She was well dressed, though. Blaze, that day, had outfitted her in tennis whites and she’d posed for him on a court behind the high school. She still wore the tennis skirt and pullover. She looked like a rich kid whose parents might belong to one of the nearby country dubs.
If they give me any crap, I’ll threaten to sick my parents on them.
Sure, she thought.
Just act as if you belong here, she told herself. Act like you own the place.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she wandered deeper into the gallery. She moved slowly and looked at every painting.
Many featured the surf crashing into rocky outcroppings. The surf crashed into them in daylight, at sunset, and in the moonlight. There were beautiful ocean vistas. Several underwater paintings depicted whales and dolphins. Sailboats glided into sunsets. She saw storm-tossed seas, a ghost ship with tattered sails, footprints in the sand along the shoreline, seagulls gliding through the pale sky.
And Surfer Boy, which showed a tawny, muscular young man wearing the skimpiest of swimsuits, posed on the beach with his surfboard. The sight of it gave Sandy a twist in the stomach.
Tyrone!
Stepping up close to the painting, she found Blaze’s signature low in a corner.
The price tag showed $450 with a slash through it, replaced by $150.
Sandy smirked.
Having some trouble selling it?
“It’s one of my favorites.”
She jumped, then whirled around.
A short, round woman gazed up at Sandy through huge round glasses with red plasic rims. Her gray hair was cut to an even dome of bristle. She wore huge, gold hoop earrings and a flowing moo-moo.
Offering a hand, she said, “I’m Megan Willows, proprietor.”
“Hi.” Sandy shook her hand. “I’m Ashley.”
"Ashley. A lovely name. I couldn’t help noticing your interest in our Surfer Boy.”
She nodded. “it sort of caught my eye.”
“You must have a very good eye, then. This is an earlier work by one of our fine local artists, Blaze O. Glory. His talent has absolutely bloomed in recent years.”
“Must’ve bloomed after he did this one,” Sandy said.
Megan chortled. “You do have a good eye. This is certainly not one of his more mature works. But it does have a certain raw power, don’t you think?”
“I guess so.”
“A lovely boy. Isn’t he just scrumptious? Wouldn’t you just like to eat him up?” Grinning, Megan clicked her teeth together.
“I don’t know about that,” Sandy said.
“A figure of speech, Ashley. But wouldn’t you just adore having him on your bedroom wall?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or are you considering this as a gift?”
“No. I’m looking for myself. I got a ton of money for...my birthday.” She had almost said “graduation,” but realized Megan might not believe it. Sandy looked mature for her age, but she might not pass for a high school graduate. She shrugged and smiled. “I thought I might want to spend it on some art.”
“That’s a very wise decision, Ashley. A good piece of art is not only a pleasure to the soul, but often a sound investment. You certain wouldn’t go wrong, on either count, by purchasing Surfer Boy. And it is a wonderful bargain at a hundred and fifty dollars.”
“I don’t think it’s worth that much,” Sandy said. “Not to me, anyway.”
"Well...I suppose I would be willing to mark it down to...shall we say, a hundred dollars?”
“I don’t honestly think so,” Sandy said.
“It’s a steal at that price. You wouldn’t be able to touch one of his more recent pieces for...”
Sandy shook her head.
“Seventy-five dollars. I’m afraid that’s as low as I’ll be able to go. What do you think? That would include the frame, of course. The frame alone is worth fifty.” She blinked behind her goggles and grinned. “So, do we have a sale?”
“I’m afraid not. You know what? I don’t think my parents would approve of me buying a thing like that. I mean, it may be a just a little too risque. You can dam near see his unit, if you know what I mean.”
“Well...” Megan chuckled. “I suppose so. We wouldn’t want to upset your parents, would we?”
“Not much.”
“Maybe I can interest you in something else?”
“Well, I would like to see some of the more recent work by this guy. Flame?”
“Blaze.”
“Right, him. Could I see something else of his?”
“I’m afraid we only have one in stock just now, and it’s already sold. You’re welcome to look at it, however.”
“I’d like to. Thanks.”
Leading her toward the other side of the gallery, Megan said, “We do expect another one in, fairly soon. Perhaps in two or three weeks. We have a terrible time keeping his paintings in stock. Ah. Here we are.” Megan stepped aside, swept an arm toward the painting and said, "Voila!”
“Oh! That is nice.”
“Isn’t it? Mmm.”
Sandy had posed for it only a month earlier. The setting looked great—a clearing in the deep woods, all rich green and shadows and golden pillars of sunlight slanting down through the trees. But there hadn’t been a breath of a breeze. In the shadows and dampness of the sylvan scene, the mosquitos had been nearly overwhelming. Few had feasted on her, thanks to the repellant, but they’d mobbed her anyway. Some had gotten into her ears. One had even taken a detour into her eye.
The girl in the painting sure didn’t look distressed, though. She seemed carefree and contented like a kid on the first day of summer vacation.
And a bit like a monkey.
She’d actually been standing on a stool, but the stool was nowhere to be seen.
She looked as if she’d been hiking through the woods, happened upon a likely limb, and leaped up to swing on it just for fun. She dangled crooked below the limb, hanging on with her right hand, her left arm waving, her left leg kicking out wildly to the side.
You’re a tomboy frolicking in the forest, Blaze had told her.
A barefoot tomboy wearing cut-off blue jeans and a short-sleeved red shirt. The cut-offs were very short, faded almost to white, and torn at the sides. The red shirt, also faded, looked too small for her. The way she dangled, it was pulled up halfway to her ribcage, showing her midriff and navel and how her shorts hung so low they looked ready to fall down. Partly unbuttoned, the shirt showed the bare slope of her left breast.
Blaze had called the painting, Huckleberry Fem.
Below the sticker reading SOLD, Sandy saw the price tag.
$5,800.
“Holy smoke,” she muttered.
“If you ask me,” Megan said, “it’s a masterpiece. I absoludy adore it. Look at that girl. So...fresh and innocent. And yet so...alluring. It’s as if Blaze has captured the magical blend of childhood innocence on the verge of blossoming sensuality.”
“Sure looks that way,” Sandy said.
“Wouldn’t you just love to take her home with you?”
“Yeah. Sure would. Too bad it’s already sold.”
“As I said, we’ll probably be getting another one in fairly soon.”
“Are they all this good?”
“Oh, yes. The new ones most certainly are. Ever since he’s been using Electra.”
"Huh?”
“Electra. That’s the name of his model.”