“Exactly,” she said. “The Colorman will have to go wherever he has the other paintings hidden. I know they have to be close, because I was only gone a day before he came with the Manet. And the canvas wasn’t rolled, it was on the original stretchers, so he couldn’t have traveled far with it. There was no crate. When he goes to get another to use for the making of the Sacré Bleu, then you can follow him, destroy the paintings, and make him vulnerable.”
“And why haven’t you done that?” asked Henri.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried? I can’t. One of you has to do it.”
“And if we do this, you will be free?” asked Lucien. “And we can be together?”
“Yes.”
“And Jane Avril will go to bed with me?” asked Henri.
“That has nothing whatever to do with this,” said Juliette.
“I know, but I was wondering if you might intercede on my behalf, since you have broken my heart. Just influence her until we’re in bed, out of gratitude for helping you to gain your freedom.”
“No!” said Lucien.
Juliette smiled. “Dear Henri, she will be yours and there will be no enchantment but your delightful presence.”
“Fine then, I’m in,” said Henri. “Let’s rid the world of this Colorman.”
“Oh, my heroes,” she said, taking each of their hands and kissing them. “But you must be very careful. The Colorman is dangerous and crafty. He’s been the end of hundreds of painters.”
“Hundreds?” said Henri, a quaver in his voice.
“She smells suspiciously of lilac and can put either leg behind her head while singing ‘La Marseillaise’ and spinning on the other foot.” Jane Avril at the Jardin de Paris (poster)—Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, 1893
Interlude in Blue #4: A Brief History of the Nude in Art
Hey, have a look at these!” said the muse.
Twenty-six
THE THE, THE THE, AND THE COLOR THEORIST
JULIETTE BREEZED INTO THE FLAT AS IF MAKING A STAGE ENTRANCE. SHE paused by the hall tree for applause, which, not surprisingly, did not come, since it was only her and the Colorman in the flat.
“You’re angry, aren’t you?” said the Colorman.
“No, not at all,” she said. “Why would you say that?”
“You shot me. Five times.”
“Oh, that. No, that wasn’t me. That was the island girl. I jumped into this body to help Juliette adjust her hat, and before I looked around, Vuvuzela had a gun and was shooting you. Where did she get a pistol, anyway?”
“It was mine. Five times.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Juliette is so peaceful when she’s unoccupied, I’d forgotten how disturbing it can be to suddenly wake up naked, painted blue, with a crooked little monster standing over you holding a knife.”
“What are you trying to say?” Sometimes she was more subtle than he liked.
“That to a young girl, you can be a horrifying nightmare.” She smiled.
“In what way?”
“Penis,” she explained.
“But of course.” He grinned.