But you were probably thinking of Sargent’s own parents. Expats themselves, Sargent’s father was a doctor in Florence.”
“Right. Of course. And most of Sargent’s portraits were of Americans. He loved Americans. His paintings captured his sitters in a simple refinement, signifying the vitality of a new nation.”
“And then we have Madame Gautreau. Madame X, rather.”
J3 and I walked over to Madame X, where I allowed him to pontificate, interested to hear his opinions.
“Of course, I don’t have to fill you in on the scandal this painting created, as you are up on your Sargent, with her sexy gown that has nothing on today’s dresses that make me wonder if these girls would save money by not having to buy couture and just go out in their expensive lingerie.”
I knew exactly what he meant! Something I’ve often fumed about.
“Sargent even retitled the painting from Madame Gautreau to Madame X,” he continued. “I think he did that because he was less impressed with her. It was his favorite painting, as he did achieve this dramatic quality—her tense elegance—but I think that Madame X could be any woman, the idea of a woman with a predatory sensuality.
“Apparently she was American, quite a social climber in the Parisian circles. Whereas, back to your Stokes friends, they were probably just in Paris to have a good time, not overly concerned with the whole ‘do we fit in being Americans’ and all. Confident.”
Right. My words exactly.
“And,” I said, “I know with you being a boy and all.”
J3 looked down at himself, as if making sure that he was indeed a boy.
“While her dress is undeniably sexy—the low cut, jeweled straps—I just find it ostentatious. The little tiara on her head pretending to be some huntress,” I paused. She really had a great deal in common with every other husband hunter striving for the Saturday morning Grace’s Market Place to Gracious Home walk.
“She is predatory in a sensual way,” I continued. “But it’s too easy. Sure. Show some cleavage, wear obscenely expensive items—quite materialistic really,” I said, as if speaking for Madame Gautreau. “But if you were to remove these inanimate symbols of wealth, she loses her power.”
I pointed to her hand, not too close to the painting, as I seemed to be under the security guard’s surveillance from my earlier blurts.
“Look at how she’s holding down that hardwood table, practically making a Hulk-impressed dent. She needs the support to show herself truly. She needs the material goods. She asserts yet also retreats, not quite complete, certainly not at one with herself.”
“So I take it you two wouldn’t be meeting up at Pastis later?”
“No!” I laughed. “I’d be much happier taking in a morning run with Mrs. Stokes over there.”
While he glanced back to the other painting, I noticed J3’s build. Strong, he was also taller than I had remembered. Perhaps he just looked better because I’d only been with him a few times. And the first time we met was at a pool, where no one really looks the way they normally do under a haze of sun and through the tint of glasses. In fact, I’m almost fearful to imagine what I must have looked like. I panicked. I really needed to make more of an effort lounging poolside.
Stealing a peak at J3’s watch, I saw the time was just after 3:00 PM. I had to start wearing a watch, but anything other than Cartier would be unacceptable.
“Oh, jeez!”
“Emily? What is it?”
J3 looked concerned. I needed to calm down more. Perhaps take yoga. But I really didn’t like yoga.
“It’s just that I am supposed to meet my best friend—new client actually—but it is Daphne. She has two kids, a catering company, and a kitchen to renovate, so my being a bit late won’t really matter.”
Was this too much information? But J3 just smiled. He even appeared amused.
“Oh, well, I was hoping that I could take you to lunch.”
Really? Lunch! Hmm. Well, I could just blow off Daphne, she wouldn’t care, but then again today was career day, and the only thing marked in my Smythson business planner was this appointment, so it would be in poor favor to skip my one confirmed meeting for a friendly lunch—the hardship that came with ambition.
J3 led me in the direction of the room’s exit. We walked in a comfortable silence.
“Do you know what amazes me?” he asked.
I responded with a curious smile.
“Here I am in the business of interactive, cutting edge computers—noise, novelty, and annihilating your opponent in the most entertaining fashion. And here we are, looking at pictures, sculptures, created from very simple mediums, and yet they have the power to move. You can see more, learn more, and never tire of a painting. There is always something curious and new to be discovered. And, again, all created from very simple mediums.”
“Exactly,” I said, not understanding my response. “Then again, can you get to the level where you find the missing terrorist? Or whatever your best-selling game is that’s ripped off from the latest world crisis.”
Outside the museum we both looked at each other. I began to feel saddened by our coming departure.
“So?” he asked cautiously. “How’s Henry?”
“Yes, well. Henry.” I mumbled, looking down to my hand and then lifted up my engagement ring. “We’re engaged!”
J3 directed his gaze to my hand.
“Wow. Congratulations,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Thanks.”
“Your ring, it’s—” J3 made a sudden pause. “Nice.”
I looked to him amazed.
“That’s exactly how I said it, right after Henry gave it to me! Not that I’m materialistic or anything, but it just took me a minute to find the ring. Not that I’m a big diamond person. Working with my hands, I need to keep my hands free,” I mumbled in my insecure rant. “But it is rather small in diamond standards.”
“It looks like you have it properly safeguarded with all that tape.”
“Right,” I said, putting my hand back down. “It’s a bit big. The ring, not the diamond. So I need to get it resized.”
J3 took my hand, giving my fingers a thorough examination.
“And I see that you’re not one of those girls who goes for the picketed fingernail look.”
I forgot about the appearance of my nails, splotched with paint, my cuticles sanded down from work and packing.
“No. You know, considering that it’s difficult to maintain with my profession and all.”
“Of course!” he said in
