Lethal People | страница 31
She gave me a look. “Bullshit!”
“Well, it’s spelled the same way. Actually, it refers to using gum or glue as a binding element.”
She made a snoring sound. “Boring,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, “forget that part. Here’s what you want to know: Picasso laid the canvas on the floor and painted it with a brush attached to a broom handle. He used a toothbrush for the detailed work.”
Kathleen clapped her hands together. “More!” she said.
“It took three weeks to paint.”
She looked at me expectantly.
“He wore carpet slippers so he wouldn’t smudge the paint.”
I struggled to remember what else I’d read about the thing. I shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got,” I said.
Kathleen smiled and nudged up against me. “You did well,” she said.
We had a drink at the bar. Among the small crowd waiting for tables, Kathleen spotted Woody Allen, Barbara Streisand, and Billy Joel. I said, “See those two guys by the palm frond? That’s Millard Fillmore and Jackie Gleason!”
She sniffed. “At least the famous New Yorkers I’m lying about are still alive.”
A number of seasonal trees surrounded the white marble pool in the main dining room, and the head waiter sat us beneath one of them. Spun-metal curtains hung in rows against the walls, undulating softly as the air fl ow from the vents teased them.
“This is fantastic,” she said, looking around the room. “Everything is so elegant, especially the breathing curtains!”
“Especially those,” I said.
I tossed back a shot of bourbon and watched Kathleen sip her pomegranate martini. The waiter had brought us drinks and given us time to study the menus. Now he returned, ready to take our order.
“Of course I’ve never been here before,” Kathleen said, “so you’ll have to order for me.”
I nodded. “We’ll start with the crispy shrimp,” I said.
“Oops. No shellfish,” Kathleen said.
“Sorry,” I said. “How about the foie gras?”
“Goose liver pate?” she said. “Ugh!”
“Peppered quail?”
“Sorry,” she said. “Meat product.”
“Perhaps you should just pick something,” I said. She may have detected some annoyance in my voice.
Kathleen burst into a hearty laugh. “I’m just messing with you, Donny. I’d love some crispy shrimp.”
The waiter and I exchanged a glance.
“She might very possibly be insane,” I said, and Kathleen laughed some more.
Then she told the waiter, “Watch out for this one. He’s very grumpy in restaurants.”
The waiter left to place our order.
“Donny?” I said. I huffed a bit, and she placed her hand on mine.