change to Cherry Finch by simply saying, “I reframed it,” as though this were the most natural thing in the world. Because this strategy had been used at Sotheby’s before, Cherry assumed Lacey was implementing a standard practice, not, as Lacey believed, creating one. Lacey had connived to have the picture hung in the main gallery, near the star lot, a nearly perfect Homer watercolor of a trout squirming on a fishing line. She would pass by the picture during viewing hours to see who paused, who commented, who nodded. A particular couple, the Nathansons, had swung by the picture a few times and, quickly sizing her up as an employee, turned to Lacey, who had been eavesdropping.
“Do you know the condition of this picture?” they asked.
She was not supposed to answer floor questions, but she couldn’t resist. “It’s perfect,” she said. “We gave it a light cleaning, that was all.”
“Could we see it under a black light?”
“Certainly,” dared Lacey. “Just a moment.”
She dashed to the in-house phone and explained the situation to Cherry, overstating the haphazardness with which she happened to be gliding by. Because time spent with a painting created an interested buyer, Cherry was eager to have pictures flipped over, hefted, and examined. She told Lacey to bring the Avery to room 272, where a black light would be produced and Cherry, too, if she could make it.
Saul Nathanson—his suit was dapper, but his tie wasn’t—leaned back and looked at the picture as it hung on a universal nail in the cramped viewing room. His wife, Estelle, her hair a bit too orange but otherwise just as turned out as Saul, stood by, commenting.
“We knew Milton,” she said.
“Lovely guy,” said Saul. “Do you mind?” he said, indicating he would like to take the picture off the wall. He held up the picture and looked closely at it.
“He likes to hold pictures. I say why do you have to hold them?”
“She’s right,” Saul said amiably, “I don’t know what it means, but I do it.”
“You do it a lot,” said Estelle.
Saul grinned at Lacey. “See what I go through?” Then he turned his attention back to the painting. “Avery knew Rothko and Gottlieb. He may have influenced Rothko with his flat planes of color.”
Cherry Finch, slightly harried, opened the door. Cherry knew the Nathansons, so Lacey figured they must be regular customers. Everyone milled around the picture, and Cherry explained that it had never been on the market, which made Saul nod, pleased.
“When’s the sale?” asked Saul.
“Next Tuesday,” Cherry said as they began to exit the room.
Lacey, reminding them of her presence, said, “It’s a very beautiful picture, and a great year, 1946.” Cherry glanced at Lacey.
After the Nathansons left, Cherry turned to Lacey. “Lacey, some advice: You don’t have to sell paintings. All you have to do is put a good picture in front of a knowledgeable collector and stand back.”
10.
AS THE WEEK WENT ON, the public viewing of the American pictures drew only light crowds. Tanya Ross was officially on the floor, but Lacey made detours across the gallery, whenever possible, to promote the Avery when Tanya might lapse. Tanya—her back turned—was on the far side of the floor when Lacey came upon an unlikely customer, a young man, Jamaican, perhaps, his head circled in a scarf with sun-bleached dreadlocks piled on top, looking like a plate of soft-shell crabs. He was paused in front of the Avery.
“If you have any questions… ,” Lacey began.
The young man turned. “Who’s this?”
Sensing this was not a knowledgeable collector, Lacey went through her pitch: “American Modernist… America’s Matisse,” she spouted, and then threw in her latest slogan: “Deeply influenced Rothko.” Through Lacey’s compromised history, Avery now “had deeply” influenced Rothko rather than “may have.” The man didn’t have the savvy of the Nathansons, but there was still an aura of