by Diane Rapp
Abruptly, a young mountain goat bleated and scrambled out of a hidden bed of pine needles. Its sharp hooves dislodged rocks and debris as it scampered up the mountain, away from the intruder.
Startled, Reggie backed rapidly away from the frightened animal. His foot caught an exposed root, and he tumbled down the slope, shouting for help as he fell. Loose rocks pummeled his body as he slipped over the hard surface into open air.
How stupid of me! I untied my rope and now I’ll die.
He bounced against sharp rocks and slid about fifteen feet below the ledge where he peacefully enjoyed lunch. Spreading his arms, he grabbed at anything. Connecting with a small tree growing out of the rock, he abruptly halted his fall. Clutching the tree with bare hands, he felt his legs dangle in midair.
“Scottie!” he shouted. “I grabbed a tree but can’t get my feet under me. Can you see me?”
The native got down onto his belly and peered over the edge. “Hang on tight. I come closer and throw the rope. You watch and grab.”
“Hurry! This tree is breaking.” Reggie’s hand felt slick with perspiration as the tree bent under his weight.
Scottie moved down the slope, searching for a sturdy tree to anchor the rope. He looped the rope around the tree trunk, tied a knot in the free end, and tossed it toward Reggie. The rope fell short. Scottie dragged it back and prepared to throw again. Whirling the end over his head, he sent the rope sailing into the air once again.
Reggie felt the coil hit his head. He instinctively released his left hand to grab the lifeline, keeping hold of the tree with his right hand. He twined the rope under his armpit, and he tried to feed the end over itself to form a loose knot.
I can’t make a proper knot without two hands!
His right hand slipped down the tree bark and blood trickled down his arm. He shouted, “I’m losing my grip, Scottie. I’ll let go and grab hold of the rope at the count of three.”
Scottie braced himself against the tree and shouted, “I be ready.”
“One…two…oh no!” Reggie felt the tree break free and grappled for the rope as it slipped off his waist. “I’m barely hanging onto the knot so pull!” he shouted.
Bracing both feet against the tree, Scottie pulled the rope, taking up the slack around the tree as Reggie’s dead weight inched up the cliff. In the meantime, Reggie twirled in the air and his body banged against the granite cliff. The rope wrapped around his wrists and tried to gain purchase with his feet each time he made contact with rock.
It seemed like hours passed, but soon Reggie struggled up over the edge and rested on his back panting. Scottie rushed to examine his friend. “You be one lucky white man!” he said as he tied the rope around Reggie’s waist again.
“Yes!” Reggie extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped blood off his scraped hands and wrists. “I never expected a goat to pop up and thought it was a white bear until it bleated.”
“White bears stay in north, live on the ice. It be too far to come here to hunt crazy white man.” Scottie laughed. “You face looks whiter than ever I see.”
“I’m grateful you saved this foolish white man. Thank you, friend.”
Scottie said, “You stay and rest. I go up to fetch packs.”
Reggie kept his head on the ground and closed his eyes. At least I finished my sketches before I fell off the mountain. I doubt I can keep my hands steady enough to draw for some time. His heart still hammered in his chest. I swear I’ll never go climbing again.
*****
Several nights later, Reggie woke as brilliant colors flashed across the white tent. His sleepy mind couldn’t imagine what might be happening as he pulled on his pants and ran outside in stocking feet. Reds, greens, and blues snaked across the sky turning the white glacier into a glittering river of color. The northern lights met the inky water and took on new life as iridescent reflections shimmered across the bay.
Reggie couldn’t work fast enough. He mixed paint in the glow of the sky and dashed swirls of color over the mini sketches he’d thought were complete. His careful pictures were transformed by wild color. He could no longer paint pristine depictions of the glacier! He’d paint light that shimmered off of the ice and water, just as the Impressionists in Europe painted light reflecting from their landscapes.
Reggie finally understood those artists. They intended to capture light and its effect on a man’s soul. His life would be devoted to recreating the spectacle of these northern lights that exploded across the sky with luminous color. Glacier art should embody the vibrant clash of cosmic fire against ancient ice. He’d name the paintings Glacier Gold, Glacier Red, and Glacier Green. He remembered the sapphire-blue color trapped inside floating icebergs and realized that Glacier Blue must be special. He visualized color exploding from inside the glacier reaching up into the sky and down into the watery depths. Glacier Blue would be his masterpiece.
Tears streamed down Reggie’s face as he knelt on the cold ground, his face and hands covered in paint. Scottie gently touched his shoulder, understanding that the glacier gods had touched this man’s soul. “You are now a brother of the Eagle clan, my friend.”
Chapter 2
Present Day - Painting Forgeries
The small studio smelled of linseed oil, turpentine, and oil paint. The soft sound of a piano sonata filled the bright space as the artist applied special mixtures of color—cadmium white, cobalt blue, and gold—to the crags of the glacier on the canvas. He studied a magnified image on his computer screen and stroked the upper edge of the glacier with the fine tip of a small sable brush filled with gold paint.
Too much color!
He groaned and tossed the brush into a bottle. A cloud of gold mushroomed from the brush before merging with the murky brown liquid. The artist extracted a thin pallet knife from a battered wooden tackle box and carefully wiped it with a paint-streaked rag. He concentrated on the offending splotch of paint and then scraped it off the canvas. The paint must dry for hours before he could build a new set of layers to correct the mistake—a blow to his tight schedule but manageable.
With precious little time to waste, he knew he’d work all night to finish on schedule. At least oils were more forgiving than watercolor. An errant brushstroke in watercolor often destroyed the entire work.
He checked his watch and frowned—time to leave for the museum.
The studio appeared messy but the important items, brushes and paint tubes, were meticulously organized. He changed into fresh clothes and cleaned his hands and fingernails. His appearance must not betray the long hours he’d spent painting a forgery.
Inside the Toronto Museum of Art, the artist donned a white smock, set up his easel, and checked the brushes and paints carefully arranged on the cart.
A curious crowd gathered.
The artist smiled as onlookers rubbernecked to see the work, a duplicate of the one drying in his studio. At least he wouldn’t need to “age” this canvas to match the original in perfect detail. A guard placed a sign next to his stool and murmurs rippled through the crowd as they read the information:
Watch this artist paint a “Genuine Fake” to be sold at auction for charity onboard Constellation Cruise Lines. Don’t miss the opportunity to own a Genuine Fake! Book your reservation on the Aurora today.
The artist rose from his stool and approached the original masterpiece. A guard stood near the painting with orders to keep everyone—especially the artist—three feet away from the oil painting. The nameplate on the painting read:
Glacier Blue, by Reginald C. Pierpont, 1907, on loan from Sir Cedric Sinclair.
The artist stood in front of the painting and studied the section he intended to copy. Every morning he gazed at the stunning colors in the painting and admired the technique of the long-dead painter, feeling inadequate to emulate the style. Bold brush strokes or slashes of paint applied by a palette knife were meticulously highlighted by a precise hand. Light shimmered across craggy edges of ice and rose to kiss the mountai
n peaks. His chest tightened. Every day his fear of failure grew, but the artist returned to his stool and confidently applied a thin bead of gold with just the right intensity.
The crowd sighed with approval.
“Practice makes perfect,” the artist muttered. He dipped another brush into an intense shade of blue and applied the color to a deep fissure in the glacial ice. By blending the blue with white, he fashioned the illusion of light shimmering through the ice for a three-dimensional appearance, but he had discovered Pierpont’s secret for creating that special glow. The crowd applauded and he nodded acceptance of their adulation.
His job here was almost finished. He felt eager to sail on the Aurora next week but wondered if the scheme would unfold the way his partners promised. Patience and skill should gain him the reward he deserved and he could quit painting forgeries for good. Gazing at the original painting, he felt a tremor of trepidation ripple up his spine. Would it work?
Chapter 3
Genuine Fakes Party
Emily Schultz stood in the glass pavilion at the Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum. Preparations were under way for the cocktail party to kick off the cruise featuring a Genuine Fakes art auction. Her stomach clenched. Six paintings valued at more than one million dollars each would be displayed under a glass roof tonight. For the first time, original paintings would be exhibited with the authorized forgeries to demonstrate the quality of the forgeries and spur higher prices.
Am I crazy? She wondered.
Genuine Fakes, a company in its fifth year of business would auction authorized copies of each masterpiece onboard Constellation Cruise Lines’ flagship, the Aurora, as they sailed from Seattle up along the coast of Alaska. It was the largest event of the company’s history, launching a fundraising campaign to build a new Museum of Northern Art in Juneau, Alaska.
Yes! I am crazy!
The recession increased business for Genuine Fakes. People who no longer paid the high prices of great art flocked to buy a Genuine Fake. The proceeds from each auction benefitted specified charities, but Genuine Fakes collected generous commissions on each event. Artists who painted the fakes were well-paid in advance. Exhibiting valuable originals was a coup for Genuine Fakes but a massive headache for Emily.
The paintings scheduled for auction depicted scenes of Alaska and Canada painted between 1879 and 1931. Holding an event in a glass pavilion in the garden of the Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum represented a security nightmare for the cruise line. Emily couldn’t wait to get those paintings safely aboard her ship. Although the art was insured for millions, Emily couldn’t afford bad publicity if anything went wrong.
Emily felt relieved when Steven and Kayla arrived. “I’m so happy to see you both!” Emily grabbed them each for a hug.
“I thought you promised us a free wedding cruise.” Steven teased as he returned her hug. “I knew you’d rope us into a security detail before the cruise was over, but I never thought we’d be guarding a bunch of forged paintings.”
Emily blushed. “I didn’t intend…really it was a sudden opportunity…Oh! I see you’re teasing me again. Kayla, I don’t know how you put up with this Englishman as a fiancé.”
“It’s a trial, believe me. When he starts hanging out with Jason, they nearly push me beyond my limit.” Kayla grinned at Steven.
“Jason’s a right clever chap. At least we don’t natter on about baseball like those American lads in the bar last night.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed.
“No, you talk about cricket, rugby, and soccer! I don’t know any of the players and can’t understand the rules of those games.”
“Where is Jason? I thought he and Natalia were going to help us,” Emily said. “They didn’t miss their flight?”
“No. They’re here already, dressed in character and working since this morning. The disguises must work since you didn’t notice those two servers with the caterer, did you?” Steven nodded and Emily stared until she recognized her employees.
“What did Natalia do with her hair? She’s not a redhead now, is she?” Emily asked.
“No, she’s got her long black hair under a red wig. Jason is a master of disguise…” Steven began.
Kayla said, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard his resume before…you’d think James Bond was a wanker compared to Jason Briggs.” She remembered the first time she met Jason in the Azores. He sported cropped hair dyed gray and a trim goatee, created to make him look more like a sommelier. Now his longish brown hair and moustache made him look more like Jude Law. She immediately imagined Steven and Jason playing Sherlock and Watson in a modern movie.
Steven interrupted Kayla’s daydream, “Don’t keep staring or their disguises will go for naught.”
Emily nudged Steven and pointed at a large armored truck. “The artwork is arriving. We’d better get busy.”
*****
Figure 1 Chihuly Glass
Sipping champagne Kayla wandered through the indoor exhibits of the Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum, astounded that she was allowed to take pictures of the fragile pieces. Each room was filled with spectacular glass art. How can mere paintings impress the crowd more than these glass masterpieces? Her favorite room contained a ceiling that looked like an underwater garden of sea creatures floating overhead. The glass was expertly illuminated by strategic lighting as a string quartet played outside. Colorful twisted glass rose like alien flowers in the sculpture garden as guests meandered out of the indoor exhibits and migrated toward the glass pavilion. Soon a crowd waited for the covered paintings to be revealed.
Kayla forced herself to leave the indoor exhibits and joined Emily on the patio. “When does the show start?” she asked.
Emily nervously checked her watch. “In ten minutes. Do you see those guards hovering near the paintings? I think the bearded one looks like a crook ready to hold us all at gunpoint. Why did I agree to this?”
“Calm down, Emily. He’s one of Jason’s friends. I met him last night at the hotel and heard about his skills. No one is going to steal those paintings.”
Emily sighed. “I’ll feel better when the paintings are loaded on the ship where we’ll have tight control over them.”
Kayla didn’t point out that Emily would be completely responsible for the art when it was on the ship. Why make the woman worry more? A distinguished man with silver hair stepped to the microphone and the music petered out.
“Welcome to our party!” he announced in a cheerful voice.
Kayla “cast” him as George Hamilton, flashing a brilliant smile highlighted by a Hollywood tan. She often cast people she met as actors they resembled in the “movie version” of her life. Emily still resembled Maureen O’Hara with her silver-streaked reddish hair. Natalia was tall and slender like a young version of Cher even under a red wig. Kayla often had trouble casting Jason, because he morphed into different appearances, but he definitely looked like Jude Law now. She gazed at Steven. When they first met, Kayla cast him as a young Pierce Brosnan, playing James Bond. He still looked as handsome, but he was more her Steven with a unique personality.
“You are here tonight to see six extraordinary paintings.” The crowd laughed and the Hamilton look-a-like shrugged. “We realize that you’ve already seen fantastic creations by Chihuly’s glass sculptors, but you will soon enjoy the opportunity to own a Genuine Fake.” The crowd laughed again. “For the first time you can see famous original paintings and the fakes side-by-side to judge the quality of the forgeries up close. Each piece is authorized and stamped on the back, so you’ll never be accused of owning an illegal piece of art. Now let’s meet the artists.”
Two men and a woman moved to stand near the announcer. “I’ll introduce our forgers and let them tell you about the artists who painted the original masterpieces.” The crowd clapped politely as Hamilton gestured toward the blushing artists.
“Millicent Chambers has worked for Genuine Fakes since we opened five years ago. Millie produced over fifty authorized copies of famous
paintings and also exhibits her own original artwork in galleries around the world. Please tell us about the two pieces you copied for this auction.”
Millicent stepped to the microphone and cleared her throat. She stood barely five feet tall and wore her dark hair in a bun, looking more like a librarian than an art forger. “It was my pleasure to create a copy of Muir Glacier, painted by Thomas Hill. He was an artist hired by John Muir to paint landscapes of Alaska during Muir’s expeditions. Born in England in 1829, Hill emigrated to the U.S. at the age of fifteen. He studied art in Pennsylvania, and often sketched alongside Hudson River School painters in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. In 1854 Hill moved to San Francisco and gained renown by painting scenes of the Yosemite Valley. The naturalist John Muir boasted that Thomas Hill painted ice and snow better than any of his contemporaries.”
Guards removed covers from the two paintings and strategic lighting made the artwork glow. The paintings looked identical except that an ornate frame marked the original. The crowd murmured its approval and inched closer.
“As you can see, Muir Glacier was painted from the vantage point of the shoreline. A massive wall of ice towers above a small steamship floating in the bay to demonstrate the size and grandeur of the glacier. Hill painted several versions of this glacier, some scenes show small figures on the shoreline. One of the Muir Glacier paintings hung in Muir’s west parlor until his death. This painting is on loan from the Anchorage Museum of Art.
“The second original I copied was a work by Emily Carr. Her rare canvas paintings are commonly held by museums, large art galleries, and private collectors. I’m a huge fan of Emily Carr, who was a native of Victoria, B.C. Carr saw totem poles in a forested setting in 1907 and decided to record images of totems throughout British Columbia. She worked almost exclusively in watercolor but proved unsuccessful at selling her work. Discouraged, Carr gave up painting until she was discovered by the famous Group of Seven. These men were Canadian painters. After her discovery, the group included her works in their exhibits and Carr became an acclaimed artist. She started painting again and repainted a few of her previous watercolors in oil. A rare oil-on-canvas titled Wind in the Tree Tops fetched $2,164,500 at auction. This painting, on loan from a private collector, is called Totem Walk in Oil, Sitka, 1931. This work is an oil-on-canvas based on a previous watercolor version painted in 1907. I’d now like to introduce our second artist, Robert Long.”