I wasn't as stiff as I had expected, given my... I wasn't as stiff as I had expected, given my twomile
walkI might get up tomorrow hobbling, but
for tonight I thought I was going to be all right
The message was from JackHe said his mother had
connected him with someone named Dario Nannuzzi,
and Nannuzzi would be happy to look at my pictures
between four and five PM on Friday afternoon -
could I bring no more than ten of those I
considered best to the Scoto Gallery? No sketches;
Nannuzzi only wanted to see finished work
I felt a tickle of unease at this -
No, that's not even close to what I felt
My stomach cramped and I could have sworn my
bowels dropped three inchesNor was that the
worstThat half-itch, half-pain swarmed up my
right side and down the arm that was no longer
thereI told myself such feelings - which
amounted to three-days-in-advance flop-sweat -
were stupidI had once made a ten-million-dollar
pitch to the StPaul City Council, which at
chanel cambon bag that
time had included a man who'd gone on to become
the Governor of MinnesotaI'd seen two girls
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through first dance recitals, cheerleading tryouts,
driving lessons, and the hell of adolescenceWhat
was showing some of my paintings to an art gallery
guy compared to that?
Nevertheless, I made my way up the stairs to
Little Pink with leaden heels
The sun was going down, flooding the big room with
gorgeous and improbable tangerine light, but I
felt no urge to try and capture it - not this
eveningThe light called to me, just the sameAs
the photograph of some long-gone love, happened on
by accident while going through an old box of
souvenirs, may call to you
Even upstairs I could hear the grinding voice of
the shellsI sat down and began poking at the
clutter of items on my junk-table - a feather, a
water-smoothed stone, a disposable lighter rinsed
to an anonymous grayNow it wasn't Emily
Dickinson I thought of,
black spy bag but some old folksong:
Don't the sun look good, Mama, shinin through the
treesNo trees out there, of course, but I could
put one on the horizon if I wanted toI could put
one out there for the red sunset to shine through
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I wasn't afraid of being told I had no talentI
was afraid of Signor Nannuzzi telling me I had a
leetle talentOf having him hold his thumb and
forefinger maybe a quarter of an inch apart and
advising me to reserve a space at the Venice
Sidewalk Art Festival, that I would certainly find
success there, many tourists would surely be taken
by my charming DalĂ imitations
And if he did that, held his thumb and forefinger
a quarter of an inch apart and said leetle, what
did I do then? Could some stranger's verdict take
away my new confidence in myself, steal my
peculiar new joy?
"Maybe," I saidBecause painting pictures wasn't like putting
up shopping malls
The easiest thing would be just to
chanel classic bag cancel the
appointmentexcept I'd sort of promised Ilse,
and I wasn't in the habit of breaking the promises
I made to my children
My right arm was still itching, itching almost
hard enough to hurt, but I barely noticedThere
were eight or nine canvases lined up against the
wall to my leftI turned toward them, thinking
237
I'd try to decide which ones were best, but I
never so much as looked at them
Tom Riley was standing at the head of the stairs
He was naked except for a pair of light blue
pajama pants, darker at the crotch and down the
inside of one leg, where he had wet themHis
right eye was goneThere was a matted socket full
of red and black gore where it had beenDried
blood streaked back along his right temple like
war paint, disappearing into graying hair above
his earHis other eye stared out at the Gulf of
MexicoCarnival sunset swam over his narrow,
pallid face
I shrieked in surprise and terror,
vintage chanel jewelry recoiled, and
fell off my chairI landed on my bad hip and
yelled out again, this time from painI jerked
and my foot struck the chair I'd been sitting in,
knocking it overWhen I looked toward the stairs
again, Tom was gone
vi
Ten minutes later I was downstairs, dialing his
home numberI had descended the stairs from
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Little Pink in the sitting position, thumping down
one riser at a time on my assNot because I'd
hurt my hip falling off the chair, but because my
legs were trembling so badly I didn't trust myself
on my feetI was afraid I might take a header,
even going down backward so I could clutch the
banister with my left handHell, I was afraid I
might faint
I kept remembering the day at Lake Phalen I'd
turned to see Tom with that unnatural shine in his
eyes, Tom trying not to embarrass me by actual
bawlingBoss, I can't get used to seeing you this
way
The telephone began to ring in Tom's nice Apple
Valley
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