Alas, I don't own Moonlight.
Special thanks to Ancholia, and to Josef's Rose! To Ancholia for inspiring me with the idea for this story, and to Josef's Rose for the idea that Josef himself is actually in the painting.
A/N: To those of you familiar with my work, you know that I write that Josef owns the painting Moulin de la Galette painted by the French artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir in 1876, and that it is destroyed regularly in my stories, much to my evil joy and amusement.
Here is a link to the painting (replace the [dot]'s with periods): http://blogs[dot]princeton[dot]edu/wri152-3/s06/mgawrys/images/renoir[dot]moulin-galette[dot]jpg
It is one of my favorite paintings…and a suggestion from Ancholia inspired me to write this one-shot showing how Josef acquired it. I have mentioned in The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship that Josef knew the artist personally. ; ) While this story compliments my other longer works, it is unnecessary to read any of my other stories in order to understand this.
Beta: The lovely and kind Anaman. I can't thank you enough for all of your help with the French. Love ya! : )
Dedication: I would like to dedicate this fic to my friends and fellow art lovers Ancholia and Anaman. Thank you both so much for the kind and thoughtful reviews and comments you leave me again and again. I appreciate all your support and encouragement, and I love our discussions on art, literature and poetry. This one-shot is for both of you. I hope you like it. *hugs* : )
Please forgive any typos…
Enjoy!
Moulin de la Galette
~Los Angeles~1963~
Dim, frosted lamps hanging on the walls lit the small lounge, their copper-colored stems welded to the dark wood paneling in the shape of climbing vines.
A small bar was to the left, a few stools sat empty in front of it. The patrons of the lounge were seated at the small, round tables scattered throughout the cozy space in front of the stage. Candlelight flickered from every table, casting shadows on the clean, white tablecloths.
Low voices and conversations murmured, offering a quiet background of white noise to the atmosphere. Every now and then a voice would rise with laughter before quieting again, or a chair would scrape backwards across the hardwood floor as a gentleman rose for another drink from the bar.
Sitting slouched across from him, Mick yawned. "This is so boring, Josef."
Josef sipped at his scotch on rocks. "Then you're in for a long night. The auction hasn't even started yet."
Mick groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Remind me again, why did I agree to accompany you here?" He fidgeted in his seat, and pulled at the tie around his neck.
Josef grinned, "Because you owe me…or have you already forgotten Coraline's pictur—"
Mick cut him off, the color draining from his face. "Okay, okay."
Josef had recently come to Mick's aid in destroying photos of his friend and his wife inflagranté. Coraline had placed a hidden camera in their bedroom before enticing Mick to sleep with her. She thought the pictures were all in good fun…Mick had been mortified, and had sought Josef's help to burn them.
Josef chuckled, "Why, Mick, I do believe you're blushing. If you live long enough, one day you won't be so modest."
Mick was indeed a bright shade of red. He hid his embarrassment by gulping down his scotch, and then rising from the table, said, "I'll be back…unfortunately." He weaved in and out among the tables towards the bar.
Josef smothered a grin and watched him go, Mick's brown sports coat fluttering slightly. His friend's misery alone made the night worth it, even if he couldn't find any new pieces for his collection. It was a black tie auction, held in one of the nicer, more up-scale lounges in Los Angeles. Josef was a regular patron, enjoying the club's smooth scotch, and tasty freshies. About half the audience here tonight were vampires.
Josef was dressed in forest green, with black slacks, and a matched jacket. His gold pocket watch gleamed in the soft light, as he pulled it out and checked the time. 8:56pm. The auction would be starting soon.
Mick returned to the table, a full glass of whiskey in his hand. "I've a new strategy for surviving the evening," he announced as he sat down.
"Oh?" Josef quirked a brow.
"Get drunk," Mick stated, and tossed the entire glass back with a flick of his wrist.
Josef snorted. "Mick, you have no appreciation for the fine arts…if it were up to you, we'd be shooting pool right now, wouldn't we?"
"Yup." Mick rose from the table again, heading once more to the bar.
Josef called softly after him, "Bring me another scotch."
As Mick made his way back to their table with the drinks, the lamps along the perimeter dimmed, sending the room into semi-darkness. Mick sat down, sliding Josef his scotch, while the audience clapped politely as the proprietor walked across the stage. The younger vampire stifled another yawn.
The portly owner of the club raised his hands, bowing his head to the audience, "Thank-you. Thank-you ladies, gentlemen. If you would all please take your seats, the auction will now begin."
Those still standing, wandering the room, returned to their tables, as the audience quieted. Mick shot Josef an exasperated look, "And I thought this couldn't get any worse."
"Hush." Josef leaned forward in his seat, excited.
The proprietor clapped his hands. "Welcome to The Royale's annual Auction of Fine Art and Sculpture, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Leonard Wood, and I am the owner of this establishment. I hope you have had a pleasant evening so far."
"No," Mick murmured under his breath.
Josef glared at him, "Behave," he whispered.
Mick grumbled to himself and settled back in his chair.
Leonard Wood was still speaking, "The Royale has managed to gather quite an impressive collection for you to bid on tonight. All proceeds from the auction, as you know, are donated to our fine city's public services, with 10 percent of all profits going to this club for hosting this annual charity event."
The audience clapped politely.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I am pleased to introduce our auctioneer for the evening, Mr. Arthur McCoy."
The audience applauded again, as Wood left the podium, and a tall, slender man entered the stage from the right.
He stepped up to the microphone. "Good evenin, folks," he drawled. "Well, I see no point talkin away at you up here. Let's begin, shall we? Our first item for bid is…"
And so the auction began. Piece after piece was shown to the audience…bids were shouted, money spent, and drinks consumed. Josef bid on a couple of items, won a few, lost a few. Mick yawned continuously and did a poor job of feigning interest.
Until suddenly he sat up straight in his chair, glancing with his first real excitement at the stage all night. A Picasso was being settled on the easel, as the auctioneer described the item.
"Now this one is a real classic, people. A genuine Pablo Picasso. Painted in 1905—a rare treasure from his Rose period. The painting is titled, "Lady With a Fan," and I do believe this lady wants to go home with one of you fine gentlemen tonight." The painting depicted a woman set against a green background in a blue dress. One hand was raised, as though in greeting, the other was at her side, holding a closed, black fan.
Mick turned to Josef, "I like that one."
Now it was Josef's turn to groan, and pinch the bridge of his nose discreetly. "Tell me you do not admire Picasso." Trust Mick to gum onto the one artist the elder vampire didn't really care for.
"Don't you?" Mick asked.
"Let's start the bidding at $500,000," Arthur said.
Mick's number shot into the air instantly. The auctioneer called out, "We have $500,000 ladies and gentlemen. Do I hear $550?"
Mick turned to Josef as the auction continued. "Um…Do I have five hundred thousand dollars, Josef?"
"No."
Mick choked on his whiskey.
"I knew it!" Josef said. "You don't read your quarterly reports. If you did, you'd know I was lying. Of course you have five hundred thousand. Much more, in fact."
"That wasn't funny, Josef."
"I know, it was hilarious. I wish I had camera, so I could've taken a picture of your face."
The auctioneer called in the background, "Do I hear $700? $700,000 thousand, ladies and gents…?"
Mick asked, "How much am I worth, Josef?"
Josef took out a small slip of paper, and ball point pen, wrote the figure down, folded the paper in half and slid it across the table to Mick.
Mick opened it, eyes widening at the number of zeros. "You're joking!" His voice rose, and some people sitting around them glanced in their direction, "I can't have that much money!"
"Lower your voice. I'm not, and you do. What did you expect when you asked me to handle your portfolio?"
A few women who had overheard the conversation were now eyeballing Mick appreciatively. One caught the young vampire's eye, and gave him a slow, sultry smile. Mick gave a little wave to her.
"$900,000 thousand to the gentleman in the brown sports coat," the auctioneer called.
Mick choked on his whiskey again.
"Truly folks, your generosity is overwhelming. Do I hear $925 for this masterpiece? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity…don't let this fine work slip away…$925? Anyone? $900,000 going once…going twice…and sold to number 2931 for the generous sum of $900,000 thousand dollars. Thank you, sir."
Mick stared at Josef flabbergasted, "I just spent nearly a million bucks on oil, wood, and canvas."
"Welcome to the art world, my friend. You've made me proud." Josef beamed at him.
"I've made me sick, I think." Mick made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat.
"Please don't vomit." Josef scooted a bit away from the table. Mick's face looked as green as the background of the Picasso he had just won. Josef reassured him, "That's just pocket change for you. Besides, it's for a good cause…your money will help hospitals, police, firemen. Think of all the lives you just saved."
Mick's face brightened. "Yeah…" He smiled, more relaxed. "Okay, this is fun."
"I told you so." Josef was pleased. He liked attending these sorts of affairs with a companion. Maybe if Mick enjoyed the rest of the evening he would come with Josef to another auction in the future.
The hours passed, as the night grew long. Mick bid on a few more pieces…he won a Van Gogh, and another Picasso.
Finally, they neared the end of the auction. McCoy spoke into the microphone, "Only three items left to bid for, folks. But they are all well worth the wait. The first of the final three comes from the beginning of the Impressionist period."
Josef sat up straighter. He was particularly fond of Impressionist paintings, and there had been precious few to bid on tonight.
Arthur McCoy continued, "This is a famous piece madams, monsieurs. From the French painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir, a true master of art, "Moulin de la Galette" painted 1876." The painting was carried out and placed on the stand on stage.
Josef gazed into the scene of people dancing, sitting, laughing and talking amidst the trees and hanging lanterns. A memory of a different time and place swirled to the forefront of his mind…
~France~The Butte Montmartre~1875~
"Really, William, if you admire the girl so much, you should ask her to dance with you."
Josef smiled, "Perhaps." He was seated with his friend at one of the more popular dance gardens. The night was still young, the silver crescent moon and stars shining down on the dancing, carousing crowds, as the people laughed and twirled the evening away.
Josef had one eye on his friend, and the other on a lovely young lady seated on a bench under one of the trees, sipping at her punch. Her brunette curls were pulled stylishly off from her face, black, embroidered gloves covered her hands. She wore a simple, deep blue dress, with black trim. Ebony lace spilled from her dress's cuffs and collar. Peeking barely out from underneath the hem of her long skirt were the pointed dark tips of her shoes.
Josef turned his full attention back to his companion, "What do you think, Pierre? Would you paint her?"
Renoir examined the lady in question more closely. "Eh…she is too skinny. Put some meat on her bones and she would make a well enough model."
Josef turned his gaze back to the woman.
Pierre blew smoke from his cigarette in Josef's face, "Ah, l'amour. I think you are in love with her, William."
Josef snorted, "Hardly." But he didn't move his eyes from the girl.
"Oui, I think you are. You have that gleam in your eyes."
Josef turned away from the vision of feminine beauty. "Do I?" he said absentmindedly.
"Oh, very much so, my friend. I think she would not mind if you si tu lui demandes de danser avec toi." ~Asked her to dance with you.~
"It wouldn't be proper. She is unattended. There is no one to introduce us. Think of the scandal."
"What is France, if not scandalous, mon ami? Ask her."
Still, Josef hesitated. Pierre might be able to brush off scandal, but Josef conducted business in France. He could not afford to lose a potential client because his name had been splashed in the papers. He sipped at his wine, watching the young woman, thinking.
Renoir suddenly straightened, and pointed, "There, there. You see? The mademoiselle is attended."
A young man, appearing no older than 28 had joined the girl on the bench, with his own glass of punch. His tie was a bit loosened, and his hair a bit disheveled. He was talking animatedly to the young lady, as she gazed at him with affection.
"It's no use, Pierre. Surely that is her beau." Josef started to turn away with a sigh.
Pierre jabbed his cigarette at him, "Have you not heard the expression, Carpe Diem? Don't assume, William. I kick you away from my table. Go, go. Introduce yourself." The artist snatched the glass of wine from the vampire's hand, and downed it. "You have nothing to drink, mon ami. Now, you must dance."
Josef laughed. "Oh, all right then. Have it your way." He rose from their table.
"At last you are learning wisdom, my friend. Bien. I will watch you with great amusement from here." The recently famed painter leaned back in his wooden seat and smoked away at his cigarette.
Josef weaved his way through the crowds, approaching the young couple on the bench. They were engrossed in their conversation, conversing fluently in rapid French. With his enhanced senses, Josef could hear what they were saying. Apparently, the young gentleman was revering the lady with an anecdote.
"—Le professeur s'est retourné et Philippe a sifflé encore une fois. Le vieux vautour ne pouvait pas le supporter. Il a donné un blâme à la entière." ~The professer turned around again, and Philippe would whistle once more. The old vulture couldn't stand it. He gave the whole class demerits.~
The girl answered him, her voice a clear and ringing bell, as she playfully swatted at the gentleman, who easily dodged her hands. "Oh, Nicolas! Quelle mauvaise blague de Philippe. Vraiment, vous devez m'autoriser de vous rendre visite à Paris." ~Oh, Nicolas! How awful of Philippe. Really, you must allow me to visit you in Paris.~
The young gentleman grinned, "Peut-être un jour, ma chère soeur. Mais je ne crois pas que vous aimeriez l'université. C'est trop vieux jeu pour quelqu'un comme vous." ~Maybe one day, sister. But I do not think you would like the university. It is too stuffy for one such as yourself.~
Josef's attention and hopes increased as the word soeur drifted on the light breeze to his ears. So he is not her beau, he is her brother…
He reached the two on the bench. Josef caught a glimpse of the girl's captivating green eyes before the brother realized Josef's presence, and rose, positioning himself protectively in front of his sister. "Bonsoir, Monsieur." ~Good evening, sir.~
"Bonsoir," Josef replied politely. He spoke fluent French, "Comme je passais, je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher d'entendre par hasard une partie de votre conversation." ~As I was passing by, I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation.~ Josef paused for a moment, and then offered his hand, "Excusez-moi, mon nom est Guillaume, Guillaume Schweitzer." ~Excuse me. My name is William, William Schweitzer.~
After a slight hesitation, and a suspicious glance over, the brown-haired gentleman relaxed somewhat, and shook Josef's hand, "Enchanté de faire votre connaissance, Guillaume. Je suis Nicolas Chazal et voici ma soeur Marianne." ~Pleased to make your acquaintance, William. I'm Nicolas Chazal, and this is my sister, Marianne.~
Nicolas had a strong grip, and Josef was impressed. "Vous ai-je bien entendus? Etudiez-vous à l'université à Paris? Qu'étudiez-vous, si je puis vous demander?" ~Did I overhear you correctly? You attend University in Paris? What do you study, if I may ask?~
Nicolas seemed more than willing to converse. "Oui. J'étudie la musique et le Latin dans la capitale." ~Yes. I study music and Latin in the capital.~
"Qu'est-ce qui vous amène à Montmartre?" ~What brings you to Montmartre?~
Nicolas smiled, and indicated his sister with a nod of his head. "Je rends visite à ma famille pour les vacances d'été" ~I am visiting my family for the summer holidays.
Josef nodded. "Ah. Très bien. Votre soeur est très belle. Puis-je avoir votre permission de lui demander de danser avec moi?" ~Ah, very good. Your sister is very beautiful. May I have your permission to ask her if she would dance with me?~
Nicolas gave him a longer, more thorough glance over, and then stepped aside from standing in front of his sister. "Bien entendu." ~Of course.~
"Merci." ~Thank-you.~Josef crossed the grass to where Marianne was seated with easy, smooth steps. She smiled shyly at him.
"Puis-je avoir cette dense, Mademoiselle?" ~May I have this dance, young lady?~
Her irises shone, warm and shy up at him, as she placed her delicately gloved hand in his outstretched fingertips, "J'en serais ravie, Monsieur." ~I would be delighted, sir.~
Josef swept her out onto the night lawn, effortlessly flowing into the rhythm of the music, and the movement of the other dancers. Marianne stumbled a bit in his arms, "Je suis désolée. Je suis une mauvaise danseuse." ~I am sorry. I am a clumsy dancer.~
Josef smiled at her, "Non. Vous avez trébuché seulement parce que vous essayez de mener. Détendez-vous et permettez-moi de vous guider. Suivez mes pas." ~No. You only stumble, because you are trying to lead me. Relax, and allow me to guide you. Follow my steps.~
Marianne blushed shyly and did as instructed. Instantly, their dancing smoothed. Josef was pleased to find, that when not trying to lead, Marianne was a splendid dancer, light, if not perfectly graceful, on her feet. Her posture was good, her head held high and elegant, as she twirled and spun with him.
Josef asked her, curious, "Parlez-vous anglais?" ~Do you speak any English?~
She dipped her head briefly, "Oui, a little. Poor Nicolas doesn't know a word of English, I'm afraid. He has no patience for any language but Latin. My friends and I decided to learn English so we could speak freely in his presence. He is a bit over protective."
"He seems a smart fellow, and an attentive brother."
Marianne smiled, glancing fondly over her shoulder to where Nicolas was seated on the bench, sipping his punch, and watching them. "Yes, Nicolas dotes on me." She turned back to face him, a wicked gleam in her eyes, "Tell me, William, you did not just happen to wander by and overhear my brother's story, did you? I noticed you watching me earlier."
Beautiful and intelligent…Josef led her in time with the music, "I confess. My sole purpose was to have your brother introduce us. I don't really care that much for the University, or Paris."
Her green eyes laughed up at him, as her hand gripped his shoulder, "I thought so. Who is your friend you were sitting with? He seems familiar. I wish to thank him for encouraging you."
"That, my dear, is Pierre-Auguste Renoir."
Marianne gasped, "The artist?"
"The one and only." Josef winked at her.
"Oh, you must introduce me. I love his paintings. I saw his exhibit last year in London. His paintings are so captivating."
"That they are," Josef agreed. "I will promise to introduce you, but only if you promise to let me have another dance."
"You have an accord, Monsieur."
The vampire and the young lady laughed, as they enjoyed the dance and the crowds, and the evening together. Marianne's beautiful face positively shone in the moonlight, as Josef danced across the grass with her, under the hanging lanterns.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk upon his face. He struck a match and lit another cigarette, as he watched William dancing with the young lady his friend had so admired.
Renoir considered his friend. William always moved with such smoothness and grace. Even now he glided across the lawn, his tall form and narrow features drawing many an envious gaze from the ladies who were without a partner. The young woman in his arms complimented him in every way. The couple danced, eyes only for each other, and Pierre could see William talking and laughing with her.
It was good to see William so. Though Pierre had never seen his friend in a blue mood, there was a melancholy air about Schweitzer that the famous artist couldn't quite figure out. And that was not the only strange thing about William.
For instance, when did the boy eat? Pierre tapped ashes from his cigarette onto the ground. I have never seen that boy consume a single bite. There was also the question of where William disappeared to during the day…Renoir rarely saw his friend in the sunlight.
William had a startling, and impressive knowledge of history. He claimed to have learned the subject from his tutors in Germany, but sometimes he seemed to forget himself and let slip a comment that Renoir knew no history text would contain. William seemed older than his years…his eyes conveyed a wise spirit in a young man's body.
And how could Renoir forget that strange afternoon, when William had dropped by his studio around midday? Pierre had been shocked at the appearance of his friend. William had been ashen, his eyes sickly and yellow. He had stumbled into the artist's studio, and Pierre had hurried to his friend's side, concerned to find him burning with fever.
But William had waved aside his concerns, saying he was only here to see one of Renoir's models. The painter was confused. His friend needed to see a doctor…he was obviously delirious. He said as much to Schweitzer.
"No, no doctors. I need to see Solveig. Please, Pierre."
"Very well, you crazy German bastard." Renoir rose from the sofa where he had settled his friend, expecting William to remain lying there. Instead, the boy struggled to his feet, and followed him.
"William, where is your sense? Go, lie down. I will bring Solveig to you."
"No, I need to see her in private," his friend gasped, swaying and clutching at Pierre's shoulder for support.
Unprepared as he was for his friend's sudden weight, Renoir stumbled forward, catching himself on a table, and accidentally slicing his palm open on a blade he used to sharpen his charcoal. His blood flowed across his hand as he cursed, "Ah! Fichtre!" ~Damn!~
He suddenly noticed that William had gone very still, fingers tightening almost painfully around his arm. Pierre saw his friend's eyes were fixated on the cut on his hand, and the blood dripping from it. For some reason, Renoir suddenly felt as though he was in danger, and the hairs rose along the back of his neck. William was staring at his hand with an almost hungry expression, if Renoir didn't know any better. "Mon ami?"
His call seemed to rouse William from whatever trance he had entered. Schweitzer had blinked, swallowing thickly, and released the painter's arm. "Please…Solveig…hurry." He sank down into a nearby chair, resting his face in trembling hands.
Pierre hurried to the back rooms of his studio, where Solveig was lounging. He panted, confused and a little out of breath, I must stop eating so many pastries… "My dear, William is here, he wishes to speak with you. He seems very ill, he—"
Renoir didn't even get to finish his sentence, as Solveig gasped and leaped to her feet, rushing past him, leaving his head spinning. "Mon Dieu! Young people!" He threw up his hands, and made to follow his model.
When he found her, she was with William, and to Renoir's great bewilderment, his friend seemed much, much improved. He noticed Solveig had a rag pressed against her wrist, and for a moment, he thought he saw something startling in William's smile. But he blinked, and it was only his friend's usual cheerful countenance grinning at him, albeit tiredly. Renoir scoffed at himself, You are going crazy. William does not have fangs.
William rose, his usual grace restored, "I apologize for interrupting your work, Pierre."
"It is nothing, you are my friend. I think you must lie down here for a while."
Schweitzer waved a hand, "No, no. I'm fine now. It was just a touch of sun-sickness. I'm sensitive to the heat, you know. I'll return to my apartment and rest there."
Renoir nodded, "Bien. I will walk you home." He was curious to see where William lived in Montmartre. He hoped maybe he could wheedle some answers about the odd scene from his friend as they walked down the street together. William raised a hand frequently to block the sunlight from his face as Renoir pestered and questioned him, but it was no use. His friend only offered light, half-hearted teases and remained tight-lipped. It was with frustrated hopes that Renoir left him on the doorstep to his building.
William seemed to have put the incident behind him, but Pierre had never forgotten the strange scene, or his friend's bizarre behavior and appearance that sunny afternoon. He often wondered what Solveig had done for his friend that had helped William recover so quickly.
As he watched William dancing now with the beautiful young lady, he reflected how his friend always seemed to come alive at night, as though it was in the darkness where he reveled and reached his full potential.
Renoir thought to himself, There is a mystery to you, mon ami. And one day I will discover it…but not tonight, I think. Tonight is for dancing.
The artist observed with a more critical eye the scene of the gardens…the couples dancing on the grass, the warm lanterns glowing, the crowds hanging backwards over chairs, straddling benches, shouting, calling, laughing, drinking. Perhaps I will return sometime during the day and paint this…He liked the idea. Yes, that is what I will do.
He watched William dance. Thank you for the inspiration, my friend.
The dancing was winding down. Marianne's cheeks were flushed with laughter and from the exercise. Josef led her to the side of the green lawn tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
"You are a fine dancer," he complimented.
"You are too kind, Monsieur. I was awful. But you were not so bad," Marianne teased.
Josef found that he liked Marianne very much. She was well educated in art, and they had discovered they both shared a love for Impressionist works. Marianne thought it a bold and refreshing new movement, and Josef agreed. Her voice captivated his attention, her opinions and critiques were intelligent and insightful. She could carry a conversation with ease, and freely discussed art, music and literature with him as they had swayed in each other's arms.
Their evening was drawing to a close—Josef only wished he had asked Marianne to dance with him sooner. Her brother was signaling to her that it was time to leave.
Marianne seemed disappointed. She turned to Josef, "You never introduced me to Monsieur Renoir," she said, a little sadly.
Josef gently turned her chin up so that her eyes met his. "I apologize, Mademoiselle. I lost track of the time. Tomorrow, I will come for you and show you my friend's studio, and you will meet him then, yes?"
Marianne's emerald eyes sparkled at the prospect of meeting the famous painter, and at seeing Josef again. "If Nicolas agrees."
"I will wait for you at the Café Seine. At 3:00?"
"Yes. That would be magnifique, Monsieur."
Josef placed a soft kiss to the back of her hand, and then bowed, "Until then. I am pleased to have met you, Marianne."
"And I, you." Marianne blushed a little, and then turned away and hurried to her brother's side. He put an arm around her waist as they walked together from the gardens, Marianne chatting excitedly with her brother.
Josef remained standing where he was, watching Marianne's retreating figure. He sighed wistfully…What am I doing? I can't be involved with a mortal…
He heard a chuckle at his shoulder, "Ah yes, there is no denying it, William. You are smitten."
Josef smiled and turned to face Pierre-Auguste Renoir who had come up behind him, "If I am, it is your fault, you old matchmaker."
"I will take full credit. Tell me, when is the wedding?" Renoir teased his seemingly young friend.
Josef laughed. "Don't be so hasty. She wants me to introduce you to her."
"Bien. I will her steal her away from you, fatten her up, and use her as a model for my paintings."
Josef grinned, shaking his head. "Never, my friend." He stared after Marianne, watching as she turned around one last time and waved at him before her brother assisted her into a carriage. Josef raised his hand in return.
Renoir watched the exchange with interest. "You know, I will paint this scene, I think."
Josef was pleased to hear that. "You know how I admire your work."
"I will paint Moulin de la Galette for you then." Renoir smiled, and clapped Josef on the back, "Come, let us go find us some wine."
The two friends turned and plunged back into the swirling crowds…
~Los Angeles~1963~
"This is the planet Earth calling Josef…Hello…? Are you listening to me?" Mick waved his hand in front of Josef's face, snapping his friend from his reverie.
Arthur McCoy called, "And we have $850,000 from the gentleman in the brown sports coat."
Josef blinked and shook himself. "Sorry. What's the bid?"
"Well, I just bid eight hundred fifty thousand apparently, waking you up…Where did you go?"
Josef smiled, "The painting stirred a fond memory is all."
"Let me guess, you knew the artist."
"Yes, actually."
Mick choked on his whiskey for a third time that evening. "I was joking, Josef."
"I wasn't." Josef raised his number and shouted, "One million."
Mick swallowed his ice cube whole. Josef pounded him on the back, as an astonished murmur ran through the crowd.
McCoy recovered quickly, "We have a bid of one million dollars ladies, gents, on this beautiful Renoir masterpiece. Do I have someone willing to bid one million, one hundred thousand? No? One million, one hundred thousand folks…One million, going once…"
"One million, one hundred thousand." A voice called out from somewhere in the crowd.
"We have one-million one-hundred thousand, do we have—"
Josef called out again, "One million, two hundred." Mick gaped at him.
"My, my. This item is hot, folks. The bid is now at one million, two hundred thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen. Do I hear one million three hundred?"
The same voice called out from the audience, "One million, three hundred."
Before Arthur McCoy could say anything, Josef shouted, "Two million."
Excited murmurs broke across the room, as people twisted in their seats to get a glimpse of Josef. Mick was mouthing at him, Two million…his eyes were wide as saucers. Josef was prepared to spend much more than that, in order to acquire the painting.
Arthur whistled into the microphone. "A handsome bid, sir. Do I have two million, one hundred thousand?"
Josef waited to see if his competitor would bid again, but there was only silence from the audience.
"Two million going once…Two million going twice…sold to number 2932 for two million dollars, the largest bid of the evening, so far. Los Angeles thanks you, sir."
Josef smiled. The Renoir was his. At last, he had found Moulin de la Galette again.
Later that night he held the painting in his study. He would have to find it a spot in his mansion where he could admire it every day. There were a few places he thought where it would fit nicely. Either in his library, or perhaps out in the foyer…
Josef smiled down at the painting, his friend truly had possessed genius. Pierre had captured perfectly the scene of the dance garden. The painting echoed his memories—not anywhere striking a false note.
It had taken over a year for Renoir to finish his painting. During that time, Pierre had eventually discovered "William's" true nature. Josef smiled and chuckled softly to himself, recalling the stunned expression on Pierre's face, when the artist had realized that the majority of his models also acted as Josef's freshies. The elder vampire hadn't been surprised his friend had been able to match the puzzle pieces together. It had been Pierre's livelihood to observe the world around him, to see things, to notice.
And to capture with his brushes. Josef stared at the three dancing couples left of the center of the Impressionist masterpiece. Of the three pairs, only one held special significance to him.
A young lady—wearing a dark blue dress with black trim and ebony lace, her brown locks curling down around her neck, swaying in the arms of a light-haired, slender gentleman, whose mouth was very close to the girl's throat.…Marianne…
And William.
Finis
Well, I hope you readers of mine found this interesting. Reviews are welcome! ; )
p.s. I have decided to continue this...it will be a short story, around 5 chapters I think.