Waterbury Winter, page 13
“I don’t know if you can anymore. Mother was coming around to the idea of living somewhere else when your colleague Lisa showed up, the one she doesn’t like. Lisa said she wanted to be sure the artist who did the painting was Barnaby Brown. Mother started crying. She thought Lisa was taking the painting away, and now she fears people are taking her life away as well.”
“I’m so sorry about this. May I see her?”
“I guess so. She’s in bed.”
Julia follows Elsa into the bedroom. Alma is lying on her side, legs pulled up to her chest.
“Mother, Julia, the nice lady, is here to see how you’re doing,” Alma says.
Alma whimpers. “No more visitors.”
“I just want to say hello,” Julia says softly.
“Go away.”
Julia catches Elsa’s eye and motions they should leave the room.
“Best not to push her today,” Julia whispers. “I’ll come again later. Where’s the painting?”
“It’s here, propped against the wall. Mother screamed so much when Lisa took it off the wall that she almost dropped it.”
“May I take a look at it? I’d like to see if it’s signed.”
“Sure.”
Julia bends down to examine it. On the right side she sees the name in black paint: B. Brown.
“That’s Barnaby Brown’s signature, I believe.” she says. “That’s all I need to know. Please tell Alma not to worry. The painting is hers.”
“That’s a relief. Thank you very much. Please do come again and tell us what you find out about those senior living places.”
“I’ll do that.”
Julia drives back to the office. What a muddle Lisa made of the case, so unnecessary. How did she fail to notice that Alma doesn’t trust her?
“Did you see the Hawkins family?” Margaret asks when she sees Julia at her door.
“Yes. Elsa, the daughter, is fine. Her mother became distraught enough to take to her bed when she thought Lisa wanted to take her painting away. I explained we only needed to check the signature.”
“I see. Well, was it stolen?”
“No. The artist allowed her to keep it. At least, I think so,” Julia says. That’s what Lisa had told her. She has not heard directly from Barnaby and does not know what he said to Lisa. Given Lisa’s odd behavior, Julia’s not sure she can trust her.
“Well, either it was stolen, or it wasn’t,” Margaret says. “Why was Lisa suspicious?”
“That’s complicated. We need to talk to the artist. Would you be willing to do that?”
“All right. Give me the name and number. Is the case still on track?”
“I hope so,” Julia says. “I’m sure we’ll be able to help the family, but I’d like to request that you turn the case over to me. Just me.”
Margaret raises her eyebrows for the second time. “Really? Is that necessary?”
Julia nods.
“All right. Let me think about this. Write up your notes so I can understand what’s going on. I’ll have to meet with Lisa as well.”
Back at her desk, Julia again considers whether she should talk to Lisa first. She would do so without hesitation if she considered Lisa a loyal friend and ethical colleague. But this is business, and for now, the matter is out of her hands. She’ll wait to find out what her boss has to say.
After work, she drives to a café to meet Nancy for dinner. Nancy, dressed in a black skirt and jacket, her boyish hairstyle shorter than usual, sits at a table drinking a glass of wine.
“Hey, Nance,” Julia says, giving her a quick hug.
“Hey yourself. Will you join me? The Pinot Grigio’s good.”
“Thanks, I will. Let’s eat right away. I’m famished.”
They both read the menu and place their orders.
“We have something important to discuss,” Nancy says.
“We do?”
“Your birthday. In two weeks, right? Your fortieth. Remember we agreed to celebrate this decade birthday together.”
“So we did, with yours in March. What shall we do?”
“I’d like to say take a trip to someplace warm, but I’m too busy at work to take time away now. How about going to New York? We could see a show on Broadway.”
“Great idea. What show, and when?”
“Let me find out. How are things going?” Nancy asks.
“So-so. I’ve been reflecting about my life. It’s a bit dull these days and needs more sparkle.”
“Uh-oh. Sounds like typical midlife crisis stuff. You shouldn’t succumb. What happened with the man you met?”
“Barnaby? Haven’t seen him. He asked me out for coffee, but I found out he drinks too much, and I said no. Probably a mistake.”
“Why’s that a mistake? I understood you wanted to avoid seeing men with problems.”
“I do, but in the meantime, I’ve found out good things about this man.”
Nancy grunts. “So call him.”
“I may,” Julia says, “but now he might be seeing Lisa.”
“Oh, God. The plot thickens. Does he like her?”
“Don’t know. She’s acting strangely at work. I suppose she’s attracted to him and is trying to keep me out of the picture.”
“Oh. Competition.” Nancy rolls her eyes. “Good luck there, but if you like him, don’t be shy. Show some spirit, girl.”
“Right. What about you? What are you up to?”
“Working, mostly. I plan to go hiking in the Catskills when the weather improves. Wanna come?”
“No, thanks,” Julia replies. “But I like the idea of going to New York. We could have a party as well. What do you say?”
“Let’s make a deal. I’ll research the New York trip, and you arrange the party.”
Their food arrives, and the women dig in.
“I want to comment on your professional appearance,” Julia says after a while. “It always amuses me to see you dressed all in black for work. You wear such bright clothes at home. You seem like a different person.”
Nancy laughs. “Appearances count. Lawyers always dress up, especially women. They have to, to be taken seriously. It’s still a man’s world in many ways.”
“But the contrast in your case is extreme.”
“Exactly. I can’t wear black every day. Too depressing and serious.”
Julia playfully raises her glass to Nancy, grateful to have a friend to celebrate with. Nancy is right. She’s feeling middle-aged and isn’t yet reconciled to turning forty. She’ll think again about calling Barnaby.
The next day Margaret stops by Julia’s office.
“Let’s clear up the confusion,” Margaret says. “I talked to Lisa this morning. She’s upset. I don’t know what’s wrong. She has always excelled as a competent, dedicated worker, but today when we spoke, she seemed distracted and asked for a few days off.”
Julia nods her head. “She may need a rest.”
“Yes. I assigned her another case earlier, a difficult one, and I’m guessing she’s stressed. So the Hawkins case is yours. Oh, and I talked to the artist, Barnaby Brown. He confirmed that he’s allowing Alma to keep the painting.”
Julia is glad to know the truth of the matter, and even though she would like to have called Barnaby to talk about it, she doesn’t want to make the mistake of mixing business with what she still hopes might be a personal relationship.
But what’s going on with Lisa?
She casts her mind back to the early days of their friendship in New York. They had been such close friends that she had overlooked and forgiven any less appealing aspects of Lisa’s character. Lisa had been supportive in the early days after Julia’s divorce, having experienced problems of her own following the death of her husband three years earlier. His drinking, ending in his untimely death, had left her close to emotional collapse afterward, Lisa confided. She behaved like a crazy woman, she told Julia, adding how she needed extensive counseling to come to terms with her life, both past and present.
Julia twists a pencil on her desk, watching it spin. Is it possible Lisa is undergoing some kind of personal crisis now, one that affects her judgment, making her emotionally unstable? It might be time to have a chat with her old friend.
CHAPTER 20
Barnaby rushes home after work, eager to call Julia. The paper with her phone number isn’t by the phone. Certain that he left it in the kitchen that morning, he searches everywhere, in his pockets, in the hallway, in the bathroom, but can’t find it. He calls directory information and learns there’s no listing for a Julia Morgan. He scratches his head. How can he can find her number? He could call Lisa, but that might be awkward. He may have to wait until the next day and call her at work. Disappointed, he goes over to Popsicle’s cage with a handful of carrots. The bird sits on top, her head cocked.
“Don’t you go staring at me so suspiciously,” he says. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Have you been a good parrot?”
“Good parrot,” she says, pecking at the vegetables. “Heavens to Murgatroyd.”
“I’m going to O’Malley’s. See you later,” he says.
“Bye-bye,” Popsicle says.
He takes off for O’Malley’s. He probably ought to make something for himself at home, but he wants the company. There’s no room for him at his usual place at the counter. After calling to Sean and ordering a Coke and pizza, he joins a bespectacled man of about his age at a table. The dim light makes his crew-cut appear like a closely cropped lawn.
“You’re Barnaby, aren’t you?”
“I am. Have we met?”
“Alan Nettler.”
“Any relation to Lisa?”
“I’m her brother. I’ve been wanting to meet you and thought I’d find you here. She told me she’s been dating you.”
“She did?” We’ve had one dinner together. That’s not exactly dating. But Barnaby lets Alan’s comment pass and says, “How did you recognize me?”
“I attended Lisa’s New Year’s Eve party, and I’ve seen you here before.”
Barnaby extends his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“I understand you’re an artist,” Alan says. “Lisa says you’re talented. She studied art history in college.”
“Yes. She told me.”
“Well, she probably missed her vocation,” Alan continues. “She’s creative.”
“I guess so. She’s an amazing cook.”
“I agree.”
“What do you do for a living?” Barnaby asks.
“Website designer.”
Barnaby regards him with interest. “Oh, so you must know about computers. I don’t own one, but I need to. Would you be able to advise me?”
“Sure. Glad to help a friend of Lisa’s. She’s always helping everyone, me included. For a while she thought I needed to meet women, so she hosted several dinners and invited single men and women. Great idea. Met my wife there. Are you one of her lonely heart cases?”
Barnaby purses his lips. “No. I hope not.”
“Well, anyway. What sort of computer do you want?”
“One that will allow me to send emails and images of my paintings.”
“That’s easy. Go down to the nearest computer store and talk to them.” He scribbles his number and some information on a napkin. “Here are some makes and models I’d recommend. If you need help learning to use it, call me.”
“That’s good of you. Thanks,” Barnaby says.
Popsicle flaps her wings and squawks when he arrives home.
“You’ve been bad. I can tell. What have you done?”
He checks the room. On the floor, crumpled and a bit torn, lies a slip of paper. He picks it up and smooths it out. It’s Julia’s phone number. He sighs with relief, then shakes his finger at Popsicle.
“Bad parrot. You’re not supposed to eat paper. No chicken for you tonight.”
“Good parrot,” Popsicle says.
“No, not good. Bad.”
The parrot climbs into her cage and sits on a perch, eyeing him quietly. Then she picks up the peanuts in her food dish and drops them one by one on the floor without eating them. “What a mess,” she says.
He sighs, picks up the phone, braces himself, and calls Julia. “Julia? Barnaby Brown here. I wanted to be in touch earlier but I’ve been busy.”
“It’s good to hear from you,” she says. “How are you?”
“Fine. I understand you found my painting, and I’d like to thank you for that.”
“Oh. You’re most welcome. Quite a coincidence that my work took me to Alma Hawkins’s house.”
Barnaby takes a deep breath. “Er, the reason I’m calling is to ask if you’d like to go out to dinner this weekend, on Saturday. If you would, I’ll make a reservation.”
The line goes silent. He waits with bated breath.
Finally she says, “That sounds great. What time?”
“How about seven? Where do you live?”
“31 Mulberry Street.”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.”
He hangs up the phone and straightens his shoulders, drawing himself to his full six feet. He has a date with Julia. And this time, it’s a real date.
CHAPTER 21
On his lunch break, Barnaby gets a haircut.
“I remember you,” the barber says. “You haven’t been here in years. Looks like you’ve been cutting your own hair.”
“You’re right, Jed. I need a proper haircut.”
“Do you want me to tidy it up some? Or are you going for the clean-cut look?”
“Not too clean. Just cut.”
“So what have you been up to, all this time?” Jed asks, swinging a cape over Barnaby’s shoulders.
“Nothing much. Working, mostly.”
“Still live on Russell Road? Your dad used to come in here from time to time. I liked him.”
“Yes, I’m still living in my parents’ house. Now it’s mine.”
The barber snips away. “Your dad could sing. Had a fine baritone voice. Have you inherited his talent?”
“I used to sing in musicals years ago. Haven’t even seen a show for a long time, though,” Barnaby says.
“Well, you should. They’re calling for tryouts for Carousel at the renovated Palace Theater.”
“I’ll consider it,” Barnaby says. “Nice to know they’re renovating this town. I hear they’ve raised funds to restore City Hall, too. Beautiful building. Wouldn’t mind doing a painting of it. It helps businesses when there’s a thriving downtown, don’t you agree?”
The barber nods. Fifteen minutes later, Barnaby’s hair is shorter. He peruses his reflection. Not bad. Makes him appear more confident.
“Good job, thanks. I’ll come again,” he says. He leaves a generous tip.
Back at work, the hours fly by. Only three more days until he sees Julia. Sal asks if he can stay late to reorganize some items on the shelves, and he quickly agrees. With the overtime pay, he can splurge when he takes Julia out.
Later that week Lisa calls.
“Barnaby, I have exciting news. I’ve been in New York, and I stopped by your friend’s gallery. Your paintings are for sale for between two and four thousand dollars each! And the salesperson said two have sold already!”
Barnaby sits down. “What? Are you sure those were my paintings?” he asks, hardly able to take in what he’s hearing.
“Definitely. You’re going to make a lot of money.”
“Maybe so, though not with that group of paintings.”
“How so? Aren’t you selling them on a commission basis?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “No. Sylvester bought them outright. I didn’t figure they were worth much, and was grateful that he bought them at all.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. Do you think he cheated you?”
Barnaby hesitates. “Hard to say. He’s a friend. I didn’t ask how much they would sell for, and I knew he would mark them up, but this is much more than I expected.”
“Well, perhaps he’s not such a good friend, and you should talk to him and ask if he will share the profits.”
“I doubt he’d do that. We made a deal. But I could ask if he’ll take more on a commission basis.”
“You need to make more paintings. There’s obviously a market for your work.”
“I’m trying to. Just finished a new one.”
“Good for you. Are you staying off the drink?”
He bristles and ignores her question. “How are you, Lisa?”
“Took a few days off. That’s why I went to New York. That place’s energy always improves my state of mind. I may take a cooking class there.”
“You don’t need one. You’re already an accomplished chef.”
“Thanks for saying so, but there’s always something new to learn.”
“By the way, I met your brother. He offered to help me use a computer.”
“He’s a good guy. Very protective. I’m sure you will have expert advice.”
“I expect so.”
“Nice talking to you,” she says. “We must get together for dinner again soon.”
“Sure. Thanks for telling me about the paintings.”
He hangs up, uncertain if the news is good or bad. Good, if his paintings are worth something in today’s market; not so good, if Sly deliberately lowballed them. He must call him.
On Saturday after work Barnaby prepares for his date. His stomach feels fluttery. He contemplates going to O’Malley’s for a drink to calm himself, but reminds himself it has been eleven days since he had a drink and he doesn’t want to slip back into old habits. But he might have one glass of wine at the restaurant, especially if Julia does. He spies Popsicle opening and shutting her beak, as if tutting, warning him to behave himself. He feeds her a banana and leaves the house. Fifteen minutes later, he knocks on Julia’s door.
“Hi, Barnaby,” she says as she comes out. She’s wearing a brown coat and tall black boots, and her hair is tucked into an Irish cable-knit cap. His heart sings. “New haircut?” she asks. “You look good. Happy.”
“Happy to see you, and yes, I am more cheerful these days. Things are going well.”
They take the path through the garden to the car, and Barnaby opens the door for her.
