The Black Velvet Coat Page 7

  “Probably just someone watching for sharks.” Ricardo scowled.

  She looked out to where they had been swimming. “Really?”

  “Come on.” He quickly gathered their things, helped her up, and rushed her down the beach back to the Cadillac.

  12

  Anne squeaked Tweety, her canary yellow Karmann Ghia, out of the parking garage and drove down Polk. Even though the chilly morning fog dropped dew, Anne left the car’s top down to accommodate the folding table, chair, and mango paintings. Gloves, a knit cap, and her velvet coat kept her warm. With the price of gas and maintenance, she didn’t drive the Volkswagen often.

  In high school, she had sold her paintings and collaged boxes at Oscoda’s Annual Souper Bowl Supper & Art Show and also set up a table on Route 23 during Paul Bunyan Days for the passing tourists. It had taken her two years to save up enough to buy the car.

  She zigzagged along the early morning streets toward Sunset and pulled into the set-up market on Irving near Golden Gate. She found her assigned spot and unpacked the car.

  “Be back in a few minutes. Could you please keep an eye on my stuff?” Anne smiled at the raven-haired woman setting up a jewelry display beside her.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch.” Her heavily made-up eyes were dark and exotic. She draped a fringed shawl over her peasant blouse, then reached for the snowflake pin on Anne’s coat and tapped it with red nails. “Gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” Anne climbed into her car and parked a few blocks away. Walking back between the stalls, she admired the fresh colors of ripe red tomatoes, cadmium yellow corn, and green leafy lettuce being unloaded and displayed. The usual African sculptures, Children of Chiapas embroidered purses, and hippie tie-died-T-shirt dealers were setting up too. From the Java Joe stand, Anne splurged on a mocha, then held the cup in her hands and licked the whipped cream off the top with her tongue. Customers began to arrive, so she rushed back to her space.

  “Thanks.” She nodded to the jeweler.

  “My pleasure.”

  Anne threw a periwinkle blue cloth over her table and set three mango paintings atop small easels. On a large one she placed Mango with People on Top. Why had she brought it anyway? No one would buy it. Maybe to cheer her up and remind her what fun it had been to make.

  She sat on her folding chair, grasped the key in her pocket, and closed her eyes. She’d brought it for luck and silently prayed a favorite affirmation: I am abundant with plenty. She opened her eyes, and a young woman pushing a toddler in a stroller stopped and admired the paintings.

  “Mommy, what’s that?”

  “Peach, baby. Say peach.”

  “Each.”

  Anne smiled at the cherub-faced boy and looked at the mom. “It’s actually a mango.”

  The woman raised her shoulders. “Sorry.”

  “Buy it, Mommy.”

  The mother brushed the boy’s curly hair from his eyes. “No, sweetie.”

  “Please, Mommy. Want it.”

  She sighed. “How much?”

  “$100.”

  “That much?”

  “I’ll give it to you for $90. An early bird special.”

  “Birdie.” The little boy squealed in delight.

  “Okay.” The mother took out a checkbook from her backpack.

  “I’d prefer cash.”

  The woman frowned. “But I don’t have enough.”

  “Never mind. Just make it out to Anne McFarland.” She accepted the check and handed the canvas to the woman.

  “Mango. Can you say mango?” The mother prompted.

  “Ango.” The boy clapped his hands then waved his fingers. “Bye. Bye.”

  Anne replaced the painting with another. For the next two hours, several people stopped and looked at her work, but she made no more sales. Business boomed at the jeweler’s next door though. She sure knew how to hustle.

  By eleven, the fog had burned off. Anne set her coat on the back of the chair and took off her cap. “May I?” She stepped in front of the jeweler’s mirror.

  “Certainly.” Anne fluffed her locks then tried to smooth her hair down as best she could. She perused the display case stuffed to the brim with an assortment of antique jewelry. Sapphires, emeralds, and amethysts caught the light and sparkled.

  “I’m Jewels.” The woman beamed at Anne and held up a hefty ruby necklace. “This would be gorgeous with your hair.” She had a thick European accent, perhaps Russian.

  Anne shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “You must try it on.” Jewels swung it around Anne’s neck, clasped it behind, and smoothed down the back of Anne’s hair. “My best piece.”

  Anne fingered the gems and admired herself in the mirror. It really was gorgeous. “Sorry. I just can’t.”

  “Very old. Bought it years ago in Constantinople.”

  Anne shook her head, handed it back to Jewels, and returned to her seat.

  “Maybe if you sell another painting?”

  Anne nodded. The rest of the morning dragged on. By noon, the sun shifted, blinding her. She dug in her bag for her sunglasses. She must have left them at home, so she scooted her chair over to get some shade from Jewels’ overhead tarp. She admired an adorable beagle puppy scrambling along next to its owners. Anne watched while the pair of identical twins tried on matching pearl necklaces. “Lovely on you.” Anne tried to help.

  “Think so?” They said simultaneously. They admired each other, then paid Jewels. “Today’s our birthday. We always buy something special.”

  Ms. Woods, that generous tipper from work, walked down the aisle toward Anne. The woman always wore the most unusual jewelry. Today a turquoise conch belt encircled her waist over a casual black dress and low boots. Maybe she would purchase that ruby necklace for herself.

  At the stall across from Anne, Ms. Woods picked through a pile of crocheted handbags, chose one, and paid for it. She then strolled over and scanned each of the mango pieces, then stopped at Mango with People on Top and exploded into a fit of laughter.

  Anne stood. “It’s nice to see you, Ms. Woods.”

  “Anne? Fancy meeting you here. Is this your work?”

  “Yes.” Anne nodded.

  Ms. Woods smiled at her. “And to think you were under my nose all this time.” She handed her a card:

  Freddie Woods Gallery

  Canyon Road

  Santa Fe, New Mexico

  Anne read it, felt weak, and sat back down. “What a coincidence!”

  Ms. Woods laughed as her eyes returned to Mango with People on Top. “I really like this one. I sensed there was more to you than parking cars. May I?”

  “Sure. I like to use a lot of texture.”

  Ms. Woods ran her palm over the couple in their swimsuits. “Collage? I love collage! Where did you get the photo?”

  “From a vintage postcard.”

  “Very impressive.” Ms. Woods flipped over the price tag. “Five hundred dollars.” She didn’t even flinch. “That’s fair.” She took a wad of cash from her wallet and counted five $100 dollar bills into Anne’s hand.

  Anne almost fell off her chair. The price had been so high because she thought no one would really buy it. “Gee, thanks.” Anne accepted the cash and resisted the urge to jump up and down and hug the woman.

  Ms. Woods studied the other mangos again, then pointed to the collaged piece. “Do you have more like this?”

  “Not here, but I’ve completed a couple of other series.”

  “I’d really like to see them.”

  “You would? I mean, great!”

  “Please deliver this one to my hotel room tomorrow night and bring your portfolio with you. Does seven o’clock work?” Ms. Woods extended her hand.

  Anne stood and shook it. “Yes. Thank you for your business. I’ll see you then.”

  She watched Ms. Woods resume her shopping spree down the aisle as Jewels sidled over to Anne with the necklace again. “Special deal for you today, $350.”

  “No can
do. I’ve gotta pay my rent.”

  Jewels scowled. “Perfect for you.”

  “Sorry, but my funds are tight.” Anne looked at her watch. “Time to pack up.”

  Jewels picked up one of the mango paintings. “End-of-day discount?”

  “Okay. For you, $90.”

  Jewels smirked. “Eighty-five?”

  “Sure.” Anne took the cash and handed Jewels a card along with the painting. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  Jewels gave her a brochure. “Let me know if you change your mind about the necklace. Hope to see you next time.”

  After letting herself inside her apartment, Anne kissed the key and set it on her altar, adding a mango beside it. She counted out all her saved cash and added in the money from her wares. With the woman’s check, now she just had enough to cover the rent.

  13

  Ella entered the library, with lemonade and gingersnaps on a silver tray. Ricardo lifted a cookie and popped it in his mouth before she could even set the refreshments down.

  “Mr. Lopez, give me a moment!” Ella put the tray on the desk and picked up the pitcher. “Lemonade, miss?” Ella asked.

  Sylvia shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  Ella glared at Ricardo and left the library, pushing the doors wide open. He shut them again and brushed cookie crumbs from his white dress shirt, which was unbuttoned and revealed his smooth chest. A thin gold chain rested there. He sauntered back to Sylvia and embraced her. “Finally, it’s just us.”

  She leaned against the sofa and gazed into his eyes, light brown, the color of the café con leche he had taught her to drink. She felt a sexual tension, a swirling of hot desire all over her body.

  He ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Love you, chocolate drop,” then kissed the little mole on her upper lip. She crinkled up her nose then smiled, grateful he had taught her to appreciate the round dot. He leaned in and nibbled her neck until they heard the doorbell ring. “Damn, what now?”

  She started to pull away, but he held her close. “Let the maid get it. That’s what servants are for.”

  Ella’s footsteps could be heard scuffling along the marble foyer, and then there were muffled voices. “Mr. Paul, you don’t want to go in there!” Ella’s voice was firm as the library doors pushed open.

  At that moment, Ricardo kissed Sylvia straight on the lips, turned his head, and grinned at the intruders frozen in the doorway. Ella’s hand clung to Paul’s elbow as she tried to hold him back. Paul bent his knees to keep from dropping the hatbox-sized present in his arms.

  Sylvia felt her face turn red. She knew he wouldn’t approve of her dating Ricardo, not to mention that kiss, but after all, she could do what she wanted now. She was an adult. She decided to show Paul how much so by gliding toward him with outstretched arms, the legs of her white silk jumpsuit flying like sails in the wind. “Darling, you remembered.”

  “Remembered what?” Ricardo slumped down on the couch.

  She dropped her arms down and looked at Ricardo. “You silly. My birthday! Isn’t that why you were being so romantic today?”

  “Of course. Just teasing you.” His eyes shifted. “I’ll give you your surprise later.” He snarled at Paul, who stared back at him with tornado-blue eyes. Ella crossed her arms and looked on.

  Sylvia frowned at her. “Would you please make us some more lemonade?” It would be tricky enough to get these men to become friends without an audience.

  Ella left the library without closing the doors behind her. “Oh my stars and garters,” she huffed as she scuffled away.

  Sylvia took the gift from Paul. “Oooh, it’s heavy.” She feigned a grimace and alit on a hassock. “You men know each other.”

  Ricardo grunted. Paul clenched his fists and asked, “How long have you been seeing each other?”

  “For a while. I know you will become great pals.” She stared at each of them in turn. Paul managed a smile, and Ricardo exposed his white teeth.

  “That’s better.” She nodded and peered at the blue-and-white package on her lap. How sweet of Paul to buy something from her favorite store. What if it was that tiara from the display case? Her throat became dry, and a shiver sped down her spine. She swallowed and lifted the box. Fortunately, the package seemed too heavy for that. She tipped it again.

  Tiny yelps could be heard. Sylvia ripped off the bow and tore through the paper, and a small black nose poked out through the tissue. She pushed the wrapping aside, and innocent brown eyes blinked up at her. They were rimmed in black, like the eyes of an Egyptian princess lined in kohl.

  “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sylvia picked up the whimpering dog and set it on her lap. “Shhh, honey,” she cooed, and stroked the puppy until it quieted. The dark fur felt as smooth as velvet.

  Paul crouched down and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “I recollect that as a child, you always wanted one.”

  “That’s right, and Mama said no every time.” Sylvia fingered the pink rhinestone collar around the dog’s neck. “What kind is he?”

  “She. She’s a beagle-basset.” Paul continued to pet her.

  Ricardo smirked. “Not a pure breed? In my country, I have purebred Labradors.”

  Paul stood and faced Ricardo. His usually calm voice sounded terse. “Mixes have better temperaments.”

  “I think she’s just perfect.” Sylvia moved between the men, holding the puppy in her arms. “Thanks, Paul. You are such a sweetheart.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  Ricardo looked at Paul with flared nostrils. She held the dog toward Ricardo. “Isn’t she a darling?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Beagles are stubborn and bassets are fat.”

  “Any dog can be trained with patience.” Paul smiled down at the cute ball of fur.

  “We’ll see.” Ricardo leered at Paul.

  “Yes, we will.”

  “Sylvia offered the puppy to Ricardo again. “Here, hold her?” Certain he would melt over time, she said, “See what a doll she is?”

  Ricardo shook his head. He started to reach his hand toward her but caught himself and turned away.

  “Don’t be so grumpy.” Sylvia backed up, sat on the hassock again, cuddled the puppy, and turned to Paul. “What’s her name?”

  He took the puppy and held her in his palms. “Doesn’t have one yet.” He relaxed into a nearby chair. “You get to name her.”

  “Um. Let’s see.” Sylvia looked at her. “She’s tricolored, but her head is covered in red fur. How about Lucy?”

  “Clever.” Paul nodded.

  “What?” Ricardo asked.

  Sylvia moved over and sat next to him. “You know, after I Love Lucy on television. Lucy Ricardo.”

  “Ricardo?” He grinned, but she could tell he didn’t really understand. They probably had different TV shows in Mexico.

  Paul set the puppy on the oriental carpet, and she ran around in circles on short legs, her roly-poly body going every which way. She soon tired and stretched her body all the way out, long and narrow like a sausage, and tucked her head under her paws.

  “Now I see the basset in her!” Sylvia cried.

  Lucy jumped back up and started to run around again.

  “Looks like she needs a walk.” Paul pulled a pink leash from his coat pocket and hooked it onto her matching collar.

  “Let’s go.” Sylvia held her hand out to Ricardo.

  He ignored it and got up. “Goodbye.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Business meeting.”

  “But it’s my birthday.”

  Ricardo kissed her directly on the mouth, looked over at Paul, and laughed. Then he hustled from the library and shouted, “Adiós! I’ll be back at eight with your present.”

  “Ta-ta, then,” Sylvia called as they followed him to the front door. Outside, clouds had begun to roll in, and she grabbed her black coat from the front hall closet. She stood on the porch and watched as Ricardo rushed down the steps, hopped int
o his Cadillac, revved the motor, and skidded around the corner out of view. From the curb across the street, a green Pontiac pulled away, made a U-turn, and followed Ricardo’s car down the hill.

  “I can’t believe you’re seeing him!” Paul held Lucy’s leash, and they followed her down the front steps and strolled along the sidewalk in front of Bay Breeze.

  Sylvia wanted to downplay Ricardo’s quirks. “He can be a bit moody, can’t he?”

  Lucy followed her nose, sniffing the grass along the curb.

  “That’s an understatement. How can you just laugh off his odious temperament?”

  She put her arm through Paul’s. “He was just teasing.”

  “You call that teasing? He’s an ignoramus.”

  “No, he’s just from another culture and doesn’t understand the American way.”

  “Have you told him about the inheritance?”

  “What?” She let go of Paul’s arm.

  “I’ve heard he’s in financial hot water.”

  Sylvia waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “No, he’s not. He’s rich; he owns a sailboat and a Mexican villa and travels to exotic places. You’ve seen that fancy Cadillac.”

  “That doesn’t prove a thing. He might just be after your money.”

  She stopped and looked at the ground. “Are you saying I’m not desirable?”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. Did she see pity or fear there? “Not at all. I . . .”

  “What?”

  His forehead creased as he tried to speak.

  Lucy jumped up and down on the leash. Paul handed it to Sylvia and shook his head. “He’s just not right for you.”

  “Do you see anyone else on the horizon?” Lucy tugged on the leash, and Sylvia began to walk again.

  Paul put his hand on her shoulder, stopped her, and paused.

  She waited. “Well?”

  He looked away, and they continued along the circular drive beside the rose garden filled with blossoms.

  “Not Ricardo.”

  “Why not?”

  Paul shook his head. “Dear, haven’t you heard the stories?” He opened the gate to the side yard overlooking the sea. White caps curved and bounced on the choppy waves beyond.