The Buck Pass

The Buck Pass Chapter 13

The Handover

  

The rest of the summer seemed to fly by at warp speed, which, given the amount of planning, preparing, and partaking in each other’s company that Trini and Paul had to cram in, made it seem unjustly short.

As Paul had predicted, Trini’s little metallic sculptures lit a fire under the backside of the abstract art world, causing collectors from around the globe to sit up and take notice. Her creations were practically flying off the pristine, white pedestals on which they were displayed at Gallery 137 and, as Paul had also predicted, Viv was putting a lot of pressure on Trini to produce more – a lot more. But Trini wasn’t fazed. She had no difficulty in supplying the demand, and was having a blast doing it. More often than not, she would bring her soldering equipment down to Paul’s place, where she could work without inhibition or fear of parental interruption. Also, as they soon discovered, their “rest breaks” were infinitely more enjoyable in the privacy of Paul’s apartment. They worked well together; Trini would sit across from Paul, blissfully bending metal into an assortment of strange shapes while he edited photographs on his computer, or, as was becoming increasingly likely these days, while he conducted telephone conferences with Neil.

Neil, a painter who lived extremely close to Harvard Square, and who was part of Viv’s amazing network of “faces,” had telephoned Paul one day out of the blue. He was, he explained, in desperate need of a change of scenery, and was interested in spending some time in New York City. He had gotten in touch with Paul at Viv’s urging, in hopes that they could work out the dates when each wanted to stay in the other’s city, and then swap houses. It was the perfect solution, and if Viv had been slightly less of a fire-breathing dragon in human form, Trini would have hugged her for coming up with it. Viv being who she was, however, Trini decided to send a box of chocolates instead.

Sometimes, she and Paul would venture up to the Martoni triplex, where they would spend some time chatting with Gloria or making out in Trini’s bedroom. Once, they attempted to sit down to dinner with Trini’s parents – an act which inevitably turned into a dramatic production.

“So, Trini has a boyfriend, how exciting!” her mother squealed, flashing a blindingly bright smile. “And he’s an artist! Isn’t that exciting, Honey Bear?”

Trini’s father sat back in his chair contemplatively, his digestive juices gurgling away as they tried to break down the massive slab of prime rib he had recently devoured. “ ‘Exciting’ isn’t the word I’d use, Sugar Rump,” he said, gulping down a mouthful of scotch. “ ‘Worrying,’ is more like it. I mean, suppose they get married, what are they gonna live off of, a pot of paint?” He chuckled heartily.

“An artist,” sighed Mrs. Martoni. “It’s so romantic! And, it’s history repeating itself! I was in love with an artist once.” A faraway look came over her face. “What a gorgeous hunk of man he was. And all he wanted to do was make beautiful things. He didn’t spend every waking moment thinking about money.” She started, then shook her head as though coming out of a dream. Pasting another megawatt smile on her face, she turned to Paul. “So, what kind of paintings do you make? I really love when people do portraits of cute kittens in a wicker basket, or of sweet little children wearing sunbonnets. You know, pretty things. None of that weird stuff,” she concluded, taking a dainty sip from her glass of rosé.

Paul gave a small, polite cough, which only Trini seemed to recognize as a poorly concealed laugh. “Well, I’m a photographer, actually, not a painter. And I tend to take mostly abstract shots these days.”