eight million dollars. This might be her only chance to see it.
“Oh my God!” she said, her voice suddenly turning husky. “I love it!”
“Compared to his other work, the colors are muted,” I said. “But yeah, it’s pretty magnificent.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “Impress me.”
“It’s a distemper on linen,” I said.
“Distemper? Like the disease a dog gets?”
“Exactly like that.”
She gave me a look. “Bullshit!”
“Well, it’s spelled the same way. Actually, it refers to using gum or glue as a binding element.”
She made a snoring sound. “Boring,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, “forget that part. Here’s what you want to know: Picasso laid the canvas on the floor and painted it with a brush attached to a broom handle. He used a toothbrush for the detailed work.”
Kathleen clapped her hands together. “More!” she said.
“It took three weeks to paint.”
She looked at me expectantly.
“He wore carpet slippers so he wouldn’t smudge the paint.”
I struggled to remember what else I’d read about the thing. I shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got,” I said.
Kathleen smiled and nudged up against me. “You did well,” she said.
We had a drink at the bar. Among the small crowd waiting for tables, Kathleen spotted Woody Allen, Barbara Streisand, and Billy Joel. I said, “See those two guys by the palm frond? That’s Millard Fillmore and Jackie Gleason!”
She sniffed. “At least the famous New Yorkers I’m lying about are still alive.”
A number of seasonal trees surrounded the white marble pool in the main dining room, and the head waiter sat us beneath one of them. Spun-metal curtains hung in rows against the walls, undulating softly as the air fl ow from the vents teased them.
“This is fantastic,” she said, looking around the room. “Everything is so elegant, especially the breathing curtains!”
“Especially those,” I said.
I tossed back a shot of bourbon and watched Kathleen sip her pomegranate martini. The waiter had brought us drinks and given us time to study the menus. Now he returned, ready to take our order.
“Of course I’ve never been here before,” Kathleen said, “so you’ll have to order for me.”
I nodded. “We’ll start with the crispy shrimp,” I said.
“Oops. No shellfish,” Kathleen said.
“Sorry,” I said. “How about the foie gras?”
“Goose liver pate?” she said. “Ugh!”
“Peppered quail?”
“Sorry,” she said. “Meat product.”
“Perhaps you should just pick something,” I said. She may have detected some annoyance in my voice.
Kathleen burst into a hearty laugh. “I’m just messing with you, Donny. I’d love some crispy shrimp.”
The waiter and I exchanged a glance.
“She might very possibly be insane,” I said, and Kathleen laughed some more.
Then she told the waiter, “Watch out for this one. He’s very grumpy in restaurants.”
The waiter left to place our order.
“Donny?” I said. I huffed a bit, and she placed her hand on mine.
“Okay, I won’t call you Donny,” she said. “But if we’re going to start seeing each other, I’m going to want a pet name for you.”
We looked at each other, and I rotated my palm so I could hold her hand. She cocked her head slightly and raised an eyebrow.
I said, “I have to admit there’s something special about you … Pablo!”
“Oh, God,” she said and laughed some more. “Okay then, no nicknames!”
I tried to remember the last time Janet and I shared a laugh.
“Something about me,” Kathleen repeated. Her eyes hinted amusement. She winked at me and sipped her cocktail. “Mmm,” she said. She touched the napkin to her mouth. You could add up all her looks and mannerisms and never total gorgeous, but you’d get to adorable pretty quick, and that was enough for me. Hell, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Ask me.”
