

  Alice turned on her. “Don’t you ‘Alice, dear’ me!” she hissed. “You always take everyone else’s side, don’t you? Well, don’t you? And nobody here is half as talented as I am!”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true!”

  “Good-bye, Alice.” Weezy held the door open for her pointedly. “See you next week.”

  “No! I’m never coming back!”

  The door slammed shut.

  “Quite a scene in there,” Snooky remarked later, over a glass of wine.

  Weezy nodded. She had her feet up on her couch and a wineglass in her hand. Her head was pillowed on the cushions and she was staring out the big bay window.

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Oh, all the time. All the time. They’re artists, you know. High-strung. Particularly Alice. A formidable talent, but high-strung. And she’s so jealous, poor dear.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Of Jennifer. Because of Elmo. All the girls are always in love with Elmo. I am myself, a little, you know. Nikki adores him from afar. And Mrs. Castor twinkles at him constantly. He and Jennifer have been together for years and she’s always getting this kind of shit because of it.”

  “Do you think Nikki was copying off of Alice?”

  “Not at all,” Weezy said decidedly. “Alice is paranoid, that’s all. Nothing’s more important to her than her work. I couldn’t agree with her in public, but she is more talented than anyone in the class except Elmo.”

  “She said you always take everybody else’s side.”

  “Well, somebody has to. That’s my role, I guess.”

  “She didn’t seem too happy about it. Why was she giving Nikki such a hard time?”

  Weezy sighed. “Because Nikki is there. Because she’s meek and her entire personality irritates Alice. That’s all. Alice doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Really? She looked to me like she meant every word she said.”

  Weezy shrugged. “I’m not going to defend her, Snooky. She’s a difficult case. Some students are easy to work with, and some are hard.”

  “They must all hate her guts.”

  “Oh, goodness, everyone knows she’s difficult. They put up with her, that’s all. Nobody’s losing any sleep over it.” Weezy stood up. “How would you like to see what you look like on paper?”

  “On paper?”

  “The work they did today. With your face bones. Would you like to see?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  They went into the studio, where canvases and drawings were neatly stacked against the walls. Weezy clipped five drawings up on a board.

  “There. What do you think?”

  Snooky surveyed them in silence. Only one looked like a human face. “I presume that’s Mrs. Castor’s?”

  “Yes, that’s right. How acute you are.”

  “It just seemed to me that she was more grounded in reality than the others. Now this one here, Weezy, who did this thing?”

  “That one is Elmo’s.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think he was looking at me at all. I think he was looking at the wall behind me.” The drawing in question was a series of brightly colored rectangles floating in space. “And who did this?”

  “Guess.”

  “I have no idea.” This drawing was a grouping of red circles shot through with different shades of white and purple. “Is that me? I’m offended. I really think I’m offended.”

  “It’s Jennifer’s. And this one is Nikki’s.”

  Nikki had drawn two eyes, one much larger than the other, with a line for his nose and a circle for his ear. The bottom of the face trailed off in a series of zigzags.

  “This is a strangely humbling experience. What’s going on with my face down there?”

  “Oh, nothing to worry about. This one over here is Alice’s.”

  Alice had drawn a fanciful set of geometric shapes, squares and circles and rectangles, with forceful black lines joining them. Two of the ovals could have been eyes, or they could not have been, it was difficult to tell. Snooky thought it was mildly interesting, and said so.

  “But it’s not great.”

  “Oh, you have no eye, sweetie. A philistine, that’s what you are. Alice is truly talented. She’s one of the most talented students I’ve seen in years.”

  “Why bother to make me sit immobile for an hour if nobody is even going to try to draw anything resembling my face?”

  “Inspiration,” said Weezy. “You are providing inspiration for them. Those fine cheekbones of yours.”

  Snooky leaned towards her. “Admit it, you’re attracted to me. My bone structure drives you wild.”

  “No, and please don’t leer at me. It makes me nervous.” Weezy did, in fact, seem to be uncharacteristically nervous. She patted her hair irritably.

  “What is it?”

  “What is what?”

  “What’s bothering you?”

  “Besides your pathetic attempt to make a pass at me?” Weezy wrinkled her nose. “It’s Alice, I suppose. I don’t like it. It makes me unhappy when there’s that kind of tension in class.”

  “It doesn’t sound like she’s coming back, so that should resolve the problem.”

  “Oh, she’s coming back, all right. She’s coming back. She tells me she’s quitting every time something goes wrong, and then the next week, there she is. I can’t get rid of her. But I don’t like it, Snooky. Art class isn’t supposed to involve warfare. I’m going to have to talk to her. Be more strict, lay down the rules.” She sighed. “I hate doing that.”

  “You’re already getting enough flak, Weezy. Maybe they’ll work it out among themselves, without access to their mother superior.”

  Weezy gave a short laugh. “What, show some emotional maturity? No, no, I think not.” She went over to the windowsill and fiddled with a hibiscus plant, then pulled a faded flower off with a sharp jerk of her hand.

  At dinner that night, Bernard held up his fork and said,

  “What is this? Is this lobster?”

  Snooky was amused. “No, Bernard. It is not lobster. Would I do that to you? Would I perform some kind of cannibalistic practical joke? No, that is a piece of fish. This is a fish stew, after all, you know. And a very excellent fish stew it is, if I say so myself.”

  “What kind of fish?”

  “What kind? Well, there’s some shark, you know, mahi-mahi, and some swordfish, and scallops and oysters and crab. That might not be fish you’re holding there, that might be crab.”

  “Sophie has a friend who is an oyster.”

  “Sophie? Your lobster?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sophie has a friend who is an oyster?”

  “Yes.”

  Snooky threw his fork down onto the table. “Well, what is this n
ow, Bernard? Am I responsible for the entire shellfish kingdom simply because you’re writing a book about a lobster? If I had known that your dietary restrictions included all shellfish, and not just Sophies, I would not have dared to make this stew. But I’ve made it now, so please eat it.”

  “I can’t eat lobster, and I can’t eat oysters.” Bernard put his fork down. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sweetheart—” said Maya, putting a hand on his arm.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Snooky said wrathfully, getting to his feet. “This fish stew took me three hours. It has my special cream sauce in it. It took me all afternoon to shop and cook. And now you won’t eat it because of two fictional, may I remind you, fictional characters?”

  “The oyster has a name.”

  “What is its name?”

  “Sylvie.”

  “Sylvie?” Snooky paused. “Sylvie and Sophie?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh.” Snooky sat down and played thoughtfully with his spoon. “Oh. Well, if it has a name already …”

  “They’ve been friends since birth.”

  Snooky sighed. “All right, Bernard. Go into the kitchen and make yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, or whatever else you can scrounge. While you’re in there, write down on the pad a list of past and future book characters for me to study before I go shopping tomorrow. How can you stand being married to him, Maya? Doesn’t he drive you crazy? Oh, and Bernard, one more thing. Pass over your bowl of stew before you go. I haven’t tasted anything this good since St. Martin.”

  Weezy dropped by the next day with a bag of oranges for Maya and a smug look on her face.

  “You have news,” said Snooky, greeting her as she came into the kitchen.

  “That’s right. These are for Maya, by the way. They’re not for you or Bernard. When we talked yesterday I told her she should eat a lot of foods rich in vitamin C. Very important for the baby.”

  “I can’t have one?”

  “Not even one. Where is she in this maze of a house? Upstairs? I have something I’ve got to tell her.”

  “You’ve won something.”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Someone’s giving you an award.”

  “No.”

  “Something involving money. Large, immense sums of money.”

  “No, you’re not even close.”

  “A distant relative died and you’ve become an English peer and the sole owner of a vast estate and fortune.”

  “Where’s Maya?”

  “Upstairs in her room.”

  “Is she asleep? Will I be disturbing her?”

  “I don’t think she’s asleep. She doesn’t nap as much as she used to. She’s doing whatever expectant mothers do when they’re alone. Watching TV, most likely.”

  “See you later.”

  “Don’t I get even one more guess?” Snooky called after her.

  “No.”

  When Maya and Weezy came downstairs half an hour later, Maya’s face was alight.

  “You’ll never guess,” she said to Snooky.

  “I’ve already tried at least three times.”

  “Weezy is going to be in People magazine.”

  Snooky stared. “Get out of here!”

  “I’m serious. Look at her, doesn’t she look famous already?”

  Weezy glowed, hands clasped together in front of her. “It’s a dream come true,” she trilled. “A dream come true.”

  “People magazine?” said Snooky. “But … but … no offense, Weezy … but why?”

  “Don’t be insulting,” said Maya. “Because she’s a wonderful artist and the world should hear about her.”

  “I’m not going to be on the cover, Snooky. I’ll be buried in the back, you know, where they have all the articles on real people that you’ve never heard of. That’s me.”

  “Well, it’s certainly wonderful. How did this happy event come to pass?”

  “Oh, you’ll never guess,” said Weezy.

  “I’ve already proven how little I can guess right today.”

  “It’s all because of Harold. Harold and, more importantly, his girlfriend Gabriela.”

  Snooky raised an eyebrow. “Gabriela? The little mouse?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “The woman Harold left you for?”

  Weezy waved a hand impatiently in the air. “What does that matter now, Snooky? That’s ancient history. The point is, it turns out that Gabriela works for People magazine. You get my drift? She called me up today and asked me if she could come up here for an interview. She said they’ve been looking for an artist to profile for a while now, and she thought that I’d be perfect. If I didn’t mind, that is. She said she’ll bring a photographer and everything. Everything!” She closed her eyes in rapture.

  “Isn’t this the same woman who you were cursing a while back? The woman who stole Harold away? The little mouse with the sweet temper that he left you for? The leader in your personal pantheon of evil?”

  Maya and Weezy regarded him pityingly, two sympathetic gazes.

  “You don’t understand, you idiot,” said his sister. “This is People magazine.”

  “People magazine,” echoed Weezy.

  “He’s a man. He doesn’t understand.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Men are so stupid.”

  “They don’t understand anything, do they?”

  “Let’s go tell Bernard.”

  “He’s a man, too, sweetie,” Weezy reminded her.

  “But he’s got a strong feminine side. Let’s go tell him, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled for you.”

  “I’m thrilled for you,” Snooky called, but the two of them had already left the room.

  Bernard was asleep, his head cradled on a messy pile of manuscript pages, when they came into his study.

  “It’s good to see a man who loves his work,” said Weezy.

  “Poor Bernard. He’s so upset over his new book and the baby and everything, he doesn’t know what to do. He tosses and turns all night long.”

  “A lot of responsibility for one mere human.”

  “It is, it really is.” Maya fondly surveyed the inert bulk of her husband. “It’s a lot for him to deal with.”

  “Let’s go downstairs, I don’t want to wake him up. He seems so peaceful, doesn’t he?”

  “He always sleeps best up here, when he’s supposed to be working.”

  Weezy leaned into the kitchen on her way out and said, “Well, at least one man in this household knows how to congratulate a person!”

  Snooky looked stricken. “What did he say?”

  “Well, he didn’t fuss and moan about why they picked me from obscurity for an interview, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I’m really sorry, Weezy. I really am. What did he say?”

  “All the right things, sweetie. All the right things,” said Weezy, and went on her way.

  On a hot, sunny afternoon ten days later, the phone rang insistently at the Woodruff house. Bernard, true to his nature, did not even consider answering it. He was closeted in his study, pecking away at his typewriter. Snooky was outside getting the mail and did not hear it. At last Maya emerged from her study, a look of frustration on her face, and picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Maya, something weird has happened again,” said Weezy, her voice trembling. “Can you come over?”

  “Right away. What is it? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Please come.”

  When Weezy opened her front door ten minutes later, Maya and Snooky were standing there.

  “I had to bring him,” Maya said. “He whined and begged like a dog. What is it? What’s happened?”

  Weezy led them into the living room and pointed to the coffee table. “That.”

  On the table was a large bouquet of dead flowers. It was tied with a purple velvet ribbon. The faded roses, chrysanthemums and daisies drooped sadly over the edge. A withered spr
ay of baby’s breath stood up like a tiny skeleton dancing over the wreckage.

  “It came in the mail just now,” said Weezy.

  The three of them stood and stared at it.

  “Any card? Anything to identify where it came from?” asked Snooky.

  Weezy shook her head. “Just the postmark.” She picked up a long white box that was lying on the floor next to the table. “Manhattan.”

  “Sent three days ago,” mused Snooky, taking the box from her. “Hmmm.”

  Weezy’s name and address had been typed on a plain white label on the front.

  “Word processor,” said Snooky. “You can always tell. That computer look. There was no card inside? No message at all?”

  “Nothing but the flowers,” Weezy said. She was fiddling unhappily with her hair.

  Maya brushed the dead flowers with her fingertip. A shower of petals came off and drifted to the floor. “Horrible,” she murmured.

  “Who has your address, Weezy?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone. I’ve never had any reason to keep it a secret.”

  “That article that came out in the Times,” said Snooky. “Did it mention where you live?”

  Weezy nodded tiredly. “Oh, yes. My move to idyllic Ridgewood, and so on.”

  “Who do you know who lives in Manhattan?” said Snooky.

  “Everyone I know lives in Manhattan. Everyone except you and Maya and Bernard. Oh, and Mrs. Castor, she lives near here, too.”

  “Uh-huh. Remember all that excitement last time in class?”

  Weezy chewed her lip, looking at the flowers. “Alice?”

  Snooky nodded.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. She does have a paranoid streak. She always accuses me of taking everyone else’s side against her. But still … this is so extreme. It doesn’t seem like her.”

  Snooky was still looking at the box, turning it over and over in his hands. “You know, there’s another possibility. I wonder …”

  “What?”

  “Have you told anyone else about the People magazine interview?”

  Weezy looked surprised. “Just my students. Why?”

  “You told them? When?”