Truth and Consequences by Alison Lurie

Author:Alison Lurie [Lurie, Alison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780143038030
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2005-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

After breakfast Alan had taken a painful taxi ride to the rather grand building on Central Park West where Delia was staying, and waited in the lobby for fifteen increasingly painful minutes. Finally she appeared, strangely transformed. Her mass of hair had been compressed into a chignon from which only a few gold-red tendrils escaped; she was elaborately made up and dressed in fashionable New York black: a long-skirted suit, a black silk blouse, a trailing black lace scarf, and dangerous-looking pointed black high-heeled sandals. She did not apologize for making Alan wait, only gave him a New York air kiss near one cheek.

“I hardly recognized you in that getup,” he said as they started across town in another horrible jolting taxi.

“It’s protective coloration. I’m having lunch with a new editor; I want to scare him a little.”

“I was hoping to have lunch with you myself,” Alan said, attempting without total success to keep disappointment and jealousy out of his voice.

“Sorry. Business before pleasure.” Even Delia’s voice seemed different. Then she turned toward him and gave her familiar low, warm laugh. “You have to dress to distress in this city. And by the way, you should get rid of that tie before Jacky sees it. Artists don’t wear ties here, only businessmen.”

“You really think—?”

“Absolutely. Anyhow it looks too academic. Jacky doesn’t want to meet a professor, he wants to meet a genius. You should really have on jeans and a black sweater.”

“Well, all right.” Alan laughed. After all, what had he to lose? He pulled off his striped tie, rolled it up, and put it in his pocket.

“Oh, and when you’re at the gallery, you should be the strong silent type. Don’t talk much. And don’t sign anything.”

“You’re suggesting that Mr. Herbert is a crook,” Alan said.

“No, no. Jacky’s a very charming, kind man. I adore him.”

“Really,” Alan said, this time managing to keep the irrational rush of jealousy out of his voice.

“But of course he’s also an art dealer. So if he gives you a contract, just say you’d like to show it to your lawyer first.”

“In other words, let him know I don’t trust him.” Alan winced as the taxi jolted over a pothole.

“No, not at all. He’ll respect you for it.”

Contrary to Jane’s suspicions, the gallery, in a Madison Avenue office building, seemed prosperous, and the work on the walls was interesting. And Jacky Herbert was an unlikely object of jealousy, being a heavy, elderly gay man with a shiny pink bald head surrounded by pale gray curls. He was impeccably dressed in a pale gray suit and shiny pink silk tie, and his handshake was fleshy but firm.

After an exchange of compliments and news about mutual friends that Alan could not follow, Jacky expressed his admiration for Alan’s art. He would like, he declared, to put four or five of the big drawings into his December group show. Indeed, he had already shared some of the slides with one or two privileged patrons (“I don’t like the term ‘customers’ ”) and might make a sale even sooner.

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