TUESDAY TALES - FLOWER

 

Welcome! This week our word prompt is "flower". I have more from my quirky story,  tentatively titled "The Painting." When you're done, hop on over to read the excellent stories by the other authors. Find them HERE. 

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You’ll never see that painting,” her mother said.

“And I doubt you’ll see a grand for your share, either,” her father added.

“Aren’t you two cheery optimists,” Sandy said.

“We’re realists,” Florence said. “He’s not going to give that up to a Jew.”

“Your mother’s right. He’ll accuse you of holding him up for money. Of being a money-grubbing shylock. Then he’ll keep the painting and stiff you.”

“You don’t know that,” Sandy said, shifting slightly in her seat.

“Mark my words,” Ed said, nodding.

“Any man with three names – can’t be good.”

The pilot came on the loudspeaker and family conversation ceased. Her parents’ words echoed in her head. What if they were right?

“As long as I get the painting, I don’t care what he thinks of Jews.”

“That’s what they said in Nazi Germany,” Florence mumbled.

“Ma!”

“Same idea.”

Sandy pulled a book up on her phone, but her mind kept going back to that morning at the art show. Mr. Reid Carpenter Clark reeked of money. Sandy knew expensive clothes when she saw them. After all, her family had been in the “rag” or garment business for two generations.

And the way he tossed around a thousand bucks, like it was nothing, meant either he was a phony or had money. She suspected the latter. His hair was perfectly cut, his nails trimmed. The only thing missing was a flower in his lapel. If he hadn’t glared at her, she might have considered him handsome.

A man with three names who smelled of money, probably old money, hinted strongly, of antisemitism. By age thirty-seven, she’d developed a sixth sense about these things. As a single woman, she had to evaluate guys quickly. Get where they were coming from.  

Sandy wanted to get married, but to a Jew. Not that she’d admit that to her mother. Marrying a Christian would kill her parents. She smiled to herself.

“Cause of death? Daughter marrying out of the faith. Sandy Katz, you’re under arrest.”

  She’d valiantly pursued finding a nice Jewish man but failed. Now thirty-seven, she hadn’t given up, but a bit of skepticism had crept in.

So the question about probably antisemitic Mr. Reid Carpenter Clark wasn’t if he was an eligible bachelor, but would he turn the painting over to her? She chewed her lip. A text from said Christian art lover interrupted her thoughts. 

   Returning to NYC tomorrow. Let’s discuss sharing the painting. Unless you want the thousand.

She replied.

Don’t want the money. Where do you want to meet and when?

He replied.

Thursday. Dog run. Riverside Park at 72^nd. 1pm sharp.

She said,

Fine.

Share the painting? How do you share a painting? She raised her eyebrows. Mr. Reid Carpenter Clark couldn’t be all bad if he owned a dog, could he? At least he didn’t disappear. 

That's all for today. Thanks for stopping by.