Page 3 of Caper Crush
He glances at me and says wryly, “Yes, I know her.”
“And is she amazing?”
“If you mean amazing in the sense of bewildering or surprising or …”
I harrumph. “More like startlingly impressive. If you know her, you should buy up her artwork before the Vertex Art Exhibit.”
“Do you have any more paintings for sale?”
Just a wall full of unsold paintings.
“And why, Miranda, are you dressed as an older woman?”
I stop. Ugh. I can’t believe he’s been toying with me.
“To spy on people checking out my painting and persuade them to buy,” I say as if that’s a completely normal thing to do. “Thanks for your help back there.”
“Wouldn’t people be thrilled to meet the artist?” His brow is furrowed. He pushes his black hair out of his eyes and studies my face. He’s probably trying to figure out what I changed.
“Not if they don’t like the painting.”
“I thought you only wanted people to buy it if they loved it.” William crosses his arms. “You nearly lost a sale with that comment.”
That’s a good point.
“But I didn’t.” I straighten my shoulders.
“You don’t need to disguise yourself.”
A car missing a muffler roars by, and I turn to look at the four lanes of traffic maneuvering by on Canal Street. With no trees on this block, this corner has a very wide-open, exposed feel.
“How did you know it was me?”
His glance is direct. “You stand a certain way. Like you’re not going to go down without a fight.”
I blink.
He shrugs. “I thought I recognized your stance from the back, even with the straight, gray hair, but then I had a moment of doubt when you turned around.”
“Thank goodness for that. I thought I was losing my disguise skills.” I look at him, assessing the way he stands. “You stand in a similar way, although you very much give off this aloof, independent vibe. Like ‘I am my own island.’”
He scoffs. “Are you heading home?”
“Yes. I have to meet some movers in an hour. They’re picking up my paintings for this Vertex Art Exhibit.”
“I’m heading that way too, to see Uncle Takashi.”
My uncle Tony and his partner, Takashi, live around the block from me on Columbus Avenue on the Upper West Side.
We stroll down Canal Street toward the subway. This side of the street with the post office is deserted. On the other side are shops more typical of Canal Street with suitcases and other items hanging from awnings. Long tables displaying fake sunglasses and bags and New York City souvenirs commandeer the sidewalk.
“Weren’t you at the party last night?” I cover my mouth as soon as I finish asking the question. It’s embarrassing that I didn’t notice.
He glances at me, his warm, brown eyes flicking to my face, then away, and he shrugs. I can’t tell if the shrug means it’s okay or he’s acknowledging that he also wouldn’t notice if I was there.
“No, I just got back from Tokyo yesterday, and I crashed,” he says.
We wait at the corner for the light to change. Off to the left, the traffic flows toward the Holland Tunnel. Buds are starting to appear on the trees. I am so ready for spring—a new season and a new start on my life as an artist. I’m bubbling over now that I’ve sold a painting.
