Mona Lisa My Love

Chapter Forty-two

I stopped by the gallery to see Mr. Taylor and learned he had left for the day. I asked if I could have a meeting with Mr. Taylor and his father. I received a phone message an hour later from Mr. Taylor asking if Thursday at five would work and if we could meet at his father's office. I said sure and asked for the address. Of course, he wondered what the reason for the meeting was, but I declined to say why.

The day of the meeting, I arrived at four forty-five with the painting and was allowed to ascend to the 30th floor. I had to wait only a few minutes before I was ushered into a sizeable office. Mr. Taylor Sr. was seated behind a large desk in front of a massive row of windows that offered an impressive view of the city.

"Come in, young man, and sit down." I noticed he did not rise as I approached his desk. I sat in one of the two heavily padded leather chairs in front of his desk. I would have preferred to go to the windows and look out at the view of the city. It seemed fantastic from where I was seated. Just then young Mr. Taylor walked in. Odd though...he didn't sit next to me, but off to the side.

"My son said you have a painting that I must see. I assume that is it?" It sounded more like a command than a question. Senior's voice was weak but somewhat thick. It reminded me of a dying Darth Vader. I smiled a little at that thought. And surprisingly, I wasn't even nervous. I may have been excited. I knew that what I was going to do, was right, and I was happy at the thought. However, I was going to do this my way.

"Yes, sir, it is," I said quietly.

"How long have you been painting?"

"About five years now," I responded, adding nothing.

"Have I seen any of your work?"

"No, sir. I doubt it."

"Well, have you sold anything?" He looked at his son this time. And it was not a friendly look.

"I have sold a few things, but those were different," I said. Here we go, I thought.

"What do you mean?" He sounded like he was growling.

"I started with paint-by-number sets and moved up." At that, I thought he was going to explode, but I didn't care.

"It may seem a peculiar way to get started painting, but that was my start. I quickly became bored with them, but they did teach me a lot about painting." He was looking at his son again who was not saying a thing.

I continued, "I learned a lot about techniques in painting like how to mix colors, dry brush versus wet brush, underpainting...those kinds of things. The main reason I got bored with the sets was the color choices are lousy. They are fine for children, maybe, but not for me. Then a friend gave me a book about da Vinci, and I was hooked. Da Vinci was a master at observation, how to observe and conclude. He was a master at a lot of things, but I was interested only in his paintings. I decided way back then that I wanted to paint a painting like his one day."

"All that is very cute, but what made you think you had something I'd want to buy?" he barked condescendingly.

"I didn't. Your son said you would pay any price for this painting."

I could see that the younger Mr. Taylor was starting to squirm, but I took the attention back.

"I studied all the masters, and over time, some of the upcoming artists as well. Each one added something to the art. It took a while before I was able to discover just what each one added, but it was fun and maybe my obsession, to discover what each one brought."

After a moment's pause, I continued, "Sir, you are obviously a powerful man, and I have no wish to waste your time. I will leave at once, if you desire me too," I waited for an answer.

He didn't ask me to leave, but he asked, "All right, you studied the famous painters over time, and you love their work, but what did you learn?"

I thought he was maybe a bit curious and wanted a demonstration.

I started, "You have an attractive face. Slight greying on the sideburns but the grey runs back rather than down, like most people. You have three lines running across your chin. As I sit here, the light on the right side of your face makes the left side look slightly darker. I would use the same color, but it would need to be just a hint darker to account for the shading of the light. You have a strong jawline, but I would guess you grind your teeth. You have not gotten all you have by taking orders, and you don't listen to your dentist. I would imagine you have had six or seven root canals done on your back teeth. You are even grinding them a little now."

I went on. "Your face is more oval than round. Your nails are freshly manicured, and surprisingly, you have no hair on the back of your hands and fingers. You usually wear glasses and smoke a pipe. You like brandy, but sometimes you drink scotch." I had noticed the bottles on the shelf by the door.

"Your left earlobe is slightly larger and lower than the right. Your eyes are becoming cloudy, but you aren't listening to your eye doctor, either. You have something going on in your chest. I can hear it in your voice. Should I continue?" I asked, with a faint grin on my face.

"No damn it. You have said enough. Now can I finally look at the painting?" Senior growled.

"Sure." I set the painting on a stand that young Mr. Taylor brought in. When I uncovered it, Senior gasped, "Oh, my God."

That seems to be what everyone said about the painting, I thought.

"It's the Mona Lisa. Only with my daughter as the subject. Oh, my God, I must have it. How much do you want? I thought my son was crazy, but I see now why I must have it. It's magnificent. And you did this? You painted this?" he asked. He was standing now walking toward the painting. He used a cane but didn't seem to notice it was hard for him to move.

"Yes, sir, I did."

He stared at the painting for a long time, and then it seemed like he noticed he had lost his negotiating stance. "How much did you say you want?" he asked in a stern voice.

"Nothing," I said quietly.

"What do you mean? You brought it here to show me what I can't have?" he asked angrily.

"No, sir. I mean, it is a present for you. It is yours to do with as you please. I want nothing for it, except that you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed painting it. I loved her, you know. I loved Kitty." He looked at me strangely. "Sorry, I mean ML."

He smiled at this. "You don't know my daughter's real name, do you?"

"No, sir. I called her Kitty." He looked confused. "Long story," I said. "Your son called her ML. I never did know her name. One day when I asked her, I thought she said her name was Mel, but it was deafening in the dance club, and I misheard her."

Still smiling, he said, "Young man, her name is Mona Lisa. I named her after the painting by da Vinci. It is my favorite painting. What you are doing means the world to me. I owe you. I owe you big. If you ever need a favor, come to me. I will never forget this." He was staring at the painting. "It is exactly as her mother looked so long ago." He said softly. "Mona's mother was named Sophia, and I loved her very much."

With a nod to young Mr. Taylor, I showed myself out. I thought I was free from Kitty at last. It was bittersweet at best.