cwilleford.theburntorangeheresy-第3部分

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o　miss　her　like　crazy　during　the　next　few　terrible　weeks。
　　There　was　plenty　of　time　before　the　preview　at　Gloria's　Gallery。　I　removed　my　sport　shirt；　kicked　off　my　loafers；　and　sat　at　the　card　table；　which　served　as　my　desk；　to　go　over　my　Miami　notes。　My　three　days　in　Dade　County　hadn't　been　wasted。
　　I　had　stayed　with　Larry　Levine；　in　Coconut　Grove。　Larry　was　a　printmaker　I　had　known　in　New　York；　and　his　wife　Paula　was　a　superb　cook。　I　would　reimburse　Larry　with　a　brief　ment　about　his　new　animal　prints　in　my　Notes　columm。
　　I　had　enough　notes　for　a　2；500…word　article　on　a　〃Southern　Gothic〃　environmental　exhibit　I　had　attended　in　North　Miami；　and　an　item　on　Harry　Truman's　glasses　was　a　good　lead…off　piece　for　my　back…of…the…book　columm。　Larry　had　steered　me　to　the　latter。
　　A　mechanic　in　South　Miami；　a　Truman　lover；　had　written　to　Lincoln　Borglum；　who　had　finished　the　monumental　heads　on　Mount　Rushmore　after　his　father's　death；　and　had　asked　the　sculptor　when　he　was　going　to　add　Harry　Truman's　head　to　the　others。　Lincoln　Borgium；　who　apparently　had　a　better　sense　of　humor　than　his　late　father；　Gutzon；　claimed；　in　a　facetious　reply；　that　he　was　unable　to　do　so　because　it　was　too　difficult　to　duplicate　Harry　Truman's　glasses。　The　mechanic；　a　man　named　Jack　Wade；　took　Borgium　at　his　word；　and　made　the　glasses　himself。
　　They　were　enormous　spectacles；　more　than　twenty…five　feet　across；　steel　frames　covered　with　thickly　enameled　ormolu。　The　lenses　were　fashioned　from　twindex　windows；　the　kind　with　a　vacuum　to　separate　the　two　panes　of　glass。
　　〃The　vacuum　inside　will　help　keep　the　lenses　from　fogging　up　on　cold　days；〃　Wade　explained。
　　I　had　taken　three　black…and…white　Polaroid　snapshots　of　Wade　and　the　glasses；　and　one　of　the　photos　was　sharp　enough　to　illustrate　the　item　in　my　column。　The　spectacles　were　a　superior　job　of　craftsmanship；　and　I　had　suggested　to　Mr。　Wade　that　he　might　sell　them　to　an　optician　for　advertising　purposes。　The　suggestion　made　him　angry。
　　〃No；　by　God；〃　he　said　adamantly。　〃These　glasses　were　made　for　Mr。　Truman；　when　his　bust　is　finished　on　Mount　Rushmore！〃
　　The　phone　rang。
　　〃Where　have　you　been？〃　Gloria's　voice　asked　shrilly。　〃I've　been　calling　you　all　afternoon。　Berenice　said　you　left　and　that　you　might　never　e　back。〃
　　〃When　did　you　talk　to　Berenice？〃
　　〃This　morning；　about　ten　thirty。〃
　　This　news　hit　me　hard。　If　I　had　returned　in　twenty…four　hours；　in　forty…eight；　or　sixty…I'd　still　have　Berenice。　My　timing　had　been　perfect；　but　a　pang　was　there。
　　〃I've　been　in　Miami；　working。　But　Berenice　has　left　and　won't　be　back。〃
　　〃Lovers'　quarrel？　Tell　Gloria　all　about　it。〃
　　〃I　don't　want　to　talk　about　it；　Gloria。〃
　　She　laughed。　〃You're　ing　to　the　preview？〃
　　〃I　told　you　I　would。　What's　so　important　about　secondhand　Haitian　art　that　you've　had　to　call　me　all　day？〃
　　〃Westcott's　a　good　painter；　James；　he　really　is；　you　know。　A　first…rate　draughtsman。〃
　　〃Sure。〃
　　〃You　sound　funny。　Are　you　all　right？〃
　　〃I'm　fine。　And　I'll　be　there。〃
　　〃That's　what　I　wanted　to　talk　to　you　about。　Joseph　Cassidy　will　be　there；　and　he's　ing　because　he　wants　to　meet　you。　He　told　me　so。　You　know　who　Mr。　Cassidy　is；　don't　you？〃
　　〃Doesn't　everybody？〃
　　〃No；　not　everybody。　Not　everybody　needs　him！〃　She　laughed。　〃But　he's　invited　us…you　and　me　and　a　few　others…to　supper　at　his　place　after　the　preview。　He　has　a　penthouse　at　the　Royal　Palm　Towers。〃
　　〃I　know　where　he　lives。　Why　does　he　want　to　meet　me？〃
　　〃He　didn't　say。　But　he's　the　biggest　collector　to　ever　visit　my　little　gallery；　and　if　I　could　land　him　as　a　patron　I　wouldn't　need　any　others…〃
　　〃Don't　sell　him　any　primitives；　then；　or　Westcotts。〃
　　〃Why　not？〃
　　〃He　isn't　interested　in　conventional　art。　Don't　try　to　sell　him　anything。　Wait　until　I　talk　to　him；　and　then　I'll　suggest　something　to　you。〃
　　〃I　appreciate　this；　James。〃
　　〃It's　nothing。〃
　　〃Are　you　bringing　Berenice？〃
　　〃I　don't　want　to　talk　about　it；　Gloria。〃
　　She　was　laughing　as　I　racked　the　phone。
　　
　　
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　　As　much　as　I　dislike　the　term　〃freeloader；〃　no　other　word　fits　what　I　had　bee　during　my　sojourn　on　the　Gold　Coast。　There　are　several　seasonal　societal　levels　in　Palm　Beach；　and　they　are　all　quite　different　from　the　social　groups；　divided　uneasily　by　the　Waspish　and　Jewish　groupings　found　in　Miami　and　Miami　Beach。　In　Lauderdale；　of　course；　the　monied　class　is　squarely　WASP。
　　I　belonged　to　none　of　the　〃groups；〃　but　I　was　on　the　periphery　of　all　of　them　by　virtue　of　my　calling。　I　met　people　at　art　show　previews；　where　cocktails　are　usually　served；　and　because　I　was　young；　single；　and　had　an　acceptable　profession；　I　was　frequently　invited　to　dinners；　cocktail　parties；　polo　games；　boat　rides；　late　suppers；　and　barbecues。　These　invitations；　which　led　to　introductions　to　other　guests；　usually　produced　additional　dinner　invitations。　And　a　few　of　the　Gold　Coast　artists；　like　Larry　Levine；　for　example；　were　people　I　had　known　in　New　York。
　　After　two　months　in　Florida　I　had　many　acquaintances；　or　connections；　but　no　friends。　I　did　not　return　any　of　the　dinner　invitations；　and　I　had　to　avoid　bars；　night　clubs；　and　restaurants　where　I　might　get　stuck　with　a　check。　The　man　who　never　picks　up　a　check　does　not　acquire　friends。
　　Nevertheless；　I　felt　that　my　various　hosts　and　hostesses　were　repensed　for　my　presence　at　their　homes。　I　put　up　genially　with　bores；　I　was　an　extra　man　at　dinners　where　single；　heterosexual　young　men　were　at　a　premium；　and　when　I　was　in　a　good　mood；　I　could　tell　stories　or　carry　conversation　over　dead　spots。
　　I　had　two　dinner　jackets；　a　red　silk　brocade　and　a　standard　white　linen。　There　were　lipstick　mouthings　on　the　white　jacket；　where　a　tipsy　Berenice　had　bitten　me　on　the　shoulder　while　I　was　driving　back　from　a　party。　I　was　forced；　then；　to　wear　the　red　brocade。
　　As　I　walked　the　six　blocks　from　my　apartment　to　Gloria's　Gallery；　I　speculated　on　Joseph　Cassidy's　invitation　to　supper。　A　social　invitation　wasn't　unusual；　but　she　had　said　that　he　wanted　to　meet　me；　and　I　wondered　why。　Cassidy　was　not　only　famous　as　a　collector；　he　was　famous　as　a　criminal　lawyer。　It　was　the　huge　ine　from　his　practice　in　Chicago　that　had　enabled　him　to　build　his　art　collection。
　　He　had　one　of　the　finest　private　collections　of　contemporary　art　in　America；　and　the　conclusion　I　came　to；　which　seemed　reasonable　at　the　time；　was　that　he　might　want　to　hire　me　to　write　a　catalogue　for　it。　And　if　he　did　not　want　to　see　me　about　that　（to　my　knowledge；　no　catalogue　had　been　published　on　his　collection）；　I　had　a　good　mind　to　suggest　it　to　him。　The　task　would　pay　off　for　me；　as　well　as　for　Cassidy；　in　several　ways。　I　could　make　some　additional　money；　spend　a　few　months　in　Chicago；　do　some　writing　on　midwestern　art　and　artists；　and　my　name　on　the　published　catalogue　would　enhance　my　career。
　　The　more　I　thought　about　the　idea　the　more　enthusiastic　I　became；　but　by　the　time　I　reached　the　gallery　my　enthusiasm　was　tempered　by　the　knowledge　that　I　could　not　broach　the　suggestion　to　him。　If　he　suggested　it；　fine；　but　I　could　not　ask　a　man　for　employment　at　a　social　affair　without　a　loss　of　dignity。
　　And　what　else　did　I　have　to　offer　a　man　in　Cassidy's　position？　My　pride　（call　it　machismo）　in　myself；　which　I　overrated　and　which　I　knew　was　often　phony；　was　innate；　I　supposed…a　part　of　my　heritage　from　my　Puerto　Rican　father。　But　the　pride　was　there；　all　the　same；　and　I　had　passed　up　many　opportunities　to　push　myself　by　considering　first；　inside　my　head；　what　my　father　would　have　done　in　similar　circumstances。
　　By　the　time　I　reached　the　gallery；　I　had　pushed　the　idea　out　of　my　mind。
　　Gloria　forced　her　thin　lips　over　her　buck　teeth；　brushed　my　right　sideburn　with　her　mouth；　and；　capturing　my　right　arm　in　a　painful　armlock；　led　me　to　the　bar。
　　〃Do　you　know　this　man；　Eddy？〃　she　said　to　the　bartender。
　　〃No；〃　Eddy　shook　his　head　solemnly；　〃but　his　drink　is　familiar。〃　He　poured　two　ounces　of　Cutty　Sark　over　two　ice　cubes　and　handed　me　the　Dixie　cup。
　　〃Thanks；　Eddy。〃
　　Eddy　worked　the　day　shift　at　Hiram's　Hideaway　in　South　Palm　Beach；　but　he　was　a　popular　bartender　and　was　hired　by