Read Online The Marriage of Sticks by Jonathan Carroll - Free Book Online Page B

answer. Sometimes I looked over and saw Hugh Oakley talking with a well-known SoHo gallery owner. They seemed to be having a great time. I wished I were in their conversation and not mine.
    Because I wasn’t paying attention to what the guy on my right was saying, it didn’t register when he began to touch me as he spoke. Nothing bad, just a hand on the arm, then a few sentences later fingers on my elbow to emphasize a point, but I didn’t want it. Once when his hand stayed too long on mine, I stared at the hands until he slowly pulled his away.
    “ Oops. Sorry ’bout that.”
    “That’s okay. I’m hungry. Can we eat?”
    The silence that followed was welcome. The food was good and my hunger had returned. I dug into the chicken-whatever and was content to eat and let the talk flow in and out of my mind. If it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t have heard what Hugh said.
    “James Stillman would have been one of the best! It was a tragedy he died.”
    “Come on, Hugh, the guy was uncontrollable. Don’t forget the Adcock disaster.”
    Hugh’s voice was angry and loud. “That wasn’t his fault, Dennis. Adcock’s husband had us all fooled.”
    “Yeah, your friend Stillman most of all.”
    I leaned so far forward I felt my chest touching the table. “Did you know James Stillman?”
    They looked at me. Hugh nodded. The other man snorted dismissively. “Sure, who didn’t? Half New York knew him after the Adcock thing.”
    “What was that?”
    “Tell her, Hugh. You’re his big defender.”
    “Damned right I am!” He glared, but when he spoke to me his voice dropped back to normal range. “Do you know of the painter Lolly Adcock?”
    “Sure.”
    “Right. Well, a few years ago her husband said he had ten of her paintings no one had ever seen. He wanted to sell them and contacted Bartholomew’s—”
    “The auction house?”
    “Yes. Adcock wanted them to handle the auction. James worked for Bartholomew’s. They thought very highly of him, so they sent him to Kansas City to verify if the paintings were real.”
    The other man shook his head. “And in his great enthusiasm, Mr. Stillman cut a deal with the wily Mr. Adcock, only it turned out the paintings were fakes.”
    “It was an honest mistake!”
    “It was a stupid mistake and you know it, Hugh. You never would have done it that way. Stillman was famous for going off half-cocked. Half-cocked Ad-cocked. I never thought of that. Very fitting.”
    “Then explain how he found the Messerschmidt head that had been lost for a hundred years.”
    “Beginner’s luck. I need another drink.” The man signaled a waiter. While he was giving his order I grabbed my chance.
    “Did you know him well?”
    “James? Yes, very well.”
    “Can we—Um, excuse me, would you mind if we switched seats? I’d really like to ask Hugh some questions.”
    The gallery owner picked up his plate. As we were changing, he asked, “Were you also a Stillman fan?”
    “He was my boyfriend in high school.”
    “Really? I didn’t know he had a past.”
    I felt the hair on the back of my neck go up. “He was a good man.”
    “I wouldn’t know. I never cared to spend time with him.”
    When I sat down I was so angry I couldn’t speak. Hugh patted me on the knee. “Don’t mind Dennis. He needs Saint Ubald.”
    “Who’s that?”
    “Patron saint against rabies. Tell me about you and James.”
    We talked through the rest of dinner and dessert. I didn’t eat a thing.
    Hugh Oakley was an art expert. He traveled the world telling people what they owned, or should buy. Listening to him talk, I quickly understood why he looked so young. His enthusiasm for what he did was infectious. His stories about unearthing rare or marvelous things were the tales of a boy with a treasure map and a heart full of hope. He loved his work. I loved hearing him talk about it.
    Years before, he had given several lectures at the Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia, and that’s where he met James.