Spicing Up Trouble: a romantic comedy by Mary Jo Burke

Author:Mary Jo Burke
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Published: 2015-02-22T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Down to the business district on LaSalle Street, we went into the bowels of the ornate golden building. A portly office manager named Floyd accompanied us.

"Is this what catacombs feel like?" I asked trying to hide my claustrophobia.

I felt a cold draft on my feet. A guard greeted us as the elevator doors opened.

"Sam, good to see you," Ben said.

"Mr. Cobb, always a pleasure," he said, smiling and shaking hands.

"This is Alexia Hale. I'm desperately trying to impress her."

"Well, if the collection doesn't work on Miss Hale, I suggest she consider dating a much older wiser man."

At least sixty-five, reed thin, and sporting only some of his original teeth, Sam adjusted his tie and winked.

"Thank you for your generous offer. I'll keep it in mind," I said.

"The thin air must be getting to you. Your encroaching senility is showing," Ben said not even slightly amused.

"I still recognize quality," Sam said.

Sam's key, Floyd's key, and Ben's key entered the locks. All were needed to open the door. I stepped in as the overhead lights flickered on.

"I don't think you'll find ghosts, but rumor has it some wild parties happened in there," Floyd said.

"Make sure you're out of earshot. I don't want to shock you," Ben said as he closed the door.

My mouth hung open. We were surrounded by canvasses of all sizes. Framed and unframed. Colors from the entire spectrum. Women from all walks and stages of life. Nude, appealing, sensual, stared at me. The past reborn and revisited.

Did he remember their names and circumstances? Did he care for any of them?

"Would you like to plow through on your own or pay a dime, and get a guided tour?" Ben asked.

I found a dime at the bottom of my purse and handed it to him.

"Wise choice. Out of all the crap I have painted in fifteen years, this is the best of it. In my own humble opinion."

I chose a painting of a lonely bleak road. The yellow half-moon cast the only light. A broken-down wagon sat in the middle.

"What's the story of this one?" I asked.

"When I decided to drop Emanuel and change my name to Nance Cobb. I took the horse, ditched the battered past, and rode toward the fading light. Neat imagery, huh?"

"The wagon is your father and the moon is your mother."

"Very good. If I ever catalog or give it all away, I'll have you write the histories."

"It all belongs in a museum. Ben, incredible art shouldn't be hidden. It's a gift to be experienced, pondered, and remembered."

His features darkened like a coming storm.

"I'm silly, naïve, and a few other choice words you won't mention. You're a gifted artist. It's a shame to hide these gorgeous creations underground," I said.

"Art is bought and sold for profit. Sheer greedy numbers. Every piece before you is a piece of me. I won't hold it up to public scrutiny for critiques, photographers, interviews, and all the other bullshit hype. It all stays where I say for as long as I want," he said a tad too loudly.

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