Painted Ladies

“The museum.”

“Yes,” he said. “And if they won’t cover it all, I’ll make up the difference out of pocket.”

“Generous,” I said.

“You’re being ironic,” he said.

“It is you I’m protecting,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “The painting, too. It is not merely a brilliant piece of art, though that would be enough. It is also the expression of a distant life, cut sadly short.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“Which I’m told,” Prince said, “is considerable.”

I nodded.

“’Tis,” I said.

2

Susan and Pearl were spending the weekend with me. It was Saturday morning and the three of us were out for a mid-morning stroll in the Public Garden. Pearl was off the leash so she could dash about and annoy the pigeons, which she was doing, while Susan and I watched proudly.

“So you are going to make this exchange Monday morning?” Susan said.

“Yep.”

“How do you feel about it?” she said.

“I am, as you know, fearless.”

“Mostly,” Susan said.

“ ‘Mostly’?”

Susan smiled and shook her head.

“What’s bothering you about it?” she said.

“An exchange like this,” I said, “they gotta be sure they get the money before they give you the painting. You gotta be sure you get the painting before you give them the money. They gotta be sure that once they give up the painting the cops don’t swoop in and bust them.”

“Difficult,” Susan said.

“And their side gets to call the shots,” I said.

“Which you don’t like,” Susan said.

“Which I don’t like,” I said.

“Ducks,” Susan said. “You don’t like anyone else calling the shots on what tie to wear.”

“Except you,” I said.

Susan smiled.

“Of course,” she said. “Always except me.”

A group of pigeons was pecking at some popcorn that had been thrown on the ground for them. Pearl chased them off and ate the popcorn. A mature woman in a leopard-skin coat stood up from the bench where the pigeons had gathered and walked toward us.

“Madam,” she said, “control your dog. That popcorn is intended for the pigeons.”

Susan smiled.

“Survival of the fittest,” she said.

The woman frowned.

She said, “Don’t be flippant, young woman.”

“Yikes,” I murmured.

Susan turned slowly toward the woman.

“Oh, kiss my ass,” Susan said.

The woman took a half-step back. Her face reddened. She opened her mouth, and closed it, and turned and marched away.

“They teach you ‘kiss my ass’ at Harvard?” I said.

“No,” Susan said. “I learned that from you. . . . Pearl likes popcorn.”

“At least she called you ‘young woman,’ ”I said.

Susan was glaring after the woman.

“By her standards,” Susan said.