by Gloria Dank
“Maybe it’s nothing against you. Maybe it’s something between the students that doesn’t include you.”
She nodded. “That’s possible. That’s certainly possible. There’s all kinds of things going on in that class. They’re one of the most volatile mixes I’ve ever seen. It could be that. But then why wreck my paintings?”
“Because they were there. Because whoever did it couldn’t just pick out one person’s stuff to destroy, it’d be too obvious.”
“But then why call the Genuardi Gallery? And what about those phone calls and the dead flowers?”
“That’s true,” said Snooky. “But maybe …”
“What?”
“Maybe somebody is trying to make somebody else look bad. You know, get someone else into trouble.”
“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I just don’t know. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all in trouble. I’m this far from saying to hell with it and canceling the class.”
“A good idea,” said Snooky. “Why don’t you?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
There was a silence.
“You know another thing I’ve been thinking about,” she said at last. “Since this whole thing happened. I’ve been wondering which one of them could have slashed those paintings. What I mean is, which one of them would be physically capable of slashing paintings. I mean, I don’t think I could slash somebody else’s paintings unless I really, really hated them. I know what goes into someone else’s work and I would find it hard to deface that. The same for Elmo, for instance. He has a lot of respect for the work itself. Alice, too. The others … I don’t know. Jennifer. Nikki. Nikki’s so mild, it’s hard to imagine … and of course there’s Mrs. Castor, evil incarnate. I hate to even suspect her. Can you see that sweet old lady ripping at my paintings with a knife? But you see what I’m talking about.”
“Yes. But even you could do it if you hated somebody enough.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, maybe somebody feels that strongly.”
They stared at each other morosely.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” said Snooky. “I’m not letting you stay here by yourself alone. No, I’m not,” he said over her protests. “I’m getting my stuff and moving in here for a while. This is not a proposition, just a statement of fact.”
“Getting your stuff,” she said with a faint smile. “What does that consist of? Putting your toothbrush in a brown paper bag? Stealing Bernard’s clothes?”
“And I’ll tell you another thing. You’re going to have one more student in your class from now on.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yes. It was Bernard’s idea, and while I thought at the time it was idiotic, now I think it’s a good one. I’ll sit in the back and not make any trouble. You can tell them I’ve always been interested in art.”
“What are you planning to do, exactly? Sit in the back and fingerpaint? Paint by numbers? Use a coloring book? This is a serious class, these people are for real, it’s not a hobby for them. You’re going to look ridiculous.”
“I’m used to that,” said Snooky, and leaning over, he gave her a kiss.
She stared at him owlishly. “That wasn’t bad.”
“I can do it again,” he said, and did.
“I’m leaving, and I’m not sure when I’m coming back,” Snooky announced.
Bernard glanced up from his desk. “Fine.”
“You’ll have to fend for yourselves from now on.”
“Okay.”
“I’m moving in with Weezy. Something strange happened.”
“You mean, something strange besides you moving in with her?”
Snooky briefly recounted the phone call to the gallery owner.
“Okay.”
“I’m worried about her being alone. Why are you alone, by the way? Where’s Maya?”
“She’s out taking a walk.”
“Oh. Tell her I’ll call her later.”
Bernard nodded.
“I’ve decided to follow your suggestion about sitting in on her classes. I’ll keep in touch if I find out anything interesting.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m taking some of your clothes with me.”
Bernard shrugged irritably.
“Anything I can do for you before I go? Cook a meal or something?”
“Have you forced your presence on Weezy, or is this voluntary on her part?”
“Well, I’d say a little bit of both, to be honest.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“You’ll take good care of Maya for me? You won’t let her and the baby starve?”
“Good-bye, Snooky.”
“There are some cans of food in the pantry. Remember to open them when you feel hungry.”
“Good-bye.”
“So long, Bernard.”
When Snooky had left, Bernard sat tapping idly on his typewriter keys. The dog, a pile of fluffy red hair, was curled under his desk, snoring gently. Bernard leaned down to pat her head; then he typed
IIIIJJJJKKKKLLSDMGJJSLDSLSLDKLSLSM
His mind was elsewhere. He had been hard at work on the tale of Sophie the lobster when Snooky had come into the study, but once interrupted it was difficult to get back into the flow. He cleared his throat, spaced down a few lines and then wrote,
RT STDNTS???
This, in Bernard’s special shorthand, translated as “Art students???” He had learned long ago that by eliminating all vowels it was possible to take notes that nearly always could be deciphered later.
GLLRY WNR? (“Gallery owner?”)
NTRVWR? (“Interviewer?”)
followed in quick succession. Bernard stared somberly at the page for a while.
HRLD? (“Harold?”)
From what Maya had said, Harold had left Weezy. It was difficult to see his motive for harassing her and wrecking her studio now, but perhaps there was one.
Underneath that he typed one letter, followed by a question mark.
Y?
He knew Weezy. Weezy had been a part of his life since his marriage. Everyone loved Weezy, with her friendly nature and her outgoing ways. Everyone, apparently, except one person. What could she have done to make someone hate her so much?
The first night Snooky slept on Weezy’s couch. The next night, without ceremony, he moved into her room. Weezy seemed perplexed by this course of events. He would catch her looking at him from the corner of her cat-eyes, with a puzzled, vulnerable expression on her face. She acted as though a gigantic whale had somehow landed in her bed, despite her best efforts to persuade it to swim elsewhere. She seemed to find it difficult to get around the house without bumping into him and apologizing. They were awkward with each other and overly polite.
“We have to stop this,” Snooky said at last. “I can’t say ‘oh, excuse me’ one more time. Is this your piece of toast I’m eating, by the way?”
“Yes, it is. Mine’s the one with marmalade, yours has blueberry jam.” She switched them neatly.
“I love you, I’m allowed to be in your kitchen for breakfast. I’m tired of apologizing for being here.”
“Oh, geez.” Weezy was playing with her napkin, folding it this way and that, into tinier and tinier squares. She was wearing a ratty pink bathrobe whose hems were frayed. Her hair was curling loose on her shoulders. She brushed back an errant strand impatiently. “Yeah. Okay.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. I keep wondering what Maya will say.”
“It’s not exactly going to be a devastating surprise, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, I know. I know. I just … I don’t know.” She shrugged unhappily.
Snooky took her face in his hands. “Listen. Maya’s married, she’s having a baby, remember? She doesn’t need to live her life through us. We’re something separate.”
“We’re something separate, all right. You never spoke a truer word, Snooky. We’re something separate from t
he entire human race.”
“I don’t see why you say that,” he said cheerfully, buttering another piece of bread. “More toast?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Admit it, you like me better every day.”
“I liked you fine in the beginning,” she said, almost under her breath, and gave him another one of her strange, absorbed, puzzled looks.
Maya took the news with equanimity. “I’m happy for you,” she told Weezy. “I really am.”
Weezy regarded her doubtfully. “You are?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t lie to me, Maya, you know I hate it when you’re polite.”
“I’m not lying. I really am happy for you. Bernard and I were talking about it the other day. He said Snooky’s not so bad, you could do a lot worse.”
Weezy was struck by this. “Bernard said that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“From Bernard, that’s a rave review.”
“Yes.”
“Snooky will be touched. I’ll have to tell him.”
Maya gave her a quick hug. “And as for Snooky, you’re the best thing that could possibly have happened to him. He should lie down and thank his lucky stars he met you again.”
Weezy laughed and shook her head. “He’s protecting me, you know. He’s enrolling in my class to keep the students from killing me.”
“It’s the silliest idea I’ve ever heard.”
“I know. Has he ever shown the slightest sign of any artistic talent? Other than the creative way he spends his life?”
“He’s very good at origami. You could have him make unicorns or boats or hats or whatever.”
“That’ll go over big. Especially with Elmo, he’s such a stickler. I’m dreading class this week.”
Maya gave her a sympathetic glance. “Any word from Alice?”
“None. And not likely to be. I give her at least two weeks before she gets in touch.”
“You’ve been calling her?”
“Over and over again. I just get her machine. And I’m sorry, but Manhattan is too damned far away for me to go chasing her down and trying to deal with her. Honestly, Maya, she’s such a little prima donna, sometimes I think I’d be glad if she never came back. Although of course I wouldn’t want her to leave this way.” She fell silent, brooding.
“You’ve always said how good she is at her work.”
“Well, she is, damn it, but sometimes I wish she’d pick somebody else to take classes from. She’s just so difficult. They all are, in their own ways. Goddamn individualists.”
“Are you frightened?” Maya asked bluntly. “Of what’s happening?”
Weezy laughed and shook her head. “I would be, except for your brother. It’s incredibly comforting, Maya, it’s like living with a great big basset hound. You just know if anybody broke into the house he would bay his head off.”
“And then lie down and let them pet him,” said Maya cynically.
Snooky had thought that there would be some protests when he joined the class, but very little was said. Weezy remarked offhandedly, “I think you all know Snooky—well, he’ll be here with us for a while,” and they stared at him curiously, but the only comment came from Elmo, who grunted in contempt before turning back to his easel. Jennifer tossed her black hair over her shoulders, glanced at Elmo and then set to work. Mrs. Castor gave him a gentle smile, and Nikki came up and whispered, “How nice … really, how nice … it’ll be nice to have an extra person … this class was a little too small, if you know what I … oh, dear, well …” She retired, covered in confusion.
Snooky had taken a position, as promised, in the back of the room, and now he stared dubiously at the blank canvas in front of him. The last artistic endeavor he distinctly remembered being involved in was the creation of a knobbly ashtray from clay in second grade. On the other hand, sometimes he thought anybody could create modern art; so often it seemed to him to be a case of the emperor’s new clothes. He had been to a museum once where he had managed to walk across an actual exhibit, unaware that the newspapers strewn across the floor were not a precursor to the display but the display itself. He sighed and dipped a brush into the paint.
When Weezy wandered by later, she found him hard at work painting the entire canvas red.
“Interesting,” she said.
“Thank you. I call it ‘Study in Red, Number One.’ Like it?”
“It’s been done.”
“In that case, I’ll call it ‘Animals Copulating, Series Four.’ What do you think?”
“I think you think you’re awfully funny.”
He smiled and went back to work.
Alice had not shown up, as Weezy had predicted; and in her absence the class seemed somehow subdued, their voices lower, without any of the emotional sparks Alice usually sent flying. Elmo was giving Jennifer some pointers; they were arguing over something, but quietly, whispering to each other. Nikki and Weezy were conferring, their voices murmuring back and forth. Mrs. Castor was hard at work; when she painted, her face looked years younger, serene and youthful, Snooky noted. He was stationed behind her and could see that her painting consisted of colorful figures dancing across the canvas, marching along the frame and jumping into what looked like a blue lake. It was a happy, childlike scene in vivid colors, and Mrs. Castor smiled as she worked on it.
“Oh, good,” said Weezy when she saw it. “Oh, my goodness, it’s wonderful, Mrs. Castor. This is your best yet.”
The old lady glowed. “Thank you.”
“Oh, yes, you’ll be ready for an exhibit of your own soon.”
This remark was ill-timed, following on the destruction of her own paintings. Mrs. Castor looked at her in sympathy; Weezy winced and murmured, “Sorry,” then moved away.
The class without Alice, Snooky noted, seemed to be missing its emotional center, the force that made it move. Whatever you could say about Alice, she was a personality, he mused.
“Oh, she’s a personality, all right,” Weezy agreed when he told her this later. “Yes, the room seems empty without her, but who cares? It’s so peaceful. Mrs. Castor did her best work in months.”
“You care,” Snooky said pointedly.
“Yes, I do, damn her, but I’m still going to wait. I know Alice, she’ll show up when she feels like it. She knows she still needs me and the class.”
And true to form, the next week when class assembled Alice walked in, set up her easel in the back and went to work as if nothing had happened. There was a stir as she entered, and Snooky glanced around expectantly, but no one said anything, not even hello. Jennifer and Elmo looked at each other, but said nothing. Nikki seemed disappointed. Her shoulders were hunched and her head lowered, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. And Mrs. Castor, far away in a land of happy dancing figures, did not even seem to notice the stir. She hummed to herself as she worked, a happy tuneless sound.
“I told you she’d come back,” Weezy said that night, smugly.
“So you did.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“No,” said Snooky. “She looked up at one point and stared at me as if I had come from Mars, but she didn’t say anything.”
“Artists,” sighed Weezy. “So temperamental. I loathe them all.”
“Then it’s just lucky that I’m not one,” said Snooky, giving her a kiss.
As the weeks went on, Maya began to show. Her abdomen puffed out and she found it impossible to get into her old jeans. She was thrilled with this. She and Weezy rushed out to buy maternity tops and pants. As with everything, Weezy had strong opinions on what Maya should wear during her pregnancy.
“Not the fifties look, sweetie,” she said in the dressing room. “Not the Laura Petrie look. Don’t they have any maternity overalls? You could wear them with a flowered blouse. No, take that off immediately. Oh, here’s a long sweater, I love those. Try that on. Where’s that saleslady? Don’t they have any creative ways to dress pregnant people?”
Maya came home c
lutching several shopping bags, her eyes sparkling. She felt as if she were in a movie starring herself, pregnant. “A movie about me,” she told Weezy.
“Fulfilling all your fantasies,” Weezy said, laughing.
“I feel like I’m a movie star and somebody is recording my every move on film.”
“Well, why not? It’s a special time.”
“I had no energy before, and I have so much energy now. Bernard and I are going shopping soon for baby furniture.”
“Oh, don’t go with him. He has no idea about anything. Go with me. I can see the cradle already, white with a white lace bumper … or maybe pale yellow, to go with the walls …”
“I have to go with him. He’d be so hurt if I didn’t include him.”
“All right, but just remember the color he painted the walls of the nursery. Attack of Fuchsia, if I remember correctly.”
“Bile Green.”
“Lots O’ Liver, like a cat food.”
“Smog Gray.”
“I can’t think of any more, but it was vile, remember? You can go with him, but kindly keep in mind that he has no aesthetic or color sense whatsoever. No offense, dear.”
Maya did not care. She had laid the new clothes out on her bed and was surveying them with satisfaction. “I love the overalls.”
“And they’ll expand as you do. See these clever pleats here on the sides?”
“I love the jeans.”
“Try them on again. That’s right. Oh, yes, you look wonderful.” Weezy looked her over with a nod of approval. “Wonderful.”
“Bernard will have a hemorrhage when he finds out how much I spent.”
“He doesn’t care how much money you spend as long as you’re happy. Bernard is the perfect husband. And you needed something, my goodness, you couldn’t wear your old clothes any longer now that you’re really showing.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
“You certainly are.” Weezy smiled at her old friend. Maya looked at her thoughtfully.
“Weeze …”
“Uh-huh?”
“Do you ever … I mean, don’t you … ummm …”
“Want to have kids?”
Maya nodded.
Weezy flopped back on the bed. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. Do you remember when Snooky was born?”