"Tina Wainscott - Dreams of You [rtf]" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wainscott Tina)

Adrian drove along Oceanview Drive with the top down on his rented Mustang, even though a cold front had blown in the night before. To a New Yorker, driving a convertible in November was like cheating Mother Nature. The sun-washed sky melded into the teal ocean, itself covered in white caps. On the left, Palm Beach's mansions of glory rose tall and proud to take in the view.
Palm fronds whipped in the stiff breeze, reminding him of a little girl making a sandcastle. Adrian pulled into the driveway of the house he'd rented for his assignment last week. Everything was just as he'd left it a few days ago; even the shell necklace the Spanish girl had sold him still hung from the key hook. He wondered if he would have ended up like that, selling trinkets for money; his mother believed marrying Elio had saved them from that fate. Which fate was worse? Being homeless or getting beaten up?
Adrian sectioned off the map of the area, then pulled the four sheets of yellowed paper from his briefcase. He'd done the drawings a year ago when he worried that he might someday forget what Madame Blue looked like. They were all he had of her. Them, and the gallery he'd seen her walk into in one of his visions. That's where he would start.
It took only a few questions of the locals to pinpoint where the gallery was. The Wharf was what he would call an artsy-fartsy tourist stop with quaint souvenir shops, galleries, and cafes. It was in West Palm Beach and, despite the name and dockside appearance, actually sat across the street from the Intracoastal. Weathered gray planking and railings were accented by groups of pilings roped together and occasionally topped with a pelican, real or otherwise.
He had never seen the name of the gallery, but there were only five of them in the plaza. He spotted the fishing nets, the green Chinese float, and the basket of painted sand dollars out front. The Garcia Gallery.
This was it. Adrian had been here before, through Madame Blue's eyes. He buried his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and walked inside. A string of silver bells on the door tinkled as they announced his entrance. The disappointment he felt as he looked around the cozy shop made him realize he'd subconsciously been expecting to see Madame Blue behind the white counter. The Latin man in his forties, straightening a painting in the far corner, was a poor substitute. But maybe he could help find her. The thin man turned at the sound of the bells and walked over to greet him.
"Hello, welcome to my gallery. I am Ulyssis Garcia. If you have any questions, please ask. Everything is done by local artists. A lot of talent, eh?" he asked, proudly gesturing with his arms.
Adrian nodded, reaching into the band of his jeans to pull out the sketches.
"Ah, you are an artist?" Ulyssis asked.
Adrian couldn't help the smile. "No, these aren't nearly good enough to sell. I'm a photographer from New York, and I met a young woman while on a shoot here about four years ago." Adrian touched his hand to his heart. "I haven't forgotten her, and now that I'm back in the area; I wanted to look her up. Unfortunately, I've lost her name and address. All I know is that she brought me here once. I thought perhaps you could help."
"Anything to help lovers," he said, leaning over to look at the drawings.
Adrian pulled the sketch of Madame Blue's face from the bottom. He hadn't brought the photograph because it was so obscured. "Have you seen her lately?"
Ulyssis's pleasant expression dripped away with such suddenness, Adrian pulled the sketch away. The owner grabbed a nearby rag and turned to dust the frame behind him. His profile revealed a sharp nose and tightened lips.
"No, I have never seen anyone like that." After a second, he turned back to face Adrian. With a wave of his hand, he said, "A thousand people come through here every week. If that woman did come in, especially four years ago, I don't remember."
Ulyssis seemed to put on a polite mask, but his posture remained rigid. Adrian leaned against the counter casually, not wanting to upset the man or sound like a cop.
"Sure, I understand. How long have you owned this shop, anyway?"
"Ten years." Ulyssis kept wiping the top of the gold frame over and over.
"Does anyone work for you?"
Ulyssis gave him a sidelong glance. "In season I hire someone to open up for me a couple of days a week." He nodded toward the sketch and shook his head. "I have never hired anyone who looked like that."
Adrian slowly folded the sketches again, forcing a smile. "You should. It might help business." He casually perused the wall of paintings beside him. Instinct told Adrian to drop the subject. Even with his back to Ulyssis, he could feel the man's eyes on him.
Adrian made his slow way around the gallery, and with a sigh, turned toward the door. Just a few feet away, a collection of black-and-white photographs caught his eye. An eerie feeling of familiarity washed over him. The prints themselves were poignant-the human side of the homeless. Uncomfortable to him particularly, because it was a state he and his mother had come close to after his father died. A peach card stated the photographer as Nicolina.
Ulyssis was furiously wiping at a spot on the counter when Adrian turned to ask, "Who is this Nicolina?"
"I don't remember. Those pictures have been there for five years." The man flipped his hand as if to dismiss them.
Adrian cocked an eyebrow. "And you've kept them up there all this time?"
"I've sold a few. The woman never came back to pick up her money." Ulyssis took a quick, impatient breath. "Why take them down? I might as well try to sell them."
"They're good. Very good. She's got some admirable techniques. I'd like to meet her, exchange ideas."
"I told you, she hasn't come back in almost five years. I have no idea where she is."
Adrian reached up and pulled one of the black frames off the wall. An old black man stood next to a baby stroller filled with what looked like his life possessions: a cup, a book, and some clothing. He had one foot propped on an old bench and was conversing with absolutely no one. The words at the bottom made his throat go dry. Just because no one will listen does not make me silent. A shiver worked its way down his back.
"I'll take this one."
Ulyssis tensed, as if he contemplated whether to sell it to him.
"It is for sale, isn't it?" Adrian pushed, pulling out a fifty from his eel skin wallet and setting it on the counter.
"Of course. ItЕ it just happens to be my favorite. I mean, I've gotten so used to it being there all these years."
Ulyssis placed the picture gently in tissue and handed Adrian the sealed box.
"I hope you enjoy it. And I'm sorry I couldn't help you withЕ" He nodded toward Adrian's stomach, where the sketches lay against his skin. "Perhaps she was just a tourist."
Ulyssis's smile was far from the genuine one Adrian had received when he first walked in the gallery. The man was hiding something, and Adrian had a feeling it had to do with Madame Blue. The thought made him crazy.
As soon as he reached his car, Adrian opened the box and looked at the picture again. Something about it reached out and took his heart in a firm hold. He stepped out of the car and walked back to the gallery. The bells on the door tinkled pleasantly. Ulyssis's smile faded when he saw who his customer was.
"I want the rest of them."
Ulyssis's dark brown eyes widened. "Of those?" He pointed to the collection of nine pictures with a gaping hole in the middle.
"Yes."
"I see. Well, of course. I will wrap them up for you."
Ulyssis slid a glance to Adrian every few minutes as he wrapped up each picture and set it in a larger box. He quickly taped the box shut and handed it to Adrian along with a receipt.
"I hope you enjoy them," he said with a forced politeness.
Adrian gave his most charming smile and said in a soft voice, "I will." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "If for some reason Nicolina shows up, will you give this to her? She has talent, and I can make her very successful with it."
Ulyssis gave the card a thorough once-over. "I doubt she'll come in," he said, tucking the card beneath the cash register.
"You just never know."
Nikki wrapped her gray wool coat close around her as the frigid wind blasted her from over the ocean. The waves crashed in, creeping close to her faded boat shoes. The leather was already brittle from age and other assaults from salt water. They were the only shoes she had, save for a white pair of Keds.
She closed her eyes, smiling, ignoring her shivers. It wasn't often that her long hair was loose and free to be caressed by the wind. After a few moments her fear won over, and she tied a band around it and tucked it under the hood of her shawl again; If someone recognized herЕ she didn't want to think about that. Nikki knew she should cut her hair short, but she couldn't bear to part with that one little bit of her identity. The rest of her had been stripped away in the space of a minute.
The worst part was that she hadn't made peace with her mother before she'd died. The day before, Nikki had talked of moving out of the family mansion, and again, Blossom had used every manipulative power she possessed to get Nikki to stay a little longer. Why did she want Nikki to stay if she disgraced her mother so? She should have asked. But Nikki had been afraid that the answer wouldn't be the affirmation she sought so desperately from Blossom.
That morning as they left for the fair, with the vibes so stressed between her and Blossom, Nikki had resolved to reach out to her again, try to make her understand, to risk the rejection Blossom so readily dispensed. She'd planned to take her mother's hand at the fair and give her a smile that showed she loved her. If only she'd had a few more hours with her, if only she'd knownЕ
She pushed that thought from her mind, reminding herself that it was peace she sought at the ocean, not regrets. It was a risk going there, she knew that. It was only a few days ago that she'd been down there, but the ocean called to her so often. Here, she fit in. The ocean, the seagulls, and the strangers never judged her, never expected anything from her. This was where she belonged.