Planet Willie by Josh Shoemake Page A

to let her daddy go and ruin
it for her again. She really loves art, and maybe the gallery hasn’t been too
much of a success just yet, but she’s damn sure going to make it one.
    “I mean look
at that painting,” she says, turning towards the fruit bowl with the apples.
    “I did,” I
say, “and I just couldn’t get over those apples.”
    “Yes!” she
cries, nodding her head as she turns to look me in the eyes. “I mean that’s
just something so beautiful to me. And why don’t people care? Sometimes I get
the feeling they’re laughing at me when I say something like that.”
    “Nobody’s
buying?” I say.
    “Not tonight,”
she says.
    “You could use
the money,” I say.
    Her eyes shoot
such fire that it’s a miracle I stay on my feet. “I did not steal that Madonna,
or paint it, or swap it, or whatever it is you say I did,” she says. “I have
had threats from all kinds of people ever since I came up here, and I’m most
certainly not going to take it from you.”
    “Threats?” I
catch a little hitch in her eyes, like maybe she’s forgot a line, not that this
detracts in any way from the performance, and not that I’m any less charmed.
    She glances at
the musicians, then glances back at me. “Nevermind,” she says. “I forgot for a
moment who I was talking to. But you didn’t by any chance send me those letters
last week?”
    “Sweetheart, I
wish I had,” I say. “If only I could have found the words. Got stuck trying to
find a rhyme for kama sutra . What letters?”
    “I’m being
blackmailed too,” she says lightly, “and I thought that if you’re capable of
making these kinds of accusations, you might be capable of that too.”
    “No doubt I
am,” I say. “But really I’m just here for the painting. Sooner rather than
later, if you don’t mind.”
    “You’re
wasting your time,” she says, “Mister private investigator .” Spits it
out like it’s got a taste, then looks out across the room to make it clear
she’s finished with me. Which draws our attention to Billy and Twiggy, who are
moving through the crowd handing out brochures and may need a little reigning
in.
    “What’s that?”
she says.
    “Oh that’s
just Billy Sidell and Twiggy,” I say. “They’re into pheromones.”
    “Just what I
need,” she sighs, eyes flicking across the room. “Get me a drink and then get
out of here. Tell my father he’s disowned.”
    So I step over
to the bar, where I have to wait on the champagne, and by the time I turn to move
back towards the music, Fernanda has slipped off to another circle and is
talking a blue streak, as if she can put some distance between us with
vocabulary. I move over towards her with the glass, which she takes without a
glance for yours truly. Unfortunately her glance is for none other than Miss
Havisham, who catches the emergency in the boss’s eyes and starts bearing down
on me at high speed. She body-checks me right out of that circle, and before I
can yell rape she’s giving me two options of my own: I can leave, or she can
call the police.
    “Question for
you, Havisham,” I say as she hooks her arm through mine and drags me across the
floor. “Albania is a fascinating country, I understand, and based on our
encounter this afternoon, it’s a sentiment I imagine you share. So the question
– why did you have me followed, and what has that got to do with Albania?”
    But she just
keeps dragging me for the door. I look back at Fernanda, but as far as she’s
concerned, I’m just another guy in a cape. Nor is there any smile yet designed
by man to get Havisham talking, so there’s really no choice but to concede
round one to the art thieves and hone the body and mind for the rounds to come.
In the meantime, I tell Havisham I’ll just call Fernanda in the morning, if
she’d let her know, since now doesn’t seem to be a good time. Havisham says
she’ll be out of town the next day, and the next day and the next if I’m