The Italian Teacher(64)
“That is never happening,” Pinch says, instantly on edge. He needs people to stop paying closer attention to his father, which only cranks up the risk that Pinch is exposed.
Eva covers the mouthpiece and hollers. “Felix, what’s our latest number on the ’vinskys?”
“Nine locked in,” comes the muffled response. “Three more likely, six maybes.”
Eva returns to Pinch. “We’re confident of at least eighteen. And once word gets out about this show, serious collectors will be strangling their grandmothers to get their art in this catalog. It’ll be an adrenaline shot to the valuations. Anyone who misses out is dumb as shit. Needless to say, I would go weak at every pertinent joint to add any Bavinskys you have put aside.”
“Eva, I’m not having anything to do with this.” Already she screwed him once, pointing lawyers in the Mallard divorce to him for the provenance of that painting, washing her hands of the problem and pouring the dirty water over him. Does she think that, when it serves her, people just forget?
“Hear me out, will ya?” she says, fake smile audible. “What we’re hoping for, praying for, making goddamn animal sacrifices for, is an actual fresh contribution from the big Bear himself.”
“Do you know how he feels about your gallery?”
“I know things weren’t all smiles when he broke with us. But my papa was not himself toward the end. Point is, this is the moment to welcome Bear Bavinsky back to the Petros.” She adds, as if parenthetically, “He still lacks exclusive rep, right? I find that fucking scandalous.”
“Before I discuss any of this, I need to know what happened with Mallard. I thought we agreed—no, I don’t think—you promised that the painting was going to stay in place. I told you I needed to keep that deal private. Now it’s being sold somewhere?”
“Don’t get your Calvins in a twist! Mallard’s ex already sold it. And you know who bought it? Mallard himself. I talked him into it, made it clear that your father’s work was only going up. We did the deal anonymously on his side, so his dearly jilted wouldn’t revenge-milk him for a higher price.”
“Wait, Mallard buys the painting from me, with you taking a commission. Then you sell him the exact same painting for a second commission?”
“So what? I’m a charity now?”
“And this show of yours, it’ll include the Mallard picture?”
“That’s looking like a no right now. He’s still feeling a tad ripe about buying it through me twice.”
“But the other Life-Stills you show—you’re selling those?”
“Lordy, no. Most are loans.”
“More charity?”
“Oh, you are so funny! Look, your father is of an age. I see his market heating up. And I want my name attached.”
“He’s ‘of an age’?”
“I just want Bear to know he has a home here. We haven’t forgotten him, never stopped worshipping at the Bavinsky altar. I know your dad will want to join forces. And I’m gonna track him down, by hook or by crook.”
“No you won’t,” Pinch says, trying to stabilize his voice. “I’ll phone him.”
He makes the perfunctory call to Florida.
“They’re fucking rats, that Petros clan,” Bear says. “I’ll sue them if they do this.”
“On what grounds? You don’t own those paintings. Anyway, don’t worry: I’m blocking out all the stupid requests I can. But I wanted you to be warned. If anyone starts pestering you, just send them to me. Okay, Dad? Okay?”
“Why in hell can’t they leave me alone? It’s no wonder I don’t show my stuff to these savages. All they talk about is goddamn Life-Stills that I did a half century ago!”
“And your recent stuff has moved on from there?”
“Where it moved is none of your concern,” he answers coldly. “Now, are you saying I should give this tramp something to put on her walls? That seriously what you’re proposing?”
“The opposite. I’d say do not respond, even if Eva finds you. Hang up on her. Ignore her totally. Do not talk with her, and she’ll fade away. Don’t engage with any of these rats. Agreed?”
“They are goddamn rats!” Bear concurs, sniffing. Pinch knows that sniff—his father inflating with pride. “And they sure are taking notice,” he adds stiffly. “That kid yapping about me—what was it, Julius Schnozzle?”
“You mean Julian Schnabel? That was years back.”
“The guy couldn’t stop praising me. I’m his biggest influence. What a load of horse manure.”
“Not that you listened.”
“I don’t give a flying damn!” he says, sniffing.
“Dad, seriously, I think you should keep away from this. We’re agreed on that, right?”
1996
54
When Bear flies to New York to oversee the hanging at the Petros Gallery, Pinch is expected to be the artist’s aide. This presumption—that he drop everything and rush across the Atlantic to serve the great man—causes Pinch to throttle a towel in his bathroom. Because he must go now. Partly, it’s for self-preservation. But he has another motive, and tries not to dwell on it. It’s the thought of his father—the man is well into his eighties now—doddering around there, tripping up, making mistakes. Pinch shakes his head: the long, loud effect of fathers.