Tips for Living(85)
His silhouette appeared in the hallway off the living room before Tobias walked into the light. What? I thought Tobias was supposed to be on a plane back to Virginia. The snow. His flight must’ve been canceled because of the snow. As I stood freezing and trying to figure out my next move, I chastised myself: Why hadn’t I called the cheapest car-rental company first? I should’ve known Tobias was a Dollar man.
Tobias entered the kitchen area, stopped at the marble-topped island and faced in my direction as he talked on a cell phone. I was still hidden by the wall of grass, but there was no way to reach Hugh’s studio without being seen crossing the lawn. My watch said 3:39. Still more than an hour before dark. I wrapped my arms around my chest and stuck my hands in my armpits for warmth. There was no help for my face or my toes. I began to march in place to ward off frostbite.
“Come on, you bastard. Leave. Or at least go into another room,” I said aloud.
It seemed like an eternity before Tobias finished his call and changed his position. He began hunting through the kitchen cabinets, but he was still too close to the windows for me to chance a move. He found a bottle of liquor, opened it and took a swig. Then another. What a hypocrite. How smugly he’d preached against his brother’s vices just a few hours before. He went to the refrigerator next and rummaged around. Then he removed . . . what was that? A log of salami. No more denying his appetites.
What the hell was he doing now? Trying to bite the plastic shrink-wrap off the salami with his teeth. He couldn’t be that drunk yet.
“Can’t you be bothered to get a knife, Tobias? It’s right there in the island’s center drawer.”
The chill that went through me didn’t come from the frigid air. There were at least a dozen drawers in that kitchen. How had I known which of them held the knives? I must’ve seen Hugh or Helene take a knife out when I came here to spy. I tried to remember. Yes, that was it. Helene went into the kitchen for wine. She must’ve . . . No. Had I seen her take a knife from the drawer or not?
Or did I search for a knife after I’d shot the two of them, so I could gouge Hugh’s painting and kill them twice?
Abruptly, a whooshing noise sounded in the treetops. Within seconds, it became a roar. A fierce wind swept in and sent snow spiraling upward and then plunging back down. It began to blow in every direction at once, surrounding me in icy chaos. I shielded my eyes and squinted toward the house; I could barely make out Tobias through the white squall, but it looked like his back was finally turned. I prayed I was right. Ready. Set.
Now.
“My God, Nora. What are you doing here, dear girl? You must be frozen!”
Incredulous, Abbas ushered me into the studio. My face burned like an acid peel when my skin hit the warmth. I checked outside as he closed the door. All clear. I’d made it past Tobias undetected.
“I have something to show you, and I don’t have much time,” I said breathlessly.
“Come in. Come in. Be warm.” Abbas gestured across the room to the fire crackling in a large stone hearth between two enormous windows at the rear.
I stamped the snow from my boots, pulled off my soaking wet gloves and tried to get my bearings. Easily twice the size of the studio in New York, this looked more like a gallery. There were polished concrete floors and soaring ceilings with snow-covered skylights. A zebra-skin chaise and an Eames black leather couch furnished the sitting area near the fireplace. Picture windows on either side provided views of the snowy woods and inlet. Hugh’s self-portraits were on view everywhere. They hung on the walls, leaned against them and rested on the furniture. It felt like an egomaniac’s shrine.
One of the paintings stood out among the others. It sat on an easel in the center of the studio, probably for evaluation by Abbas. A painting of Hugh as a satyr.
He had a smirk on his goatlike face, and a naked erection—exaggerated, by far. Seeing it gave me the willies. I turned away quickly.
“Hugh gave this to me as a birthday gift,” I said, opening Grace’s coat and removing the plastic bag from my waistband. My hands were still frozen and clumsy. The book slipped out of the bag and fell to the floor. I picked it up gingerly and offered it to Abbas. “I want you to sell it for me. As quickly as you can.”
He didn’t take it. He merely stared at Carrie Fisher’s picture, confused.
“A comic book from Star Wars?”
“No. Much more.”
I carried the book to Hugh’s drawing table. The same custom-made drawing table he’d used in the city. He’d kept his antique Japanese screen, too. It stood at the rear of the studio, blocking off a recessed area—probably hiding his messes. I was almost nostalgic.
“It was a kind of joke for Hugh. Once in a while he’d use these cheap notebooks to sketch out his series, mostly in charcoal and colored crayon or pencil,” I explained, placing the book on the table. “I’ll bump your commission by ten percent if you can sell it fast. Do you think you can?”
Abbas pursed his lips, studying me for a moment. Then he came to my side and opened the book. He examined the first drawing: my younger self sprawled naked on rumpled sheets, one hand cupping my breast, one arm thrown across my eyes. Hugh lay sleeping facedown on my left. The viewer was meant to linger on my body, soft and voluptuous like one of Pissarro’s nudes. The title, Loving Nora, was scrawled at the bottom. Abbas leafed through the rest of the nude portraits, fascinated. His expert’s eyes were doing that greedy, calculating thing. I blushed as they feasted on me.