Read Online Artist's Proof by Gordon Cotler - Free Book Online Page A

beach things I make. I knew that the minute I saw your sketches of her. I pinned patterns on her, draped fabrics, used her body to try out ideas. I never told you?”
    Maybe she had; everything about Cassie had taken on new importance in the last half hour. Why hadn’t I realized before that Cassie and Gayle had pretty much the same body in different sizes? Clearly, it was the kind of body I wanted to draw.
    â€œDamn, I’m sorry about that girl,” Gayle went on. “Why does this kind of thing have to happen?”
    I thought I heard a note of guilt in her voice. I said, “Gayle, did you see something like it coming?”
    â€œNothing like this,” she said quickly; she may have started down a road she hadn’t meant to take. She took a moment, maybe to plan how she would say it. “But looking back I can’t say I’m totally bowled over with surprise.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means it takes one to know one.” She was surer now. “Sid, she was me at that age—spreading her wings, ready to take chances. I don’t know how or why, but she may have stuck her nose in where she shouldn’t have.”
    â€œA straight-ahead kid like Cassie? Feet on the ground, all-around good?”
    â€œBasically, sure. Hey, I was basically a good kid. But if you hadn’t come along I’d have ended up modeling a body bag on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard.”
    â€œDon’t compare your world with Cassie’s. She had a real home, a religious mother who fussed over her—”
    â€œYeah,” Gayle murmured. “That’d keep her in line.”
    â€œFrom what I could tell she stayed in line.”
    â€œIf she did it was because she was afraid her old man would show up to give her a good whipping. That’s about the only thing he ever did show up for.”
    â€œShe talked to you about that?”
    â€œNot much. But maybe more than with you. Girl to girl. He was bad news.”
    â€œDid he make moves on her?”
    That startled her. “What? She never said anything about that. Where’d you get it?”
    I started to backpedal. “Was it something she said once? I’m not sure.”
    But I remembered it clearly: She said some man had seen her naked and she didn’t like it. What had made me make the leap to her father?
    Gayle said, “The worst I heard about her old man is that he’s a boozer. Like half the people in this town. That other, ugh. Maybe I was lucky.”
    â€œThat your father never came after you?”
    â€œThat I never knew him.”
    Because she and Cassie had been girl to girl, I wondered what she knew about Paulie Malatesta. I never got to ask; a customer had walked into the shop and Gayle had to hang up.
    With the phone still in my hand I remembered to call Lonnie. I got the machine:
    â€œYou have reached the Leona Morgenstern Gallery. Please leave your name and number and we’ll return your call at the very first opportunity.”
    This wasn’t the shrew who phoned me just after the crack of dawn, but the woman who had taken a lease on my heart when we first met two decades ago. Lonnie now mostly reserved that liquid, come-hither voice for the paying customers.
    After the beep I said, “Lonnie?… Lonnie, where the hell are you? It’s nearly two o’clock. Rule one for selling art—open the door.” No wonder my work wasn’t selling.
    I waited a few seconds for someone to pick up. Nothing but tape static. I said, “Okay, I’m coming in. I’ll be there at six to meet your Texas fat cat. If he shows before me, warn him to stand back from my paintings with his pointy alligator boots.”
    I thought that this might stir her to pick up her phone. When it didn’t, I added, “And, Lonnie, would you tell Alan I’m coming in? When I’m through at your place, I’ll take him out for spaghetti or another budget