Pas d'avant les domestiques

I expect you earn scads of money, and spend it as you earn it, said the mother.

No, ma'm, replied the painter. I don't spend it. I can't afford entertainments. My lawyer invests my money. He knows how much I have. Once he has the money, I think no more about it.

I was told exclaimed the father, that artists are all spendthrifts.

Who is your lawyer, if you don't mind my asking? asked Mrs. Bobbit.

A good fellow, very reliable, Smythe.

Well, well, isn't that funny, said Bobbit. Smythe is our lawyer, too.

Keep still, said the painter.

Don't move, Duncan, said his wife. You'll make Mr. Keene go wrong; if you saw him working you would understand.

It's so wonderful, said Miss Bobbit to her parents. Why didn't you teach me Art?

Virginia, said her mother, You saw all those slides in Art History class. Maybe when you are married you can take classes, but until then, when you're settled, don't be flighty.

During this first sitting the Bobbit family almost ceased to stand on ceremony with the honest artist. They were to come back two days later. As they left, the parents told Virginia to go on in front of them, but in spite of the distance she heard these words whose meaning was bound to arouse her curiosity.

A man of fame and distinction; thirty-seven years old; an artist whose order book is full, who invests his money with our lawyer. Shall we consult Smythe? Fancy being called Mrs. Mickey. He doesn't look like a bad fellow, this economical artist. You were thinking about having an entrepreneur instead, but until an entrepreneur has retired you don't know what will become of your daughter; and anyway, we like the Arts, so that settles it.

While the Bobbit family was thinking about him, Mickey Keene was thinking about the Bobbit family. He found it impossible to stay quietly in his studio. He went for a walk in the Square and looked at the red-haired women who passed by. He reasoned in the strangest way: gold was the most beautiful of the metals, reddish-yellow represented gold, some famous artists liked red-headed women and he was an artist. Besides, after two years of marriage, what man bothers? Beauty passes but ugliness remains. Contentment is more important then. Money is half of contentment. That evening when he went to sleep, the painter already thought Virginia Bobbit charming.

When the three Bobbits came in on the day of the second sitting, the artist welcomed them with a friendly smile. The rascal had trimmed his beard and he had put on a white shirt. He had arranged his hair becomingly and he had chosen a pair of jeans that made the best of his figure and cowboy boots with silver tips. The family replied with a smile that was as flattering as the artist's, while Virginia turned as red as her hair, lowered her eyes and turned her head away as she looked at the equipment. Mickey Keene thought these simpering little ways charming. Virginia was graceful. Fortunately she took after neither her father nor her mother. But whom did she take after?

Ah, I've got it, he said to himself. The mother was affected by the beauty of a gold frame during her pregnancy.

During the sitting, there were skirmishes between the family and the painter, who boldly declared that Pater Bobbit was witty. Thanks to this flattery, the family galloped into the artist's heart; he gave one of his reproductions to Virginia and printout from the digital tablet to her mother.

For nothing? they asked.

Mickey Keene could not repress a smile.

You mustn't give away your pictures like this, they're worth money, said the capitalist.

At the third sitting, Mr. Bobbit talked of a fine picture gallery that he had in his country house. It contained among others Nagel, Monet, Parrish, Miro, Stella, a Renoir, Jackson Pollock.

I've just made a bid on HoBoy's newest work Ragnaork.

Mr. Bobbit has been wildly extravagant, said Mrs. Bobbit ostentatiously. He has over a million dollars' worth of pictures.

I like the Arts, added the former plastics merchant.

	Turn the pages of the story
	Balzac Bonus: artSavant 3D Tile "Noche de la Mariposa"
	Return to the top of the page