Conduct in Question

Chapter 6

The Florist was pleased with his name. It suggested an appreciation of his artistic talent and sensibility. That other name, “the Mad Artist,” that had been originally splattered all over the press, had infuriated him. Sipping his coffee, he glanced at the newspaper. Good! His letter to the editor was on the front page. It read:

This world is filled with dreary, lackluster souls plodding through their lives. Those who criticize me for destroying and creating are philistines. Those who call me mad shall fear my judgment, which has the cleansing power of fire.

His smile was thin as he lit his cigar. A photograph caught his eye. The woman’s head was tipped at lovely angle, exposing her long, slender neck. The line conveyed perfect elegance and grace, just like a Matisse drawing. He rose from his breakfast table to go to the window.

In the bright morning sun, he examined her features. Such startling beauty. But then again, she had the haughty look of one spoiled by class and status. He despised that kind of woman: a socialite engaged in useless charitable work to salve her conscience. Her cheekbones were high and fine; her mouth was only slightly too wide, suggesting an untamed sensuality beneath a painted exterior. The short blurb read:

Katharine Rowe (pictured above) accepting an award for her charitable works at Emma’s Hostel for abused women.

In his office, next to the bedroom, he made ten enlarged copies of her photograph. Tonight, he would get out his book on Matisse and practice his drawing on the copies of her photograph.

“Mother?” the Florist said softly. “At last I have found the perfect one.” He cocked his head, as if straining for a response.

His eyes flashed with anger. “I do not understand you, Mother! Just what do you mean by ‘compassion’?”