Catch 26: A Novel. Carol Prisant

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       CHAPTER 2

      Frannie left so early for her hair appointment that she had time to kill, so she stopped by her favorite store. Still, crossing Aunt Teeks and Uncle Junks’ parking lot, she found herself explaining to the Stanley in her head for the umpteenth time, that she never spent much, really. Nice little things for the house, mostly: an antique cup and saucer; a dented brass warming pan once; a figurine; and if she was really lucky, every now and then, a painting. She loved paintings best. Especially of mothers and children.

      And yes, she told that mental Stanley, I know what that means!

      Closing Aunt Teeks’ jingly door behind her, it struck her, not for the first time, that thirty or forty years ago, antiques shops smelled like old people’s hatbands and mildewed attics. Now they smelled of lemon-scented furniture polish and, God … was that incense? No, just a terrible perfumed candle on the desk of a young man she’d never seen before. Minding the store for Sally, she supposed, although he seemed transfixed by the computer on his desk and barely looked up as she entered.

      Frannie ventured a modest “hi” and a perfunctory smile that was meant to indicate her sincere hope of avoiding conversation. She really had only a half hour before her appointment.

      He looked up at last and returned her smile. “Hi. How are you?” He’d closed his computer. Oh, dear.

      “I’m good. In a hurry. On my way to an appointment. Just thought I’d stop by to see what Sally’s got in lately. I haven’t been in for a while.”

      “Well, you just go right ahead and have a look around. Sally had to go to Ladue for a house call. But a lot of new things have come in recently. And if you want to see something, just ask.”

      He bent to the reopened laptop.

      Frannie moved deeper into the familiar shop and scanned its pegboard walls. She invariably checked the paintings first.

      Over in the far corner. That, she thought. That looked new.

      But from here, she couldn’t really see what it was. It might be just a reproduction. She thought she liked the frame, though. Kind of voluptuous. Darkened old gold with … too many chips for Stanley to let her live with? She picked her way through rocking chairs and side tables.

      Close up, she could see it now, and it definitely looked like an old oil painting. Unusually dark, though, with a great many trees and several figures – really a lot of figures! And the whole thing was obscured by a uniform, caramel-like crust, so that even the parts that were obviously flesh were dense with a murky brown. But that had to be a good sign, Frannie thought, trying to edge closer. It had been hung above a squat china cabinet. Too high for her. Were they biblical characters? Gods? She looked around for a stool, found an old metal thing and placed it in front of the cabinet. Carefully, she stepped up.

      Now she could make it out.

      They weren’t gods at all, she was pretty sure. They were people, but only a few of them, half-seen through the bushes and trees, appeared to be dressed. In classical garments. Most of the figures, now she squinted, most of the figures were naked. Even the men. Moistening her index finger while covertly watching the boy at the desk, she swiped it across one large male figure. She was right. They were naked. And dancing. Some were – could they be drunk? And those four or five squatting men were, what? Rolling dice? But mostly, leaning away a bit, she could suddenly see, mostly they were making love. Having intercourse. Right out there in the open. And strangely, for a second or two, the scores of intertwined legs and arms and bodies actually seemed to be moving. Doing impossible, fascinating things.

      Wait. Wait! She gripped the cabinet’s marble top. She had to be imagining this. She’d been doing a lot of that lately: reading sex into things when really nothing was happening at all. She felt mildly aroused now, though.

      Stupid old woman.

      Frannie fumbled in her handbag, found her glasses and stood on tiptoe for a better look. Buttocks and breasts and oh, yes, here … here was a couple wound together on the grass, and over there … another, halfway behind that tree! They weren’t moving anymore. She must have imagined it.

      But all of a sudden, something in Aunt Teeks felt very wrong. Unnatural and wrong. Frannie yanked the glasses from her nose and stared around her. She was alone. No one else here but the boy, and he was lost in his machine. She felt faintly cold, however, and the light in the shop had somehow dimmed. Queer. And was it snowing outside? She peered through the windows. No. But March was a little late for snow, wasn’t it? Uneasy, she turned once again to the picture.

      But now there was something about it that reminded her of … of what? Of something she’d seen once at school? Because it was really beautifully painted, she thought. Or at least, all of the hands were well done, and she remembered once reading – though it was probably untrue СКАЧАТЬ