"She reminds me of you, the first time I saw you, with your head pressed to your table. I didn't expect you to speak to me; I thought you were ignoring the outside world. I'm glad you did, though," a soft, male voice said, jolting me out of my introspection. "Why does it bother you so, that I've got all this art?"
I turned and saw Loki sitting in one corner of the couch; his eyes met mine with curious inquiry. I flopped heavily into the couch's opposite corner and held his gaze as I replied, "It's not yours. No matter how good your fakes are, they're still fakes. You've got the real ones squirreled away." I shoved my hand into the empty right pocket and pulled out its lining to emphasis my point. "When's the last time you took a moment in front of a work and imagined yourself with the artist during the process? Or as the intended audience, knowledgeable of all possible innuendos? When a single brushstroke made the difference between just-a-painter and an Artist? How can you have all of these wonderful works and be so nonchalant? I...don't understand."
"I'll have you know that I do spend a good amount of time among my collection. It's just, um, not as organized as I'd like it," he said with a sigh. "And you make a passionate argument. Allow me to explain my reasons. Please."
I sniffed, "I don't know. How can I trust that you're telling me the real story? You've managed to dance around giving me a single straight answer all day. What could you possibly say now that would make me believe you?"
Loki inhaled, but didn't immediately reply. I turned my gaze to The Needlewoman, half-expecting her to glance up from the force of my stare. My left hand drifted into Steve's left pocket; I rubbed the frame's corner with surprisingly steady fingers. As I felt the checkered surface, my eyes fell to The Needlewoman's frame. A gilded, checkerboard border was the outermost edge, and the two inches beyond were smooth and dark. Golden scrollwork carved deep into the innermost edge hugged the canvas. I've seen this painting dozens of times. Why am I getting the very strange sense that I'm missing something very important? I caressed the cool wood in Steve's pocket again.
Holy. Shit.
Is that a Velasquez in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? I giggled quietly before choking off the sound. "Loki-"
"Nell, I've been causing mischief for longer than you've existed. I've met artists and poets and playwrights. I've traveled this world and countless others. My cloak was my constant companion. It's never acted like this. Not once.
"I started collecting art a, um, relatively short time ago. At first, I took indiscriminately, my choices based upon what would rankle the humans most. Then, as your skills evolved, my tastes did also. I developed a bit of a soft spot for struggling artists. The ones who were repeatedly told that they were unworthy of praise or patronage. I guess you could say that I, ah, identified with them, with their quests for approval.
"So I took pieces that I loved, by artists who were not, at least as far as I judged, appreciated enough by their peers and contemporaries. It was my intention to keep their works safe until such a time arose that their talents would be appreciated. It's been so long since I've thought about my original intentions.
"I think the time has come to honor them. And I believe I have my cloak to thank. It found you. In turn, you've helped me rediscover a long forgotten purpose.
"Thank you, Nell," Loki said.
"Wow. I was not expecting that," I deadpanned. "So, what now? Globe trotting and making exchanges? Speaking of which, this, um, thing in my pocket? It's a painting, isn't it?"
"Oh, Nell, stop playing coy. I actually find it quite serendipitous that you stopped in this particular gallery, after wandering through so many others."
"Well, there are couches in here, to be fair. And by serendipitous, do you mean that the painting in my pocket is in this room?"
"I think you've gathered exactly which one it is, Miss Keavy, and now you're trying to get me to spell it out for you. Make your guess; I'll tell you if it's the right one."
I narrowed my eyes in mock concentration. Standing was more difficult than I anticipated; the couch springs needed replacing. I glanced at Murillo's two women, whose jovial countenances gave me confidence. The corner of frame in my left pocket knocked into my wrist as I swung my arm lightly past it. I am 90% sure that the real Velasquez is in this pocket. My feet stopped in front of The Needlewoman, barely two feet from the painting. Moment of truth, Nell. Put up or shut up. I groped at my left hip, my fingers dancing around the intended target. When they finally found the corner of wood, I let out the breath I was unaware that I held. I gripped the corner and pulled. And kept pulling. This didn't seem that large...And it's much lighter than I expected. After a few more seconds, the painting was free of its woolen confines. I readjusted my grip on its corner and grabbed the opposite one. In my hands, I held a genuine Velasquez. Check off that box from the bucket list. I looked down at The Needlewoman, half-expecting the perspective to have changed based upon my current view.
"I knew you'd get it right," Loki said, interrupting my train of thought.
I looked over my left shoulder at him. He still sat at the far end of the couch, his arms resting along the back and side.
"How does this work? Do I just-" I mimed tossing the priceless painting at the wall.
Loki leaped to his feet at my gesture, "Have some respect!" He grabbed at the frame, but instead of yanking it from my grasp, he just ran his long fingers down its side. "You were joking, weren't you?"
I snorted, "It's an authentic work by Diego Velasquez. Of course I'm not throwing it at the wall. I'm not an uncultured simpleton."
Loki smiled to himself and laughed softly, "Just hang it on the wall. Over the copy. They should just...fuse."
"But how will it stay on the wall?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Well, the copy may be false, but its mountings are not. The true work will fit right into place."
Is this the truth, Steve? I felt a light pressure on my right elbow. If you say so. I stepped closer to the wall and raised the painting to just above my eye level. As I moved it towards its double, my arms started trembling with nervous energy. I stood on the tips of my toes in order to line up the frame properly. The painting wobbled in my hands, not quite even with its partner.
"Give me a hand? You're taller," I requested. Instead of a reply, I felt a very solid body press against my back. Loki's arms reached around me to hold the frame. His palms brushed over the backs of my fingers, hovering without crushing them.
"Easy does it, Nell," he said, the low sound originating from somewhere above my right ear. Together, we reached up a little farther and felt the top of the frame connect with the wall. Our hands slid down the frame in tandem, letting The Needlewoman rest gently against the wall, sinking into its double until there was only one. Loki dropped his hand and stepped back from me. I let my hands falls to my sides in a slow, downward arc.
It's back where it belongs. I exhaled, and my breath hitched in my throat as I fought back a sob. A tear welled out of my eye, but I ignored it. Instead, I looked at the Velasquez, the real Velasquez. I did it! I put it back and it's real and I know it's real and this is the best feeling and I want to be overwhelmingly happy as much as possible. Steve rubbed my arms. I glanced at the sleeves, which were now covered with the shapes of dark green fireworks. Guess you're happy when I'm happy, huh? Slapping my hands on my thighs, I sniffed back another tear and turned to Loki. He'd resumed his seat on the couch, but was now bent over, with his elbows on his knees and his angular chin in his hands. He stared very intently at the floor. I walked the few steps to stand in front of him, the thunk of my bootheels warning him of my approach.
"Thank you, Loki. For helping me. And for wanting to put it back. So...I'm giving Steve back to you," I said, untying the knot at my waist. Steve did not protest. I rolled my shoulders back and let the coat fall into my waiting hands. I caught it around the collar and dragged it in front of me to hand it over to Loki. "Here. Take it."
"After all this fuss, you're just handing it back? You could be dragging this out, trying to keep this very powerful, very magical thing."
"I figured that I've dragged this out long enough. I just want to go back to being the coat check girl. I don't need anymore adventures with a coat that isn't mine. And as much as I would absolutely love to return more of your art collection, I can't. I have a life. A roommate. A job. The joy of art won't fill my gas tank."
"You can't leave now, Nell! Things were just getting interesting. I remember...how I used to be. And it's been such fun trading verbal barbs with you. I've had a more enjoyable time in the past day with you than I've had in decades," Loki pleaded. He grabbed Steve, but made no move to pull him from my grasp. We held Steve gently between us for a moment, then Loki stood.
"Keep the coat for now; it's getting cold outside."
"Don't you get cold without it?" I asked.
"The cold doesn't really bother me much. Besides, you'll need it on our next journey," he replied, brushing past me on his way out of the gallery. I squinted at his retreating back. What the fuck? Now it's like he doesn't even want Steve back. I shook the coat open and pulled it on with a strange, easy grace. "Where are we going now?"
"I have a business proposition for you, Nell," he said over his shoulder.
"I hope it doesn't involve illegal activities or driving in the D.C. rush hour," I said under my breath.
"This is something best discussed over dinner. Do you like phở?"
