"Hmm— Neither did Eunice, ever."
"Instead, you tell me what happened to you—atJoe's."
"We seem to have reached a stalemate. Let's wash off this paint. I wish I had taken a photograph of our mermaid before I smeared it."
"No huhu, Jake my beloved; Joe took several and I have them in my purse. For you. And I have two of Eunice in the same getup—one for you, and one for me. And besides that Joe gave me a four-by-five Kodachrome of a most incredible trompe-l'oeil painting he did of Eunice as a mermaid diving... plus a smaller transparency which shows how he did it. Same getup minus sea shells."
"Would it surprise you to learn that I've seen them both? Just didn't have the crust to promote Joe for them."
"No, not surprised, I guess. But I did not pressure him, Jake; he said he had a present for me—and these photos turned out to be the present. I should refuse? God forbid. But I'm going to put snoops to work and trace down who bought that painting. I intend to own it. Price no-object."
"Your money won't help you, Miss Smith. Would it surprise you to know that I own that original Branca? It's at the Gib."
"I'll be—dipped! Jake, you're a dirty old holdout. I take back ten percent of any compliments I've handed you."
"That's okay; I didn't believe more than ninety percent. But if you're a good girl I'll give you that painting."
"I accept! But—well, it's hardly worthwhile opening those packages. They'll be disappointments."
"Would you like a spanking?"
"Yes."
"I'm too tired. Let's open packages."
"Well...we might open the smaller one. Let you see what Gigi looks like, if you don't remember. She's worth looking at."
"We'll open both of them."
"Scrub first?"
"I suppose we should."
"Well...let's give it a lick and promise, not turn it into a social event."
Joan Eunice insisted on opening ‘Bilitis Sings' first.
"Well, Jake?"
He gave a respectful wolf whistle. "The boy's a genius."
"Yes. I hadn't suspected. But you already knew it."
"Well, yes. His decision to use strong sunlight on your two contrasting skin colors was inspired."
"Especially as he had no sunlight—just smog-filtered north light, soft as old linen. Those highlights come from photographing us under floods the night before. Then he painted from us the next day. Changed the pose, though—and I don't know how he corrected the highlights. But I'm no genius."
"What's in the big package?"
"Open it."
It was ‘The Three Graces'—and all three were Joan Eunice. "Joe calls this a ‘cheat pic,' Jake—he photographed me three times—erase and correct—more nearly thirty-three times, against a neutral background, then combined three photos for his cartoon. Had Gigi pose with me each time to get arms-around-waist and so forth, then she would slither out like a snake without disturbing my pose. If be hadn't used ‘cheat' the painting would have taken far longer. Aren't those dimples in my behind cute?"
"Woman, you are conceited enough."
"I'm not conceited, Jake; I wasn't handsome even when I was young. I know whose beautiful bottom that is. Well dear? I had intended ‘Bilitis' for me and the ‘Graces' for you—but you can have your choice."
"What a choice to have to make!"
"The one you let me keep will be no farther away than down the hall. If you had married me when you so obviously should have, you lecherous old rapist, you wouldn't have to make a choice; both would be yours. Jake, what does it cost to buy a job lot of art critics?"
"Well, the present crop ought not to fetch more than ten cents a dozen but everything is higher these days. I take it you have Joe Branca in mind?"
"Of course. He's selling his paintings at ridiculously low prices and paying an outrageous commission—and sells so few that the kids hardly get enough to eat. While freaks and frauds and sign painters are all the rage. I thought—"
"You can stop thinking; I see the swindle. We'll get him agood agent, we'll buy up what he has on the market, using dummies—and keep them ourselves; they're a surefire investment... and we'll buy art critics here, then elsewhere as he becomes better known. The question is: How much of a success must he be? Do 1 have to get him into the Metropolitan?"
"Jake, I don't think Joe wants to be famous. And 1 don't want it to be so conspicuous that he might smell a rat. Or that Gigi might; she's a little more sophisticated. Not very, that is. I just want his pictures to sell regularly enough that Gigi can buy groceries without worrying and can have enough disposable sheets that she can change them every day if it suits her. The kid is trying to keep house on scraped icebox and boiled dishrag soup. I tried that in the Depression and it's not funny—and I see no reason why Gigi should have to do it when she's married to an honest-to-God artist who can paint—andworks at it. One who doesn't spend his time sopping up sauce or blowing weed, and talking about the painting he's going to do. Joe paints. He's a craftsman as well as an artist. Well, maybe I don't know what an artist is but I know what a craftsman is and I respect craftsmen. Too few of them in this decadent world."
"No argument. We'll do it. Even if we have to go as high as fifteen cents a dozen."
"Even two-bits. Let's finish getting paint off—I must send down for olive oil—and you could be a darling and get Winnie to fetch me a heavy robe or get it yourself, pretty please, if she isn't home—no, I can get back to my room in my street cape, no problem, and—"
"Hrrmph."
"Did I goof again?"
"My dear, I have an announcement. Dr. and Mrs. Roberto Carlos Garcia y Ibanez are on their honeymoon."
"What? Why, the dirty little rat! Didn't wait for big sister to hold her hand. Good for them! Jake, that's wonderful—Ithink I'll cry."
"Go ahead, you cry while I shower."
"Hell, no, I'll cry when Winnie is back. I'll take that shower with you and you can scrub me. My back, where I can't see the paint; not my front, I'm tired, too. When was it and do you know when they will be home? And, goodness, I must pick out a suite for them; Roberto won't want to be next to mine with a connecting door. And I need to think of a wedding present. I may give them the painting you don't pick; Roberto won't let me give them anything expensive, he's a stubborn man." (Boss, is there another sort?)
"I can't see why Bob wouldn't want to have a connecting door into your bedroom."
"I think that was meant to be an insult. Perhaps he would like it, dear—I would like it. But it would not look right to the servants." (Frimp the servants!) (All of them, Eunice? I'm kept busy as it is.)
"Eunice, I took the liberty of telling Cunningham to have the Gold Suite set up for the Garcias—"
"Perfect! I'll have a door cut from my lounge into theirs and there already is a lock-off that we can unlock between its foyer and the upstairs library we joined to your suite—and then we can quit this unseemly ducking back and forth through the hall."
"The newlyweds might prefer to be left alone."
"Hadn't thought of- that. Oh, well, ‘I have some friends of my own,' as the old gal said."
"In any case they'll be back too soon for carpentry. I have it from a usually dependable source that a reliably dishonest member of your staff agreed to phone Mrs. Garcia the instant you returned. I assume that the call was made. I assume that they will be back by, oh, nightfall."
"I wonder whom I should fire? That's a hell of a way to run a honeymoon."
"I understand the good Doctor was in on it—the idea being to keep you safe from harm, since between them they constitute your medical staff."
"What nonsense. I'm the Pioneer-Mother type. Rugged. If I had crossed with the prairie- schooners, they would have yoked me in with the oxen. But I'm glad they're coming home. I want to kiss them and cry on them."