by Frank Deford
Bucky flew off the couch.“Damn it, that’s not fair of Phyllis.”
Nina smiled foolishly at him. “Oh, poor Bucky—not fair to Bucky-wucky. But it’s fair that you’re planning to take off and leave her, no warning, come this August 11th. That’s fair.”
He bowed his head. “As usual, I’m all screwed up.”
“Sit back down,” Nina ordered him—and he obeyed. “Now, not surprisingly, your wife told me to tell you that she’s noticed a change in your behavior toward her. She’s suspected another woman and decided it might be me. I denied that, but I didn’t reveal anything else. She’s very much in love with you, Bucky.” He nodded, guiltily. “And she’s very confused. You’ve gotta tell her something.”
“I guess,” he mumbled.
“All right, then tell me something else.” Bucky perked up for that more pleasing alternative. “Take me back to gallery twenty-seven this morning. You are there, alone at last with your Venus. I know this is difficult to put into words, but try and help me to understand. Tell me exactly what you felt, how you were thinking.”
“Can I lie down?”
“Of course.”
Bucky lay back, let his suede loafers slip, loosened his tie, and closed his eyes. Nina flipped on her tape recorder, and at last, he began. “There is, first of all, just this warmest, sweetest wave that sweeps over me. I remember when you hypnotized me, and I just felt so at peace. But in the museum, it’s like peace-plus. It’s like being in love, and making love—but all beyond that. That moment, that… Nina, it’s like a spiritual climax.” He paused, but he didn’t open his eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so graphic with you.”
“That’s okay, Bucky. I have had some passing familiarity with climaxes.”
He permitted himself to open one eye and look at her, smiling wickedly for an instant, then he closed it back and resumed. “I just felt so at home this morning. And it wasn’t only looking up there at Constance and me—you know, Venus and Adonis. But now that you’ve told me it’s Rubens and Helena on the wall behind me, I can feel their warmth, too.” He sighed, and Nina, intrigued, understood that Bucky had, in some sense, put himself into his own trance. “It’s like we’re all together back at the studio. All of us. The little boy—Cupid—and the other artists, and Ollie, and I could swear, I could feel the Madonna looking right at me. I could almost hear her, like she’s talking directly to me and saying: it’s okay, Bucky, go ahead, it’s okay. And that’s the last thing I remember, before, you know. It’s just so warm. I feel like there’s a color over top of me, over top of us all.”
Nina’s head picked up. “A color?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“What kind of color?”
“I’m not sure now. But I knew it then. I had the same feeling, a color all over me, back when I met Constance in Philadelphia.”
“But you can’t remember exactly what color? Is it a colored sheet that’s over you? A colored tent?”
“No, no, Nina. It’s not a colored anything. Just a color.”
“And you can’t remember what color?”
Bucky put the heel of his hand to his forehead and thought hard. “I think it’s just rapture, Nina. And rapture is a color, but right now, I’m just not sure which color.”
Nina listened spellbound, something nagging at her, until carefully, she ventured: “Would it maybe be…silver?”
“Yes, God yes!” His eyes came wide open. “How did you know, Nina?”
She looked away, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Bucky. Maybe I just always thought rapture had to be silver.”
“Yeah, and maybe I’d remember better if it wasn’t just the paintings. If I really was with Constance herself again.”
Nina got up out of her chair and walked back and forth. He cocked an open eye toward her. She stopped. “Okay, I agree,” Nina said. “You’re right. It’s time to bring Constance into this.”
“Hallelujah!” Bucky cried out, swinging his legs around, clapping his hands.
“All right, calm down. Just tell me how to contact her.”
Bucky dove into his billfold. “Here’s her number at work.”
Nina took the slip of paper and dubiously said, “You promise, she doesn’t know I exist?” He shook his head. “She knows nothing about Venus? About Adonis?”
“No, I swear it.”
Nina jotted the number down. “Okay, I’ll call her.”
“Oh, thank you, Nina. God, thank you.” Beside himself, he pecked her on the cheek, then boyishly, he skipped away, snapping his fingers.
Nina waited till he was almost at the door before calling after him. “Wait a sec. I wanna ask you one other thing.” He stopped. “You know anyone named Ollie?”
“Ollie?” She nodded. “What is this: Double Jeopardy for two hundred?” But Bucky did search his mind then, until, at the last, he put a silly expression on his face and started fiddling with his tie.
Nina said, “You can spare me a bad impression of Oliver Hardy.”
He shrugged. “Sorry, only Ollie I know.”
“Okay, forget about it. We shrinks work in mysterious ways.”
Bucky grinned, waved, and was gone through the door—never happier.
Nina, though, immediately went back to the tape recorder and rewound it, bouncing the buttons until—there it was: “…we’re all together back in the studio. All of us. The little boy—Cupid—and the other artists, and Ollie, and I could swear, I could feel the Madonna looking…”
Unmistakably: Ollie.
And he didn’t even know he’d said it.
Nina clicked off the tape and walked over to her desk, thinking, wondering, until at last, she opened the drawer there and stared in at God reaching out to Adam. Even when she closed the drawer back up, though, it was several more minutes before Nina could bring herself to call the 312-number that Bucky had given her. It rang only once.
“This is Constance Rawlings,” said the no-nonsense, no-frills voice on the other end of the phone.
17
As much as Nina always loved art, it had certainly never occurred to her how perfect museums might be for assignations. But, that is where, so often, she and Hugh used to rendezvous—the Metropolitan, the Whitney, the Museum of Modern Art. There, in public, they would, by chance, accidentally, bunk into each other. Why, how nice to see you again, Ms…? Oh yes, of course: Mr. Venable. And are you here for the Magritte exhibit?
Often afterwards they would go to her office and make love on the couch that was meant for therapy. Looking back, it all seemed so tawdry.
Well, because it was tawdry.
Today, it was funny, though. In the past, Nina had met Hugh so often at the Metropolitan, so now when she looked up from where she was sitting by herself in the Tiffany Court and saw him coming toward her, there was some disjunction of time in her mind. She merely thought: Oh, here comes Hugh now. It took a few seconds for it to register. Oh, my God, it really is Hugh! Now!!
Of all the places in all the museums that had been their favorite foreplay, this was the one location they loved the most: the sun streaming in through the skylights, falling upon the lush greenery, and all the wonderfully eclectic statuary. There was everything from August Belmont frowning down from his massive chair, to a glorious angel on high blaring her trumpet, to Indians and bears and panthers, to Pan playing his pipes in the middle of the fountain pool. And it was from that direction now that Nina saw Hugh ambling toward her, holding his sports jacket over his shoulder with a crooked finger. It had been five years since last they’d met each other here, but he sidled up to her bench as if it had been yesterday.
“You know, Nina,” he began, “all those other times I was in museums, I only had eyes for you, but today, as I was searching for you, I noticed how many good-looking women there are on these premises. A veri
table garden of female pulchritude. Just my luck, I only figure this out as I approach three score years.”
“You really must be more observant in your dotage.”
“I mean, Nina, if the man in the street only knew. The museum: the place to pick up chicks! Not only that, but just by being here, you’re ipso facto that rare and sensitive male of the species—not just another one of those pigs who frequent bars and hockey games.”
Nina laughed. And: isn’t it amazing how you can always hear a fountain better when you’re in love? She heard the water, absolutely distinctly, splashing upon Pan. “So, what brings you to me?” he asked.
“You called, remember? You were upset.”
Suddenly, Nina didn’t hear the fountain. Sweetly, she snapped, “Yes, I remember. But it seems to me that was several days ago, and the dragon must have long since gobbled up the damsel in distress.”
Hugh simply chose not to respond. Instead, “So, I dropped by your office, thinking we might have lunch, and was finally able to pry your general whereabouts from out of your Gorgon of a secretary. Then I made a beeline here.” He swept his arms about the courtyard. “I remembered: this was always your favorite place.”
“Funny,” said Nina, “I always thought this was our favorite place.”
“Yes,” was all he said, softly, so then Nina could again hear every drop of water falling in the Pan fountain. And even clearer, hear Hugh say, “God, doesn’t that fountain sound great?”
Nina nodded, beaming. “Yes, I needed this. I needed to come back to a place where I knew I’d be comfortable…and safe. There’s something really weird going on, Hugh.”
“This is the same reincarnation stuff?”
“Uh huh. And not only that, but this is where it all traces to—a painting upstairs by Rubens.”
“The guy who does all the—” Hugh held up his hands, cupped, before his chest.
“Oh, thank you for that, sir,” Nina cracked. “But please, don’t limit yourself.” She made the same cupped gesture. “Couldn’t we also say ‘vah-vah-va voom?’”
“My, a little testy, aren’t we?”
“Actually, Mister Art Expert, Rubens painted many beautiful things. But who would know? Mention Rubens, everybody just thinks big, fat boobs. All the painters in history, this would be the one I get involved with.” But she was laughing now, and gaily, taking Hugh’s hand, she tugged him with her into the middle of the courtyard. “Maybe that’s why I like this place so. It’s the one place in the whole damn museum where I don’t have to put up with big tits. Everywhere else, every artist: big tits. But here in the Tiffany Court: a refuge for my small-breasted sisters.”
“Hear, hear,” Hugh said in a stage whisper, “down with big tits!”
“Yes, indeed,” Nina cried out. “Look—my heroine.” She pulled Hugh over, to stand before a statue entitled Memory. It was of white marble, a woman, sitting on a rock, looking into a mirror. Her toga fell down to expose one breast, but it was a most unmuseum-like breast: just a fine and dainty charm.
“Or up there!” Nina said, pointing above to Saint-Gaudens’s Diana—a glorious sylph, the very antithesis of Rubens’s voluptuousness, poised upon one nimble foot, pulling on a bow. “You know,” Nina mused, “I like to believe that at least once upon a time, I looked very much like that—sans bow, of course.”
Hugh looked down upon her, eyes of sensuality, but cut by the sweetest smile. “Yes, if once upon a time was just five years ago—yes.” Nina squeezed his hand, and the fountain all but roared in her ears.
They walked on in silence until they arrived before another secluded bench. Hugh gestured to it. “Well, do you wanna talk to me?” he asked. “As your clergyman.”
Nina collapsed onto the bench. “Oh sure—my clergyman. Officially, to my crowd, you’re just another heathen.”
“Well, all right. As a clergyman?”
She pondered that for a moment as he sat down next to her. But Nina was, after all, desperate to talk to someone, and yes, Hugh was a clergyman, so maybe she could walk a fine line in the realm of patient-doctor privilege. She drew a breath. “Okay,” she said, “he—my patient—thinks he’s lived in the past. Buc— …he’s convinced that he lived back then with this woman he loves now—this woman who is not his wife.”
“And no doubt you mean: this woman other than his wife.”
“Precisely. And what really makes it unusual is that he’s sure he can see the two of them in that Rubens painting. As the models. That’s the truly eerie part.”
“Can you tell me which Rubens?”
Nina only paused for a moment. “Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound. It’s in gallery twenty-seven: Venus and Adonis.”
“Venus?”
“Oh yes. Venus—the real deal. But, actually, Adonis is the looker. Yum, yum. Absolute hunk. Darling button eyes. But anyway, Venus—the one who might’ve been the model for Venus in 1635, who’s the modern-day girlfriend—she comes in to see me tomorrow.”
“You’ve never met her?”
“No. I’m nervous as hell. Oh, Hugh, it’s all so spooky—all so damn real. I really have this sense that if things develop in a certain way with her, why, it’s almost as if that painting proves it. Proves reincarnation.”
“Really now, Nina, let’s not be—”
“No,” she snapped, “you don’t know. You can’t imagine. And here I am in the middle, Hugh—as scared as I am fascinated.”
“This then—it has something to do with the woman who followed you the other evening?”
Nina sighed. “Yeah, somehow. But I think I know who she is now.”
“Then call the police.”
“No, I’m trying to reach her myself.”
Hugh stood up, unbelieving. He planted his foot on the bench and stared down at her. “Are you crazy, Nina? Are you plumb outta your mind?”
“No, not really. I’m pretty sure she’s an old girlfriend of, uh, Adonis. And I have her number. I called her, but no answer.”
“You really shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah. So, I wrote her a letter.”
“Oh, that’s great thinking, Nina. She gets the letter and goes after you with an AK-97 she brought mail-order from Alabama.”
“Well, actually, I haven’t gotten up the gumption to mail the letter yet.” She patted her pocketbook. “But today—I’m determined to mail it before I go back to the office.”
“Then, for God’s sake, at least tell me her name. Just in case.”
“All right, all right. Just because it’s nice that you’re worried about me.”
“Of course I am. I—”
Impulsively, Nina reached up and draped her hands across the knee that rested there. Then, upon her hands she laid her chin, her eyes peering up at him. It was all so cute, these two old grown-ups acting like teenagers, that people were sneaking vicarious peeks at them—that fine line between nosiness and disgust. But Hugh and Nina didn’t take notice, because the fountain all but sounded like Niagara now. To both of them. “The ironic thing is, Hugh, that all this talk I’m hearing about love through the ages—a man and a woman meant only for each other, forever—it only makes me understand how I know we’re meant for each other, too.”
That embarrassed him (much as he enjoyed hearing it). Besides, now he saw people ogling him. Gently then, Hugh removed her head from his knee, put his leg down, snatched up his jacket and retreated to the other side of the fountain, toward the Tiffany panels. Nina followed after him, playfully grabbing his forearm. “Oh come on, Hugh, don’t be a silly goose. You know you love me, too.”
“Of course,” was all he replied.
“Then for God’s sake, darling.”
“Nina, for God’s sake—and for ours—we went all through this years ago.”
“Yes, we did. We went al
l through how cheap we both felt, because you had a wife and I had a husband—neither of which is the case now.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Nina, but cheap is as cheap was.”
Nina folded her arms. “You’re right, Hugh. You don’t need reincarnation in your life. You’re still a seventeenth-century Puritan.”
“Don’t be a wiseass, Nina. It doesn’t become you.” He sighed, smiling wanly. “When I was in the seminary, I remember a lecture on the Ten Commandments. The old teacher told a rare joke. He said that after Moses came down the mountain and read out the tablets to the Israelites, he got a call to go back up the mountain. When he returned, Moses gathered all the people together again, and he said: ‘Well now, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is, God changed his mind and cut it down to The Seven Commandments.’ And there were great cheers from all the Israelites. Then Moses went on: ‘But the bad news is, God says adultery still counts.’” Hugh shrugged. “I’m sorry, Nina. Adultery still counts.”
She frowned at him. But she didn’t give an inch. “Okay, Jehovah,” she said. “I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I love you. And the bad news is that I’m always going to love you, and so I’m not going to just fade away and let you wallow in your guilt with those stunning bitches you try to forget me with. So there.”
Aghast, Hugh simply stared at Nina. So, she intently closed the last bit between them and kissed him full upon his lips, only pulling back in her own sweet time. Then, she took out the letter to Jocelyn, wrote out her name and address on another piece of paper, and slipped it into Hugh’s jacket pocket, speaking as matter-of-factly to him, as if she was giving him a grocery list. “There,” she said. “In case I’m found in the East River. Or disappear into another century. And don’t forget now, go see Venus and Adonis in gallery twenty-seven before you leave the museum.”
She started to walk away then, but stopped and turned back. “And Hugh, one more thing,” Nina said. “Whenever you come to your senses, give me a call and tell me when you can drop over to my place, so we can have some drinks and a candlelight dinner and then make love all night.”
