A young woman who looks like Ginevra di Benci books it across Manhattan, through swerving traffic, carrying a violin case and a portable folding diptych containing 14th-century Sienese artwork. Close behind her is a slick Metropolitan museum curator, wearing a long, dark coat, elegant shoes, and a bandage around her right foot. Amazingly she speedwalks and manages an unnerving pace through the Manhattan crowds, closing in on the fiddler.
---
Gus and Art Guy stand at the curb outside Christie's, Gus hailing a cab and our hero on the phone trying to cancel his credit card.
"This is pretty hopeless," says Gus.
A cab arrives, and they both slide in the back.
"If I were trying to sell an expensive work of art on the black market where would I go?" says Art Guy to the cab driver.
"I know just the place," says the driver and guns it.
Without paying any attention to what the driver can hear, Gus says, "Are you trying to steal back the Simone Martini painting? This could get dicey, what with those mobsters and all."
"No Gus, I'm just trying to get my wallet back. And they weren't mobsters, don't be ridiculous."
"You'd be surprised," says the driver.
"Excuse me?" says Art Guy. "By the way, where are you taking us?"
"There's a joint in Chinatown where just the people you're talking about go to exchange artworks in the private domain. They set it up to take advantage of the recession. They're a bad bunch."
"How do you know this?" says Art Guy.
"I used to be in the museum business myself," says the driver, "but I left those jerks in the dust. They're too interested in objects, not in the social history of art. Not enough of the day to day, the stuff that brings home the bacon."
"Thank you," says Art Guy, now looking at Gus. "See here's a guy who's speaking my language."
The cab driver enters an intersection on a red and almost gets hit. He yells obcenities out the window.
"What was your field?" says Art Guy.
The driver says, "I studied the monstrous races in medieval Italian manuscripts. Trippy stuff, but at least I got a sense of social constructions in the period."
Gus says, "Why are you out of a job now?"
"Gus..." says Art Guy.
"It's okay," says the driver, pulling to a stop at a curb in Chinatown. "I messed up big time. I got involved with these dealers here, thugs, all of them. I think I'm free of them now. But by being linked to purchases of cheap manuscript leaves, I had to give up my museum job."
"See, Mr. Guy," says Gus. "It's a slippery slope. Keep your hands off that Simone Martini."
"He's right," says the driver, "and if you hear the names Tiepolo or Dandolo, get out of there."
"Is the gallery selling work by early Venetian patrons?" says Mr. Guy.
"No, those are the names of the mob families that hang out here. Just steer clear. I better get out of dodge myself."
Gus covers the bill, and the duo steps onto the curb by a phone booth. The cab driver speeds off.
"Where are we supposed to go?" says Gus.
Art Guy looks around but can't see signs of a gallery anywhere. They stand there feeling lost and out of place.
"Look at that," says Gus.
The violin player is spotted dashing along the nearby rooftops. She stops here and there to hide beneath the water towers.
"Let's make ourselves invisible," says Art Guy. They hide in an alley as if in an adolescent detective novel.
Shortly thereafter, the violin player climbs down a nearby drainage pipe and heads straight for the phone booth.
"This is our chance," says Art Guy. He has the conversation all planned out in his head: 'You stole my wallet,' 'No I didn't,' 'Yes you did, I saw you purchase a Simone Martini diptych with my money.' 'Alright, you got me, why don't you take the wallet and the diptych, and we'll call it even.'
"Wait," says Gus, holding our hero back. The Met curator appears around the corner and heads for the same phone booth as the fiddler. Meanwhile the fiddler speaks into the phone and hangs up, but she encounters the curator outside the booth. Art Guy and Gus watch and wait.
The curator speaks calmly to the fiddler. The fiddler offers her a wallet.
"That's my wallet!" says our hero, almost blowing his cover.
The curator tosses it aside, and it lands in the middle of the road. A few cards slip out and blow around in the breeze.
The curator suddenly puts a firm hand on the violin case. At this, the fiddler throws the Simone diptych about fifty feet in the air. The curator lets go of the case and dashes down the sidewalk to catch the diptych. Fortunately, she does. The fiddler hops onto the back of a metro bus, violin case in hand, and disappears in the space of fifteen seconds.
Art Guy rushes into the middle of the road defying death, collects his credit card, driver's license, insurance card, and wallet (all of which are in different places) and escapes onto the far curb. But he notices his long out-of-date student I.D. blowing around near the phone booth. Though years old, the card is essential for museum discounts.
The Met curator has taken notice of our hero and she picks up the I.D. card.
"Art Guy in Jeans, M.A. History of Art?" she says across the street. "Is this yours?"
Our hero waits for the crosswalk signal to claim back his I.D. card. He greets the curator, and says, "Thank you."
She looks him in the eyes. "What have you seen?"
"What do you mean?" he says.
Gus watches anxiously from the alley.
"Don't worry, I think I could use your help," she says. "What's your opinion of art in public and private hands?"
Art Guy says, "I'd be happy to see most art left in the public domain. But that's not to discount the importance of private patronage."
"I like your attitude," says the curator. "Call me Ms. Manhattan. M.O. Manhattan, specifically. I've worked in medieval, modern, and ancient. I try to stifle the mob's activities to snatch art from the public domain."
"Interesting," says Art Guy very coolly.
"This Simone Martini was destined for the black market. An outlet of the black market exists underground in that buffet house over there. What you have to do is ring a certain number in this phone booth and they open up the basement for you. Very dicey stuff. The powerful art magnates of New York, the Tiepolo and the Dandolo, live down there."
Art Guy suddenly realizes Gus has disappeared. His coolness slips for an invisible split-second.
"But the violin player paid for the painting fair and square," says Art Guy.
"It's probably dirty money, Mr. Guy," she says. "Otherwise she wouldn't know the number in the phone booth."
"Doesn't the mob have bigger fish to fry than auction house rejects?" says Art Guy.
"Hold your tounge, Simone Martini is one of the most prescient artists of his millenium."
"No, I agree, believe me, I agree," says our hero. "But why are they doing this through small bidding wars and not some larger scheme?"
"Mr. Guy, look around you."
He does and is not surprised to see that the block is decorated with a plethora of colorful images.
"We live in an age where art patrons don't know where to start. Art of the public domain has taken over. By patronizing private art in a small, yet public way, such as at an auction house here and there, perhaps they can redefine what 'art' is to people, and cause them to forget about their own public storehouse of images, cause them to them to believe that the only real art is that which is passed from one big hand to another."
"Were you eavesdropping on 5th avenue this morning?" says our hero.
---
Gus has slipped into the buffet to grab a couple of eggrolls, confident that they are just the thing to turn the day around. But he is greeted at the door by a man in a black tuxedo with purple trim.
"Thank you for calling in," he says. "The auction will begin in a couple minutes."
"Oh no, I was just hoping for..." but before Gus knows it he is literally being carried by the shoulders into the basement of the buffet.
Gus is surrounded by a treasure trove of a gallery. High-caliber Renoirs and Monets that he has never seen before line one corner of the room. In another corner stand shelf after shelf of manuscripts. Individual leaves and miniatures lie in piles around the books. In another corner is a shelf containing various cutlery, crockery, pepper grinders, and baking powder dispensers. The label on that shelf reads, 'STRA [...]' with the rest of the letters worn away by time.
The auctioneer wears a precious decorated sweater and carries a mug of tea as she steps onto the stage.
"Welcome to my gallery. You all know me, I'm sure, my name is Loose Cannon, L.T.-S.P.S. If you'd like to put in an order for some of my special holdings, you'll get a chance to do that at the end. Please feel free to hang up your coats in the room behind me."
Gus isn't sure whether it would be wise to hang his coat in the back room.
Loose Cannon says, "and our items for today, let's see. Oh my God, we have three Turner watercolors. How exciting. And the Tiepolo family presents for auction an authentic Limoges tea-set."
Gus gulps.
She continues, "And from the Dandolos in the back, oh hello, hello, move on in, don't be shy, sit on each others' laps if you must. From the Dandolos we have a wonderful map of Dickensian London. A hand to the Tiepolos and the Dandolos for their charity."
The tuxedos and the checkered suits applaud their approval while a bouncer shuts the door to the auction house with a faint thud.
(to be continued...)
No comments:
Post a Comment