The Misfortunes of Others (19 page)

“Oh, hi, Snooky.”

“Hi. I thought you were going to call and chew Bernard out?”

“Oh, I can’t do that. It’s not his fault he knows more about lobsters than about people, poor thing. And anyway, when I thought about it afterwards I realized that he’s not responsible for what happened with Alice and the others. That’s been brewing for a long time.”

“How very rational of you. What a shame all these kind thoughts didn’t occur to you when you were screaming your head off at me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

“No, I’m really sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“I think I was trying to point that out to you at the time.”

“I just needed somebody to yell at, and there you were,” said Weezy.

“Ah well, there I am, whipping boy to the universe.”

“Yes, your life is hard. Time to jet back to St. Martin, perhaps? Or the Côte d’Azur? Or wherever else you seem to spend most of your time?”

“I’ve never been to the Côte d’Azur. What a good idea.”

“Time to go, perhaps?”

“Only if you go with me.”

In reply, she slammed down the phone.

When Snooky dropped by the next day, he found Weezy sitting in her kitchen, staring out the window thoughtfully. “Hi,” she greeted him.

“Hi. Thought I’d come by and see how you’re doing. You’re not still mad at me, are you?”

“No, no. Listen, I just called Edward Genuardi. You know, the gallery owner.”

“Yes?”

“Well, he told me the strangest thing, Snooky. I was struggling to spit out the words to tell him that there wouldn’t be a show—I know it’s not the end of the world, but it’s taken me this long to get my courage up to call him—when he told me that he knew already.”

“
What?
”

“He said somebody—a woman, he said—had called up this morning and told him that my paintings were destroyed and the show was off. Can you believe that?”

“A woman,” Snooky said.

“She hung up before he could ask any questions. He called and left this cryptic message on my machine—he was sure it was a sick kind of practical joke, and he didn’t want to upset me by repeating something some loony said. He just left a message asking me to call him, there was something he had to ask me about. When I spoke to him, he said she didn’t even sound serious, she laughed as she hung up.”

“She laughed as she hung up,” repeated Snooky. He sat down and took Weezy’s hands in his.

“Yeah. Creepy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Do you believe him?”

Weezy stared. “Believe him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, I believe him. Why would he lie?”

“He would lie if he came up here and slashed your paintings himself.”

“Oh, come on. Why? Because I turned him down for dinner? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that … it’s so sick. Who would do that to me? Who do I know who would do that to me? She laughed as she hung up, he said.”

“That is sick.”

“He couldn’t believe it when I said it was true. He thought for sure it was some kind of prank.”

“How did he react then?”

“Oh, well, he said he was sorry and so on. You know. What’s he going to say, for goodness sake? He said he was terribly sorry and he certainly hoped they could put on another show of mine very soon, etcetera, etcetera.” She shook her head. “The usual bullshit.”

“I’m sure he means it.”

“Oh, come on. It just makes me so angry. I want to find out who did this, Snooky. I want to grab whoever it is and slap them and shake them till their eyeballs fall out.”

“Don’t you have any … any hint at all? Any intuition about it?”

She considered this, tracing with her finger the pattern of the tiles on her countertop. “No. I don’t. I wish I did. It seems incredible to me. Nobody dislikes me. I’m such a friendly person. I can’t understand it.”

“Does any of your students seem likely to you?”

She shook her head. “If I was going to pick one, I’d say Alice, of course—she’s the most temperamental, and she certainly holds grudges. But it seems incredible that she’d go this far.”

“Maybe it’s nothing against you. Maybe it’s something between the students that doesn’t include you.”

She nodded. “That’s possible. That’s certainly possible.
There’s all kinds of things going on in that class. They’re one of the most volatile mixes I’ve ever seen. It could be that. But then why wreck
my
paintings?”

“Because they were there. Because whoever did it couldn’t just pick out one person’s stuff to destroy, it’d be too obvious.”

“But then why call the Genuardi Gallery? And what about those phone calls and the dead flowers?”

“That’s true,” said Snooky. “But maybe …”

“What?”

“Maybe somebody is trying to make somebody else look bad. You know, get someone else into trouble.”

“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “I just don’t know. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all in trouble. I’m this far from saying to hell with it and canceling the class.”

“A good idea,” said Snooky. “Why don’t you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

There was a silence.

“You know another thing I’ve been thinking about,” she said at last. “Since this whole thing happened. I’ve been wondering which one of them could have slashed those paintings. What I mean is, which one of them would be physically capable of slashing paintings. I mean, I don’t think I could slash somebody else’s paintings unless I really, really hated them. I know what goes into someone else’s work and I would find it hard to deface that. The same for Elmo, for instance. He has a lot of respect for the work itself. Alice, too. The others … I don’t know. Jennifer. Nikki. Nikki’s so mild, it’s hard to imagine … and of course there’s Mrs. Castor, evil incarnate. I hate to even suspect her. Can you see that sweet old lady ripping at my paintings with a knife? But you see what I’m talking about.”

“Yes. But even you could do it if you hated somebody enough.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, maybe somebody feels that strongly.”

They stared at each other morosely.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” said Snooky. “I’m not letting you stay here by yourself alone. No, I’m not,” he said over her protests. “I’m getting my stuff and moving in here for a while. This is not a proposition, just a statement of fact.”

“Getting your stuff,” she said with a faint smile. “What does that consist of? Putting your toothbrush in a brown paper bag? Stealing Bernard’s clothes?”

“And I’ll tell you another thing. You’re going to have one more student in your class from now on.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes. It was Bernard’s idea, and while I thought at the time it was idiotic, now I think it’s a good one. I’ll sit in the back and not make any trouble. You can tell them I’ve always been interested in art.”

“What are you planning to do, exactly? Sit in the back and fingerpaint? Paint by numbers? Use a coloring book? This is a serious class, these people are for real, it’s not a hobby for them. You’re going to look ridiculous.”

“I’m used to that,” said Snooky, and leaning over, he gave her a kiss.

She stared at him owlishly. “That wasn’t bad.”

“I can do it again,” he said, and did.

“I’m leaving, and I’m not sure when I’m coming back,” Snooky announced.

Bernard glanced up from his desk. “Fine.”

“You’ll have to fend for yourselves from now on.”

“Okay.”

“I’m moving in with Weezy. Something strange happened.”

“You mean, something strange besides you moving in with her?”

Snooky briefly recounted the phone call to the gallery owner.

“Okay.”

“I’m worried about her being alone. Why are you alone, by the way? Where’s Maya?”

“She’s out taking a walk.”

“Oh. Tell her I’ll call her later.”

Bernard nodded.

“I’ve decided to follow your suggestion about sitting in on her classes. I’ll keep in touch if I find out anything interesting.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m taking some of your clothes with me.”

Bernard shrugged irritably.

“Anything I can do for you before I go? Cook a meal or something?”

“Have you forced your presence on Weezy, or is this voluntary on her part?”

“Well, I’d say a little bit of both, to be honest.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“You’ll take good care of Maya for me? You won’t let her and the baby starve?”

“Good-bye, Snooky.”

“There are some cans of food in the pantry. Remember to open them when you feel hungry.”

“Good-bye.”

“So long, Bernard.”

When Snooky had left, Bernard sat tapping idly on his typewriter keys. The dog, a pile of fluffy red hair, was curled under his desk, snoring gently. Bernard leaned down to pat her head; then he typed

IIIIJJJJKKKKLLSDMGJJSLDSLSLDKLSLSM

His mind was elsewhere. He had been hard at work on the tale of Sophie the lobster when Snooky had come into the study, but once interrupted it was difficult to get back into the flow. He cleared his throat, spaced down a few lines and then wrote,

RT STDNTS???

This, in Bernard’s special shorthand, translated as “Art students???” He had learned long ago that by eliminating all vowels it was possible to take notes that nearly always could be deciphered later.

GLLRY WNR? (“Gallery owner?”)

NTRVWR? (“Interviewer?”)
followed in quick succession. Bernard stared somberly at the page for a while.

HRLD? (“Harold?”)

From what Maya had said, Harold had left Weezy. It was difficult to see his motive for harassing her and wrecking her studio now, but perhaps there was one.

Underneath that he typed one letter, followed by a question mark.

Y?

He knew Weezy. Weezy had been a part of his life since his marriage. Everyone loved Weezy, with her friendly nature and her outgoing ways. Everyone, apparently, except one person. What could she have done to make someone hate her so much?

The first night Snooky slept on Weezy’s couch. The next night, without ceremony, he moved into her room. Weezy seemed perplexed by this course of events. He would catch her looking at him from the corner of her cat-eyes, with a puzzled, vulnerable expression on her face. She acted as though a gigantic
whale had somehow landed in her bed, despite her best efforts to persuade it to swim elsewhere. She seemed to find it difficult to get around the house without bumping into him and apologizing. They were awkward with each other and overly polite.

“We have to stop this,” Snooky said at last. “I can’t say ‘oh, excuse me’ one more time. Is this your piece of toast I’m eating, by the way?”

“Yes, it is. Mine’s the one with marmalade, yours has blueberry jam.” She switched them neatly.

“I love you, I’m allowed to be in your kitchen for breakfast. I’m tired of apologizing for being here.”

“Oh, geez.” Weezy was playing with her napkin, folding it this way and that, into tinier and tinier squares. She was wearing a ratty pink bathrobe whose hems were frayed. Her hair was curling loose on her shoulders. She brushed back an errant strand impatiently. “Yeah. Okay.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. I keep wondering what Maya will say.”

“It’s not exactly going to be a devastating surprise, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, I know. I know. I just … I don’t know.” She shrugged unhappily.

Snooky took her face in his hands. “Listen. Maya’s married, she’s having a baby, remember? She doesn’t need to live her life through us. We’re something separate.”

“We’re something separate, all right. You never spoke a truer word, Snooky. We’re something separate from the entire human race.”

“I don’t see why you say that,” he said cheerfully, buttering another piece of bread. “More toast?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Admit it, you like me better every day.”

“I liked you fine in the beginning,” she said, almost under
her breath, and gave him another one of her strange, absorbed, puzzled looks.

Maya took the news with equanimity. “I’m happy for you,” she told Weezy. “I really am.”

Weezy regarded her doubtfully. “You are?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me, Maya, you know I hate it when you’re polite.”

“I’m not lying. I really am happy for you. Bernard and I were talking about it the other day. He said Snooky’s not so bad, you could do a lot worse.”

Weezy was struck by this. “Bernard said that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“From Bernard, that’s a rave review.”

“Yes.”

“Snooky will be touched. I’ll have to tell him.”

Maya gave her a quick hug. “And as for Snooky, you’re the best thing that could possibly have happened to him. He should lie down and thank his lucky stars he met you again.”

Weezy laughed and shook her head. “He’s protecting me, you know. He’s enrolling in my class to keep the students from killing me.”

“It’s the silliest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“I know. Has he ever shown the slightest sign of any artistic talent? Other than the creative way he spends his life?”

“He’s very good at origami. You could have him make unicorns or boats or hats or whatever.”

“That’ll go over big. Especially with Elmo, he’s such a stickler. I’m dreading class this week.”