cwilleford.theburntorangeheresy-第5部分

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h　was　graying　at　the　sides；　was　bed　straight　back　and　slicked　down　with　water。　Cassidy　was　a　formidable　man　in　his　early　fifties。　He　carried　himself　with　an　air　of　authority；　and　his　confident　manner　was　reinforced　by　his　rich；　resonant　bass　voice。　And　his　gold…rimmed　glasses…the　same　kind　that　Robert　McNamara　wore　when　he　was　Secretary　of　Defense…were　beautifully　suitable　for　his　face。
　　Gloria　introduced　us　and　started　toward　the　indoor　fountain　to　look　at　the　carp。　The　pooi　was　crowded　with　these　big　fish；　and　I　could　see　their　backs；　pied　with　gold　and　vermilion　splotches；　from　where　I　stood；　some　fifteen　feet　away　from　the　pool。　A　concrete　griffin；　on　a　pedestal　in　the　center　of　the　pool；　dribbled　water　from　its　eagle　beak　into　the　carp…filled　pool。　It　was　a　poorly　designed　griffin。　The　sculptor；　who　probably　knew　too　much　about　anatomy；　had　been　unable　to　e　to　terms　with　the　idea　of　a　cross　between　an　eagle　and　a　lion。　Medieval　sculptors；　who　knew　nothing　about　anatomy；　had　no　trouble　at　all　in　visualizing　griffins　and　gargoyles。　Cassidy　took　my　arm；　grasping　my　left　elbow　with　a　thumb　and　forefinger。
　　〃e　on；　Jim；〃　he　said；　〃I'll　show　you　a　couple　of　pictures。　They　call　you　'Jim；'　don't　they？〃
　　〃No；〃　I　replied；　hiding　my　irritation。　〃I　prefer　James。　My　father　named　me　Jaime；　but　no　one　ever　seemed　to　pronounce　it　right；　so　I　changed　it　to　James。　Not　legally；〃　I　added。
　　〃It's　the　same　name。〃　He　shrugged　his　meaty　shoulders。　〃No　need　for　a　legal　change；　James。〃
　　I　smiled。　〃I　didn't　ask　for　that　advice；　Mr。　Cassidy；　so　please　don't　bill　me　for　it。〃
　　〃I　don't　intend　to。　I　was　just　going　to　say　that　you　don't　look　like　a　man　named　Jaime　Figueras。〃
　　〃Like　the　stereotype　Puerto　Rican；　you　mean？　The　peculiar　thing　is　that　my　blond　hair　and　blue　eyes　e　from　my　father；　not　my　mother。　My　mother　was　Scotch…Irish；　with　black　hair　and　hazel　eyes。〃
　　〃You　don't　have　a　Spanish　accent；　either。　How　long　have　you　lived　in　the　States？〃
　　〃Since　I　was　twelve。　My　father　died；　and　my　mother　moved　back　to　New　York。　She　never　liked　Puerto　Rico；　anyway。　She　was　a　milliner；　a　creative　designer　of　hats　for　women。　You　can't　sell　original　hats　to　Puerto　Rican　women。　All　they　need　is　a　mantilla…or　a　piece　of　pink　Kleenex　pinned　to　their　hair…to　attend　mass。〃
　　〃I've　never　met　a　milliner。〃
　　〃There　aren't　many　left。　My　mother's　dead　now；　and　very　few　women　wear　originals　nowadays；　even　when　they　happen　to　buy　a　hat。〃
　　〃Are　hats　worth　collecting？〃　he　asked　suddenly；　moistening　his　upper　lip　with　the　tip　of　his　pink　tongue。　〃Original　hats；　I　mean？〃
　　I　knew　then　that　Mr。　Cassidy　was　a　true　collector；　and；　knowing　that；　I　knew　a　lot　more　about　him　than　he　thought　I　knew。　In　general；　collectors　can　be　divided　into　three　categories。
　　First；　the　rare　patron…collectors　who　know　what　they　want　and　order　it　from　artists　and　artisans。　This　first　category；　in　the　historical　past；　helped　to　establish　styles。　Without　the　huge　demand　for　portraits　in　the　sixteenth　and　seventeenth　centuries；　for　example；　there　would　have　been　no　great　school　of　portrait　painters。
　　Second；　the　middle…ground　people；　who　buy　what　is　fashionable；　but　collect　fashionable　art　because　they　either　like　it　without　knowing　why　（it　reflects　their　times　is　why）　or　have　been　taught　to　like　it。
　　In　the　third　category　are　the　collectors　for　economic　reasons。　They　buy　and　sell　to　make　a　profit。　That　is；　in　a　tautological　sense；　they　are　collectors　because　they　are　collectors；　but　they　enjoy　the　works　of　art　they　possess　at　the　moment　for　their　present　and　future　value。
　　The　one　trait　that　all　three　types　of　collectors　have　in　mon　is　miserliness。　They　write　small；　seldom　dotting　〃i's〃　or　crossing　〃t's〃　and　they　are　frequently　costive。　Once　they　own　something；　anything；　they　don't　want　to　give　it　up。
　　The　collector's　role　is　almost　as　important　to　world　culture　as　the　critic's。　Without　collectors　there　would　be　precious　little　art　produced　in　this　world；　and　without　critics；　collectors　would　wonder　what　to　collect。　Even　those　few　collectors　who　are　knowledgeable　about　art　will　not　go　out　on　a　limb　without　critical　confirmation。　Collectors　and　critics　live　within　this　uneasy　symbiotic　relationship。　And　artists…the　poor　bastards…who　are　caught　in　the　middle；　would　starve　to　death　without　us。
　　〃No'　I　shook　my　head。　As　we　crossed　through　the　living　room　toward　his　study　I　explained　why。　〃Hats　are　too　easy　to　copy。　Original　hats；　during　the　twenties　and　thirties；　were　expensive　because　they　were　made　specifically　for　one　person　and　for　one　occasion。　As　soon　as　a　new　hat　was　seen　on　Norma　Shearer's　head；　it　was　copied　and　massproduced。　The　copy；　except　perhaps　for　the　materials；　looked　about　the　same。　Some　of　the　hats　worn　during　the　Gilded　Age；　when　egret　feathers　were　popular；　might　be　worth　collecting；　but　I　doubt　if　restoration；　storage；　and　upkeep　costs　would　make　it　worthwhile　to　collect　even　those。〃
　　〃I　see。　You　have　looked　into　it　then？〃
　　〃Not　exhaustively。　Fashion　isn't　my　field…as　you　know。〃
　　We　entered　his　study；　which　was　furnished　in　black　leather；　glass；　and　chrome。　Cassidy　sank　into　an　audibly　cushioned　chair　while　I　looked　at　the　three　pictures　on　the　apple…green　wall。　There　was　an　early　Lichtenstein　（a　blown…up　Dick　Tracy　panel）；　an　airbrush　Marilyn　Monroe；　in　pale　blue；　from　the　Warhol　series；　and　a　black…and…white　drawing　of　a　girl's　head　by　Matisse。　The　latter　was　over　the　ebony　desk；　in　quiet　isolation。　The　drawing　was　so　bad　Matisse　must　have　signed　it　under　duress。　I　sat　across　from　Cassidy　and　put　my　empty　glass　on　the　rosewood　coffee　table。　The　Filipino　house…boy　appeared　with　a　fresh　drink　on　a　tray；　picked　up　my　empty　glass；　and　handed　me　the　drink　and　a　cocktail　napkin。
　　〃You　wish　something　to　eat；　sir？〃
　　〃I　think　so。　A　turkey　sandwich；　all　white　meat；　on　white　toast。　With　mayonnaise　and　cranberry　sauce；　and　cut　off　the　crusts；　please。〃
　　He　nodded　and　left。
　　〃You　don't　like　the　drawing；　do　you？〃
　　I　shrugged；　and　sipped　from　my　glass。　〃Matisse　had　a　streak　of　meanness　in　him　that　many　Americans　associate　with　the　French。　When　he　went　out　to　a　café…after　he　became　well　known…he　would　often　sketch　on　a　pad；　or　sometimes　on　a　napkin。　Then；　instead　of　paying　his　tab　in　cash；　he'd　leave　the　drawing　on　the　table　and　walk　out。　The　proprietor；　knowing　that　the　drawing　was　worth　a　good　deal　more　than　the　dinner；　was　always　delighted。　A　man　full　of　rich　food　and　a　couple　of　bottles　of　wine　doesn't　always　draw　very　well；　Mr。　Cassidy。〃
　　He　nodded；　relishing　the　story；　and　looked　fondly　at　his　Matisse。　A　bad　drawing　is　a　bad　drawing；　no　matter　who　has　drawn　it。　But　my　little　story…and　it　was　a　true　one…　had　merely　enhanced　the　value　of　the　Matisse　for　Cassidy。　An　ordinary　person；　if　he　had　purchased　a　bad　Matisse；　would　have　felt　gypped。　But　Cassidy　wasn't　an　ordinary　person。　He　was　a　collector；　and　not　an　ordinary　collector。
　　〃An　interesting　story。〃　He　smiled。　〃I　don't　have　much　here；　and　I　haven't　decided　what　to　bring　down　from　Chicago。〃
　　Here　was　a　natural　opening；　and　I　took　it。　〃I'd　like　to　see　the　catalogue　of　your　collection　some　time；　Mr。　Cassidy。〃
　　〃Don't　have　one　yet；　but　I've　got　a　good　man　at　the　University　of　Chicago　working　on　it。　Dr。　G。　B。　Lang。　D'you　know　him？〃
　　〃Yes；　but　not　personally。　He　wrote　an　excellent　monograph　on　Rothko。〃
　　〃That's　Dr。　Lang。　It　isn't　costing　me　a　dime；　either…　except　for　the　printing　costs。　Dr。　Lang　teaches　at　the　university；　and　one　of　my　clients　is　on　the　Board　of　Trustees。　Through　him；　my　client；　I　managed　to　get　Lang　a　reduced　teaching　schedule。　He　teaches　two　courses；　and　the　rest　of　his　load　is　research；　the　research　being　my　catalogue。　Dr。　Lang's　happy　because　he'll　get　another　publication　under　his　belt　and；　if　he　does　a　bang…up　job；　the　University　of　Chicago　Press　wifi　probably　publish　it。〃
　　When　Cassidy　smiled；　exposing　his　teeth；　his　canines　made　little　dents　in　his　bottom　lip。　He　stared　at　me　for　two　long　beats。　His　eyes；　behind　the　gold…rimmed　glasses；　were　flat　and　slightly　magnified。　He　leaned　forward　slightly。　〃When　men　of　good　wifi　get　together；　some　sort　of　deal　can　be　worked　out　to　everyone's　satisfaction。　Isn't　that　right；　James？〃
　　〃If　they're　'men　of　good　will；　yes。　But　my　own　experience　has　led　me　to　believe　that　there　aren't　many　of　them　around。〃
　　He　laughed；　as　though　I　had　said　something　funny。　The　houseboy　brought　my　sandwich。　I　took　a　bite　and　called　him　back　before　he　got　out　the　door。　〃Just　a　minute！　This　isn't　mayonnaise；　this　is　salad　dressing。〃
　　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　　〃Don't　you　have　any　mayonnaise？〃
　　〃No；　sir。　May　I　bring　you　something　else；　sir？〃
　　〃Never　mind。〃
　　In　his　own　way；　Joseph　Cassidy　was　as　famous　as　Lee　Bailey。　In　court　Cassidy　was　certainly　as　good　a　lawyer；　but　he　wasn't　as　flamboyant　with　reporters　outside　of　court　as　Bailey；　nor　did　he　take　cases　for　sheer　publicity　value。　He　was　a　cash…in…advance；　on…the…line　lawyer。　No　one　had　written　a　biography　on　Cassidy　yet；　but　he　had　socked　away　a　lot　more　money　than　Bailey。　His　shrewdness　in　buying　the　right　painters　at　the　right　time　and　at　rock…bottom　prices　had　made　him　another　fortune…if　he　ever　decided　to　put　his　collection　on　the　market。
　　The　houseboy　still　hovered　about；　wanting　but　unwilling　to　leave。　He　was　upset　because　I　didn't　eat　the　sandwich。
　　〃Close　the　bar；　Rizal；〃　Cassidy　ordered　quietly；　〃and　tell　Mrs。　Bentham　that　I'll　see　that　Mr。　Figueras　gets　home　all　right。〃　He　exposed　his　toothy　smile。　〃You　don't　mind　sticking　around　for　a　while；　do　you；　James？〃
　　〃Of　course　not；　Mr。　Cassidy。〃
　　Because　of　my　upbringing；　which　has　been　on　the　formal　side…insofar　as　observing　the　amenities　was　concerned…I　resented　the　easy　use　of　my　first　name　by　Mr。　Cassidy　without　my　permission　or　invitation。　But　I　knew　that　he　wasn't　trying　to　patronize　me。　He　was　attempting　to　put　me　at　my　ease。　Nevertheless；　although　I　considered　the　idea；　I　couldn't　drop　to　his　level　and　call　him　Joe。　There's　too　much　informality　in　America　as　it　is；　and　in　Palm　Beach；　during　the　season；　it　is　often　carried　to　ridiculous　lengths。
　　Rizal　left　to　close　the　bar；　which　meant　that　the　party　was　over。　The　guests　would　depart　without　saying　go