“Not talk?”
“Talk all we like as long as we don’t move.”
“I won’t move. Gigi, I was so pleased to learn that Joe and Jake got to know each other well. Did you know Jake, too?”
“I’ve met him. Just in passing. Me leaving and Mr. Salomon arriving, it was while I was a hired model before I moved out on Big Sam.” (Twin, she’s being vague about this—and Jake has never mentioned laying eyes on Joe after clearing up business matters a long time ago.) (Eunice, what are you getting at? It was probably while Jake was straightening out your bank account, and the lease, and things.) (‘—and things,’ you are so right. Look, Boss, don’t be naïve. They were crying over the same girl—me—and Joe is ambi as an oyster when it suits him.) (Eunice, you have a dirty mind! (Coo! This from ‘No-Pants Smith.’ I know whereof I speak, twin; I lived with Joe for years. Don’t be so darned twentieth century.) (Eunice, of course you know Joe better than I do and I would never criticize Joe no matter what. I meant Jake.) (What makes you think you know Jake better than I do? And take a look at Joe—purty, ain’t he? Jake has eyes. Boss, what are we fussing about? Find out what Gigi knows.)
“I suppose,” Joan said carefully, “that Jake had to come here on business. Eunice died without a will and I know Jake arranged it so that Joe could draw against her bank account. There may have been insurance to clear up, too; I’m not sure.”
“Joan, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask lake, as Joe suggested?” (Because Jake will lie about it, Boss. Forget it, men lie about such things, far more than women do. Who cares where a man has lunch as long as he gets home in time for dinner? Not me. You give my ‘dirty mind’ quite enough to keep it busy. But, Boss, you’re a devious little slut—you can’t be truthful even to yourself.) (Wench, if I could get my hands on you, I’d spank you!) (And if you could, I’d let you. Kind o’ fun to be spanked, isn’t it, dear? Gets the action moving like a rocket.) (Oh, stuff it!) (Where, twin? What? And how big is it?)
— “I have no need to ask Jake, Gigi. I know they met through business matters, I know that Jake admires Joe’s integrity. I simply hadn’t realized that Jake thought of Joe as a close friend. If he does.”
Gigi Branca looked thoughtful. “I couldn’t say. I was working Guild hours then, as Joe was paying me. Mr. Salomon—Jake, you call him—showed up one evening as we were quitting, and Joe introduced him to me as his former wife’s fixer—lawyer, he said; Joe doesn’t use jive when he doesn’t want to. Saw him a couple more times, I think, about the same way. But he hasn’t been here since we got married.” (Double talk, Boss. All it means is that she won’t spill other people’s secrets. Well, that’s nice to know—considering.)
“No importa. Gigi, how did Joe get his art education? Or is it native genius with no instruction?”
“Both, Joan. Let me tell it bang as it would take you forever to get it out of Joe. Joe says that all an artist can teach is technique. He says creativity can’t be taught and that each artist has his own sort. If he has any—Joe thinks that most people who call themselves ‘artists’ haven’t any. He calls ‘em ‘sign painters’ and adds that he would rather be a good sign painter than a fraud who calls himself an artist.
“You’ve seen what Joe has. That one of me he did yesterday and others around the studio. You’d see lots more if you prowled the coffee shops and bookstores and art shops at this end of town. Nudes that look better than life—you wouldn’t need to look for his pinxit. Most of them kind o’ square except that they grab. Oh, Joe can do sex pix, I’ve seen him prove it, then scrape off the paint—because I asked him why he didn’t do sex pix since they sell so well. He shrugged and said those weren’t his symbols.