Nora by Constance C. Greene

Author:Constance C. Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504000925
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween

Thirteen

“Who’s the babe in the hat?” I heard a man say. He had a droopy mustache and deep grooves on either side of his mouth. He meant Baba.

Her new hat, which she’d bought just for the wine and cheese one-man show, was eye-catching. It was black, with a flat crown and a wide brim. Getting into the artsy-craftsy spirit of the evening, Baba also wore her black cape with a red lining and her tall black boots.

“If only you had a mask, you’d look like Zorro,” Patsy had said as we piled into Daddy’s car, bald tires and all.

“Zorro who?” Baba said.

“You know. The Mark of Zorro. We saw it last week on TV,” I said.

“I always say a hat puts the finishing touch on a costume,” Baba said. “I’m so glad hats are back.”

“I didn’t know they’d been away,” Daddy said. “We’d better get a move on. I’ve noticed that people who go to art galleries for a one-man show tend to be very big eaters. They gobble up everything in sight. I think it’s because most of them haven’t had a square meal in a week. So if we want some wine and cheese, we’d best move fast.”

When we got there, sure enough, everyone was eating and drinking. No one was paying any attention to the paintings, the artwork. There were long lines at the refreshment tables. Mother’s portrait had the place of honor. Some people wandered over to it with their drinks and studied it intently, tilting their heads from side to side, squinching up their faces.

“Who is that woman?” Patsy said in a loud voice, to no one in particular.

A woman with a baby strapped to her back turned and said, “She’s a mystery woman. Isn’t she wonderful?”

A man with a baby strapped to his back came over, and he and the woman discussed whether or not the woman should nurse the baby here or in the ladies’ room.

“I don’t think this is a nursing type crowd,” the man said, looking around critically. “It looks pretty suburban to me.”

Both babies roused themselves as if on signal, raised their little heads, and started bawling.

“Mention food and those kids go crazy,” the man said proudly.

“Are they twins?” I asked the man.

“Not that I know of,” the man said.

A man wearing a hairy cowboy hat and hairy sideburns and high-heeled cowboy boots slid into the space left when the man and woman went off with the babies.

“Would that go with my draperies or would it clash?” He meant our mother’s portrait. “I have absolutely no eye for color.” The man turned to me. “My furniture is upholstered in a beige fabric, sort of nubby, and my draperies are red and green and beige. What do you think?”

“It’s not for sale,” Patsy said.

The man’s eyes snapped open and looked as if they might explode. “What do you mean, not for sale? I never heard of such a thing! They got me all the way out here and then tell me it’s not for sale? That’s practically fraudulent.

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