“Gigi, better not use my middle name. Joe might be upset. Bad vibes.”
Gigi shook her head. “I don’t think so. If I’m wrong, if he needs to soak in the Circle some longer, tonight we’ve got the right Circle. Might not have, if he found out later.”
“All right, Gigi, I’ll tell him.”
“Yes, but wait until after we eat. A Circle is fine and I can stay in one all day, if needed. But I’m starved. Sandwich about five hours back and I don’t eat much breakfast.” Gigi pulled her closer, kissed her. “So let’s eat.”
“Somebody say ‘eat’?”
“In a minute, Joe; we got to talking. And we need a crack at the plumbing, too. First dime is yours, hon; I’ll flash the packs.”
“Go ahead, Gigi.”
“Oh, come along. Joe, you flash the packs.”
“—like your ‘Eunice Evans Branca Memorial,’ Joe. Because I don’t want anyone ever to forget Eunice. Especially me.”
Joe Branca nodded soberly. “Is good. Eunice ‘d like.”
Suddenly he smiled. “You okay, Joan Eunice.” He put down his cup, started stacking dishes, and added, “Getup you had on, same like one Eunice had.”
“It was one I had seen her in, Joe, so I had one made like it.”
“Good job. Dress, not skin paint. Sign painter, maybe?
“Joe, I didn’t have anyone of your skill to do that; I had to use whom I could find. Uh, is it possible that you might paint me—body paint, I mean—sometimes? Professional job, professional fees, no obligations.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Not cosmetics man, Joan Eunice. Sure, paint body for Eunice, she liked. Gigi, too, when she wants. Paint you, sure. But no fee.”
“Joe, I won’t take up professional time of an artist without paying. But I see your point. Cosmetic painting for your wife is one thing—but it isn’t your real work.”
“But fun,” he answered. “Maybe do jet-and-scarlet job right before you go home, huh?”
“That would be sweet of you, Joe, but don’t bother; I wouldn’t be showing it, I’ll go straight home. But let me ask one question, please, about body paint. Do you remember that you once painted Eunice as a mermaid, and she wore it to work?”
“Sure.”
“Well—Gigi, this was when I was Johann Smith and very old and very ill. I hurt all the time but couldn’t stand heavy dosage of painkillers. Had to tough it. But here was Eunice, lovely as a flower and cute as a kitten, painted to look like a mermaid, and—Joe, this is the silly part. I don’t think I noticed any pain all day long, I was so busy trying to figure something out. And never could. Was that a real brassiere Eunice had on? Or paint?”
Joe looked smugly pleased. “Paint. Fool-the-eye.” (Boss, I bid you that.) (Yes, little imp—and sometimes you fib, too.)
“You certainly fooled my eye. I could see those big sea shells, I could almost feel their rough texture. Then Eunice would turn in profile—and I wouldn’t be sure. I spent that whole day staring while trying to seem not to. Joe, you’re a great artist. It’s a shame you prefer canvas to skin.”
“Not quite right Like to paint skin on canvas. Fool-the-eye forever. Not just one day.”
“I stand corrected. Like that one.” Joan nodded at the easel. “Gigi, let me do the dishes, please. I want to.”
“Pile in sink,” Joe ordered. “Inspiration. Two-figure compo.”
“Okay, Joe,” Gigi answered. “Joan Eunice, do you feel up to posing late? Joe said ‘Two-figure’ so he means you, too. But I warn you, when Joe says ‘Inspiration,’ you don’t get much sleep.”
“No,” Joe denied. “Can short it. Cheat some. Get pose right, shoot eight, nine, ten shots. Then—” He suddenly looked distressed, turned to Joan. “Maybe not here tomorrow? Or could be, not want to pose. Damn, I forget! Think you sleep here. Crazy. Damn!”
Joan said, “I don’t have to be anywhere at any time, Joe, and I would be greatly honored to pose for you. But—” She turned to Gigi. “May I stay tonight? Is it all right?”
“Oh, sure!”
“I wonder. Since you showed me your wedding ring I’ve been wondering how much I am butting in.”