As the sun tries to shine through the hazy, humid morning, Ken opens the windows to his office, then pulls off his shirt, before it gets too wet. His t-shirt will get wet enough. Then he walks over to the basin. The water from the melted ice block is tepid. He dumps it down the drain, then picks up the phone and dials the operator. “This is the Operator, how may I help you?” a high-pitched female voice asks.
“Yeah, please connect to Mike’s Ice and Oil.”
After a moment she says “Sir, we have a Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel Company, is that who you mean?”
“Yes, please.” He says as he sits down. The phone rings and then another female voice says “Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel, how can I help you?”
The operator says, “We have…”
Ken speaks up, “Thank you Operator, I’ve got it from here. Hi, this is Ken Cooper of AAA Detective agency, and I want to place an order for an Ice block to be delivered to my office for the next few days.”
“What size do you want? 10 pound, 20 pound, or 40 pound?” She asks in a professional tone.
He thinks about the basin and how yesterday’s 10-pound block was the right size. “A 10-pounder will do.”
He can hear her writing down his information, “Will you be paying cash for that in advance or bill at the end of the week?”
He pulls the folded stack of bills from his pocket. “I’ll pay for the week when he brings up today’s order.”
“Very well, sir. Thank you for calling Mike’s Oil, Ice, and Fuel.” And then she hangs up.
Ken hangs up the phone and then turns on the fan. The air in the office is still and thick, even this early in the morning. He then makes some coffee and reviews his notes from last night.
In a few more minutes, Joan comes in, wearing another thin summer dress. When the light is right, Ken can almost see right through it. “Good Morning Joan, isn’t it a little warm for nylons?” He asks as he fills his mug.
“Good morning, Boss. Coffee’s ready? Great. And No, these ain’t too hot to wear. During the war, we couldn’t get them, so I wore leg makeup. When the war ended and stockings were back in the stores, I told myself I was always wearing the real thing when I wanted.” She says as she pours herself a cup. Then she notices the pages of notes that Ken is flipping through. “So how did last night go, Boss?”
Ken circles a few things, “Paris”, “Madrid”, and “London”. He then writes “Fleeing the Nazi’s?”, “Post-war refugee?”
“So is his work any good?” Joan asks and then sips her coffee.
Ken isn’t really listening to her but responds “Yeah, good technique, strange ideas, and maybe some wartime trauma.”
“Wow, must have been some show. What’s this “Circumcised Banana” and “Vulva on the Half-shell, with Clitoris”?” She asks reading his notes.
He leans back for a moment. “Those are part of a collection he did, focusing on sexual body part. What time does the public library open?”
“Same as always, 9 AM. Why?”
He leans forward again, “Because we need…” There is a knock on the outer door.
“Let him it, that’s probably the ice man.” Ken says, as he slowly opens his desk drawer, just in case he is wrong.
Joan opens the door, “Oh Hi. Back again? You can put it the same place as yesterday.”
Ken hears the voice of the ice guy as he sets down the block on the basin. The fan’s breeze is instantly cooler. He then turns towards Ken. “The office said that you were paying cash?”
Ken stands up and pulls the bills from his pocket. The ice man counts them and then pulls a receipt book from his shirt pocket. He quickly writes out a receipt and hands Ken the carbon copy. “Thank you Sir. See you tomorrow.”
Joan closes the door as he leaves, and Ken shuts the windows again. r“Smart call, Boss. Are you getting ice for the whole week?”
Ken sits back down and finishes his coffee. “Yeah, I think the weather’s going to be hot all week.” He then looks down at his notes again. “So the Library opens at 9. In a little bit, we need to go there. Bring a pen and a note pad, we need to do some research.”
Ken explains how they are going to look at various magazines, art books, and newspapers to see what we can find out about M. Charles Pauline.
By Noon, Joan had gone trough stacks of magazines and books. Ken focused on the newspapers, especially the foreign ones. Joan found a few recent articles in an English Art Magazine, with photos of Charles standing next to a lamp with a fish on one side and a black and white scribble on the other. The article talks about a brilliant new French artist who studied in France and Spain, showing his art in London. Ken looked for any mention of him in both Spanish and French language papers. He’s not fluent in either language but he can look for names. He couldn’t find anything. In a couple of pre-war articles from Paris, he found a similar name, Charlene Paulis, but that was a woman. He couldn’t find any photos or descriptions, only that she was a new artist working in the surrealist style. “Joan, do you want to see the actual pieces of art?” Ken asks as he puts away his notebook, and set the binders of news articles on the return desk.
“What do you mean, Boss?” she asks as she gathers up her books too.
“There is a public showing this afternoon. I am going over, and I’d like your thoughts.”
“Ok. Do you want to see my notes?” She asks.
“Not yet. While we’re there, take notes on anything you see or feel.” He says as he heads for the door.
This time the parking lot is only a quarter full, but then Ken realizes “Of course. Most everyone is still at work.”
“What’s that, Boss?” Joan asks.
“I was just realizing what time it is and why there are so few cars in the parking lot.”
“Oh. Can we go inside?”
He sets his fedora on the dashboard. “I won’t need that inside. If you get chilled, tell me and you can have my jacket.”
She nods but looks confused. Just as last night, the cool air greets them as they open the door. “Wow, Boss, better than a fan with ice.”
He smiles and nods. He immediately notices that the reception table is gone, along with all of the serving trays. Some of the paintings have been adjusted too. He takes Joan’s hand, and leads her towards the alcove. “Follow me and tell me what you think.”
When he turns the corner, he is surprised. All of the sexually graphic paintings have been replaced. In the place of “Circumcised Banana” is a painting of black birds dropping bombs, the landscape is pitted and burned as rats wearing helmets and gas masks scurry for cover. The colors are blacks, greys, oranges, and reds. It’s titled “A Murder of Crows”.
Another painting shows barbed wire fences, and dogs and pigs guarding sheep that are shorn. The faces are all exaggerated to looking almost human, with the guards looking lustful and hungry, and the prisoners vacant eyed and starving. The title of this one is “Safe at Home”.
Where there had been twisted sexual organs, now there are images of war, prisons, and labor camps. Another painting that he stops at, shows stylized skeletons, lined up, extending empty bowl, as a grossly fat cook ladles drips that are blood red. It’s called “Food for the Hungry.”
Ken breaks out into a cold sweat. The artist was in one of the camps. He feels sick for a moment. He remembers what some of his buddies who liberated the camps in Belgium, France, and Germany, had told him. Skeletons who had been starved and worked to death. Women and men, abused in ways only twisted minds can dream up.
“Is this what you wanted to show me, Boss?” Joan quietly asks. “These are gross, and ugly, but so’s war.”
He swallows the burning sick in his throat and then writes down the titles of more of these.
Joan is writing too. She points to “A Murder of Crows”. “That one was in the London show.”
He looks up and sees that on her notes from the library, she has none of the sexually explicit items listed, but a mixture of the abstract, surreal, and war themed titles.
“When we get back to the office. I’ll look more closely at your notes.”
The other people in the gallery are slowly moving from painting to painting. Some gasp, or look confused. There are even a few who give a dry laugh, but none of them walk deeper into the alcove. They all seem to glance at the pain and ugliness and turn away.
Ken looks around for Charles but the only face he sees from last night is Isabeau. Though unlike last night’s barely there dress, today, her hair is in a bun, and she is wearing a blue and white polka-dot dress. The dress helps to cover her more luxurious curves, but it’s obvious to anyone who see her that she moves like a model. Today she has a clipboard and pen. Ken walks up to her. “Hi, aren’t you Isabeau? I was here last night. I’m Ken Cooper. My client wanted a second opinion about the paintings before purchasing any of them.” He extends his hand.
She smiles politely and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mister Cooper. I’m sorry but I don’t remember you from last night. But I’m happy to see that you returned.” She uncaps the fountain pen. “Do you know the names of the pictures that your client wants to buy.”
He steps closer and lowers his voice. “They were a couple of paintings that had been in the alcove last night.”
She knowingly nods. “I see. Do you know which ones?”
He nods, “I do, but I wanted to see them in the day, without champagne dulling my senses. Where are they?”
She leans in and whispers, “We moved them into the studio space. We didn’t think they were appropriate for the general public.”
“Who’s we?” Ken quickly asks.
A slightly flustered look comes across her face. “I mean Charles. He decided. It was his decision what to show to wealthy buyers, and what to show to the public.”
Ken nods. “That makes sense. Where is Monsieur Pauline right now? I would like to talk to him.”
Before she can answer, the small almost frail brunette, from last night comes up. “Is there a problem, Isabeau?”
Isabeau almost looks relieved, “Lena, this is Mister Cooper, a buyer. He has some questions about the special paintings from last night.”
Lena eyes narrow for a moment as if she is trying to remember something. “Oh yes. Last night you had a question about the inspiration for some of them. I’m sorry Charles is not here at the moment. If you are not placing an order, then please move along so others can.”
Ken nods, “Of course, Miss Isabeau is free to help anyone who needs her. By the way, Lena, is it? That is an interesting accent, you have. Is it French?”
She turns to go. “I have been many places, and my English pronunciations have suffered for it. Good day.”
Ken nods and then finds Joan standing in front of the lamp with a fish as a bulb. “I don’t get it, Boss. It’s called ‘How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?’ But there isn’t a bulb just a fish.”
Ken takes her hand. “I’ll explain it on the way back to the office.”
(I hope you enjoyed Part 3 of “Checking out the Surrealist”. My plan is to do this in a few parts over the next couple of days. If you enjoy this; Leave me a Comment. If you enjoy my writings follow and subscribe. Come back for Part 4. Be Seeing you….)
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