Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Art of Deception by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
Ads: Link
matters to me.”
“At nearly ten grand a pop?”
“Hmm. That's yet to be seen. I had an installation of hers in when I first opened which sold very well, but since Di was asking so much for her paintings, Tess felt she would be giving the impression that her work was
worth
less if she didn't price in the same ballpark.”
“But—”
“Ah-ah-ah! Don't be catty. Tess is simply projecting a value onto her work.” He laughs. “And if they do move, you won't hear me complaining! Fifty percent of a few of those babies would keep me from enduring gigs like this.” He rolls his eyes around the booth, then whispers, “I've had it up to here with all these rennies and their phony Faire accents, bragging and brawling and spitting … it's repugnant!”
Now I'm listening to him, all right, but my brain is pretty much stuck on his cut of the sale. “You get fifty percent?
Why?
”
He puts his nose in the air a little and says, “Darling,rent's not free. And frankly, they'd be lost without me. How else would the buying public get to know their work? They certainly don't want people traipsing through their homes. And artists do not make good business-people. Most of them, anyway.” He scowls. “Austin's the exception.”
“His paintings were cheap compared to the other two.”
Jojo nods. “It's a numbers game to that boy. He moves as much as he can, as fast as he can. And,” he grumbles, “he's not going to let anyone slow him down.”
Now, the way he said it was sort of … bitter. So I ask, “Why do you say that?”
He waves me off. “Never mind, darlin'. It's much,
much
too deep to get into.” Then he spread his hands over the pictures on the table and says, “In the market? Please-please-please?”
I laugh and shake my head, because it's just a little weird hearing a swashbuckler go, Please-please-please. Then I ask him, “But if you hate being here, why are you here?”
“Because,” he says, “I can make more on lithographs of dragons and knights in a weekend than I make some months at the gallery.” He gives me a little scowl and whispers, “I'm trying to run an art gallery in Santa
Martina
, Sweet Pea. I have to make a living somehow!”
I think about this a minute, then ask, “What's a lithograph, anyhow?”
“Mostly production-line art. They take a scan or make a photograph of the artwork and then just crank 'em out. Stamp-stamp-stamp! Thousands upon thousands.” Hereaches under the skirt of the table and pulls up a fat stack of copies of the knight on the horse I'd been looking at. “When I sell one, I've got one waiting down here to replace it.”
“So … do you think it's art?”
He shrugs. “Actually, I think these were done on a computer.”
“You're kidding! They look like pencil sketchings.”
He smiles a sly little smile. “Exactly.”
I take a closer look, but I sure can't tell. What I
can
tell is that Marissa's getting antsy. So I say, “Well, we'd better get going. It was nice talking to you.”
“You too, princess!”
I cringe at him.
“Princess?”
Then I show him a shoe, to set the record straight.
He laughs, then adds, “But a clever disguise, nonetheless.”
As we left his booth and walked around the Faire, I kept hearing Jojo's voice saying, “But a clever disguise, nonetheless.” And I started getting this strange feeling. Like I was in one of those cartoons where one character is spying on another, popping in and out, up and down, hiding behind fences and in trash cans and trees.
I checked around for Heather and her wanna-bes.
No “travelers” in sight.
And it didn't feel like I was being followed, exactly. More like I was being set up.
Tricked.
Everywhere I turned, people were in costumes, pretending. Pretending they were someone they weren't. Someplace they weren't. Some
time
they weren't.
And I started thinking about the Squirt Gun Bandit and what was hidden behind his whole getup.
And the more I thought about him and what had happened
“At nearly ten grand a pop?”
“Hmm. That's yet to be seen. I had an installation of hers in when I first opened which sold very well, but since Di was asking so much for her paintings, Tess felt she would be giving the impression that her work was
worth
less if she didn't price in the same ballpark.”
“But—”
“Ah-ah-ah! Don't be catty. Tess is simply projecting a value onto her work.” He laughs. “And if they do move, you won't hear me complaining! Fifty percent of a few of those babies would keep me from enduring gigs like this.” He rolls his eyes around the booth, then whispers, “I've had it up to here with all these rennies and their phony Faire accents, bragging and brawling and spitting … it's repugnant!”
Now I'm listening to him, all right, but my brain is pretty much stuck on his cut of the sale. “You get fifty percent?
Why?
”
He puts his nose in the air a little and says, “Darling,rent's not free. And frankly, they'd be lost without me. How else would the buying public get to know their work? They certainly don't want people traipsing through their homes. And artists do not make good business-people. Most of them, anyway.” He scowls. “Austin's the exception.”
“His paintings were cheap compared to the other two.”
Jojo nods. “It's a numbers game to that boy. He moves as much as he can, as fast as he can. And,” he grumbles, “he's not going to let anyone slow him down.”
Now, the way he said it was sort of … bitter. So I ask, “Why do you say that?”
He waves me off. “Never mind, darlin'. It's much,
much
too deep to get into.” Then he spread his hands over the pictures on the table and says, “In the market? Please-please-please?”
I laugh and shake my head, because it's just a little weird hearing a swashbuckler go, Please-please-please. Then I ask him, “But if you hate being here, why are you here?”
“Because,” he says, “I can make more on lithographs of dragons and knights in a weekend than I make some months at the gallery.” He gives me a little scowl and whispers, “I'm trying to run an art gallery in Santa
Martina
, Sweet Pea. I have to make a living somehow!”
I think about this a minute, then ask, “What's a lithograph, anyhow?”
“Mostly production-line art. They take a scan or make a photograph of the artwork and then just crank 'em out. Stamp-stamp-stamp! Thousands upon thousands.” Hereaches under the skirt of the table and pulls up a fat stack of copies of the knight on the horse I'd been looking at. “When I sell one, I've got one waiting down here to replace it.”
“So … do you think it's art?”
He shrugs. “Actually, I think these were done on a computer.”
“You're kidding! They look like pencil sketchings.”
He smiles a sly little smile. “Exactly.”
I take a closer look, but I sure can't tell. What I
can
tell is that Marissa's getting antsy. So I say, “Well, we'd better get going. It was nice talking to you.”
“You too, princess!”
I cringe at him.
“Princess?”
Then I show him a shoe, to set the record straight.
He laughs, then adds, “But a clever disguise, nonetheless.”
As we left his booth and walked around the Faire, I kept hearing Jojo's voice saying, “But a clever disguise, nonetheless.” And I started getting this strange feeling. Like I was in one of those cartoons where one character is spying on another, popping in and out, up and down, hiding behind fences and in trash cans and trees.
I checked around for Heather and her wanna-bes.
No “travelers” in sight.
And it didn't feel like I was being followed, exactly. More like I was being set up.
Tricked.
Everywhere I turned, people were in costumes, pretending. Pretending they were someone they weren't. Someplace they weren't. Some
time
they weren't.
And I started thinking about the Squirt Gun Bandit and what was hidden behind his whole getup.
And the more I thought about him and what had happened
Similar Books
