The Misfortunes of Others Read Online Free PDF Page A

crumbly toast. “I know.”
    “One of us—I won’t say which one, My—one of us remarked days ago that color schemes were not Bernard’s strong suit. One of us.”
    “That wouldn’t be you, would it?”
    “And now my advice to you is to call in an expert. Somebody who can look at a color on a one-half-inch-square piece of paper and tell what it will look like covering a whole room. A gift which Bernard clearly does not possess.”
    “True.” Maya chewed thoughtfully. Her face lit up. “Oh, Weezy. Of course. I should call Weezy in. She has the most marvelous eye for that kind of thing. I was going to phone her today anyway.”
    “Now you’re thinking, Maya. Weezy would be perfect for this job. Give her my love when you talk to her.”
    “I will.” Maya reached for the kitchen phone and dialed. “Weezy? It’s me … fine, thanks. Well, not really, butSnooky is feeding me toast and I’m not feeling too terrible. Do you think you could do me an incredible favor? We have a bit of a problem here …”
    When Maya hung up the phone, she had a pleased expression on her face.
    “You look like a Siamese cat that just ate a bowl of cream,” said Snooky. “I assume she said yes?”
    “Of course. She’ll be over this afternoon.”
    Weezy Kaplan—her real name, which no one who knew her even casually ever used, was Louise—was one of Maya’s few childhood friends who had remained a friend throughout life. She was an artist with a small but growing reputation, and had moved to Ridgewood during the past year to get away from the frantic pace of life in Greenwich Village.
    “You can always count on Weezy.”
    “Yes.” Maya sounded relieved. “Thank you, Snooks. It was a good idea. It’s been years since you’ve seen her, hasn’t it?”
    “Five or six years. Maybe even more. How’s she doing?”
    “Great. Did you know there was an article on her work in
The New York Times
? About six months ago, in the Arts and Leisure section. All about how she’s an up-and-coming young artist. You know the kind of thing.”
    “Well, that’s wonderful. Famous Weezy. She must have been thrilled.”
    “Oh, she was, she was.” Maya tapped thoughtfully on her teacup with one finger.
    “What’s the matter?”
    She looked up, startled. “What?”
    “I said, what’s the matter?”
    “Oh …” She laughed. “Nothing, really. It’s just that since then … well, right around the time the article cameout, she started getting these weird phone calls. She picks up, and there’s nobody on the other end. It’s strange, if you ask me.”
    “Nobody on the other end? The caller hangs up?”
    “I don’t know. Nobody ever says anything.”
    “Maybe her phone line has a glitch or something, Missy.”
    “That’s what she keeps telling me, except that the phone company can’t find anything wrong. And it started happening right when that article came out on her. She says it’s not related, that I’m making too much of a fuss.”
    “I see. You know, they say pregnant women can get very paranoid and suspicious. That protective maternal thing, you understand.”
    Maya leaned her head on her hand. “Is that what they say, Snooks?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Pregnant women get a lot of bad PR, if you ask me.”
    A little while later the door banged and Bernard thumped through the kitchen, a surly look on his face, a paint can clanking against his legs. “I’m going upstairs.”
    “What is it this time, sweetheart?”
    “Milk Shake. Sort of a pale brownish color.”
    “Sounds good,” said Snooky. “And you know, if it doesn’t look right on the wall, you can always drink it.”
    “It won’t look good. I know in advance that it won’t look good. And yet I feel compelled to try it.”
    “Personally, I thought Victoriana wasn’t bad,” said Snooky. “That smoky purple color. Not right for a nursery, of course, but at least not offensive to the eye.”
    “I really don’t care what you think, Snooky. I’ll be