The Good Twin(8)

CHAPTER 6

The following Tuesday, I headed to the Met. I often visited one of the many museums in the city before my art class began, but I was particularly excited today. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was exhibiting the work of Valentin de Boulogne. Relatively unknown to the casual museum visitor, the seventeenth-century artist was much admired for his naturalistic painting. Once I arrived at the massive Gothic Revival–style building on East Eighty-Second Street and Fifth Avenue, I paid the suggested fee and placed the sticker I was handed on my blouse. The museum, one of the largest in the world, contained more than two million works of art from antiquities to modern, gathered from every part of the world. Today, though, my only interest was de Boulogne. I headed to the rooms containing his paintings and slowly walked past each one, spending extra time at the portraits, studying his technique. After I’d walked past each one twice, I picked a spot, then sat down and began sketching. The hours flew by, and soon it was time to head downtown to art class.

We had finished with the elderly female model yesterday, and now a strapping man, shirtless, with bulging chest muscles and dressed in the pants and cap of a police officer, was in her place. The class had started out with nude models, focusing on learning to draw the contours of the human body, before moving on to clothed models. Now, the teacher wanted the students to gain experience utilizing both skills.

Five minutes later, Professor Greenblatt entered the classroom and walked to the center, next to the model. “Good afternoon, everyone. Clara’s grandson, Detective Saldinger, has offered to sit for us.”

There was a chorus of muted giggles around the room. “Yes, ladies, he really is a police officer. He didn’t dress this way just to titillate you.” The teacher cast his eyes around the room, glancing at each of the fourteen students standing in front of their easels. “Today, we’re going to concentrate on the male upper body. I want you to focus on the definition in his muscles, and using light and shadow to delineate its three dimensionalities.”

I studied the man before picking up my pencil. The sides of his brown hair that peeked outside his cap were clipped close to the scalp, causing his bushy eyebrows to pop. He had a slim face, with a nose a bit too large, and full lips. I didn’t consider him handsome, but his face seemed welcoming. I suspected his muscles came from long workouts at a gym. I began sketching him. As with all our live models, after twenty minutes of sitting motionless, Saldinger took a break. He’d be off for ten minutes, then on again for another twenty.

I continued to work on my sketch until I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Clara, her grandson by her side.

“Mallory, I wanted to introduce you to my grandson, Kevin.”

I shook his hand. “Thanks for doing this for us. It’s nice once in a while to get a real person, not a model.”

“My grandmother insisted. She didn’t give me a choice.”

“Well, dear, I wanted you to meet him, and I know you wouldn’t allow me to set you up.”

Saldinger’s face turned red. “Grandma!”

“What? You’re divorced; she’s single. You both need to get out.”

I laughed. I gave Clara a quick hug, then looked at Saldinger. “Your grandmother’s right. I wouldn’t have allowed it. I’m sure you’re very nice, but I’m off the market.”

He smiled at me. “Well, that’s a loss for the market.” He scowled at his grandmother, then said, “Break’s up. I’ve got to get back.”

After he left, Clara shrugged. “You can’t blame me for trying. He’s such a nice boy, and you know what they say. All work and no play makes—”

“Makes me a better artist. I meant it when I told you I’m not interested in dating.”

“Pshaw! I’m ninety years young. You think I’m going to listen to you?” She shoved a business card into my hand. “In case you change your mind.”

I saw it had her grandson’s name and the phone number and address of his precinct. I turned it over, and on the back was handwritten his cell phone number. “Clara, really, I’m not interested.”

She started to return to her easel, then turned back and winked. “You know, I have other grandchildren. I’ll find someone for you yet.”



I had mulled it over for seven days, going back and forth. Did I want to speak to the woman at the art gallery? The thought frightened me. What if, somehow, we were related? My parents’ pasts were a mystery to me. It was possible I had a cousin somewhere that I didn’t know about. A cousin who bore an eerie resemblance. I welcomed that idea. With my mother gone, I had no family. But—the big but that held me back—what if she was more than a cousin? What if she was my sister? That would mean my mother had lied to me. And if that were true, maybe she’d lied about other things as well. Maybe she’d lied about my father.

I decided to go back and speak to the woman. As soon as class ended, I gathered up my belongings and headed over to Eleventh Avenue. As I neared the building, I saw it was dark inside. I glanced at my watch: 8:25 p.m. It was supposed to be open until 9:00 p.m. I had checked the gallery hours online earlier today. Open until nine on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. My heart was beating rapidly. It had taken all my courage to return. I wasn’t sure I could summon it again on another day.