The Misfortunes of Others Read Online Free PDF Page B

I always thought you had some visual imagination. Well, I was wrong. Now, you put the top back on Milk Shake or Egg Cream or whatever your last sorry mistake was called, and give it to me. I have some shopping to do.”
    On the way out the door, Weezy kissed Maya and gave Snooky a sisterly peck on the top of his head as he sat at the kitchen table.
    “Hello, handsome boy.”
    “Hello, sexy lady.”
    “You’re taller than you used to be.”
    “I’m not six years old anymore.”
    Weezy patted him on the head. “You’ll always be six, Snooky. Inside, you know. Outside, you just get taller.”
    “You’ve been upstairs?” Maya said.
    “Yes. It’s unbelievable.”
    “You spoke to Bernard?”
    “I’m not talking to Bernard. Did you see that lemon-yellow he tried? Is he not in full possession of all his senses?”
    “Where is he now, Weezy?”
    “I left him upstairs with his head in his hands, mulling over his lack of artistic talent. See you soon.”
    And she was gone, the screen door banging behind her.
    When she returned, less than an hour later, Bernard was standing alone in the kitchen, holding a coffee cup and gazing anxiously out the window. He took the paint can from her and put it on the table.
    “What color did you get?”
    She gave him another one of her withering looks. “I told you, that’s the first mistake you made, Bernard. I didn’t get a color with a name. I had the paint store manager whip me up something special. A little bit of this and a little bit of that. And, in case you’re wondering, we can’t return it, because it doesn’t have a name or even a number. But it doesn’t matter, sweetie, because it’s going to be stunning. Now, go out to my car and get the roll of fabric that’s in the backseat. You still have that old sewing machine upstairs? Good. I’m going to need it.”
    “Fabric? You’re going to do the curtains?”
    “No. I’m going to lay the beautiful and, may I say, very expensive white muslin I got on the floor and use it as a drop cloth while I’m painting. Any more questions? Now, get the roll out of the car for me, there’s a good boy, and bring it upstairs. Get me an old shirt of yours, something nice and roomy—that shouldn’t be a problem, should it now?—and then vamoose. I’ll do the painting myself.”
    “No, no, Weezy, you were just supposed to pick out the paint. I’ll do the room.”
    “Thank you. Now do what I say, and then vamoose. I don’t let anybody else do my painting for me. It’s like coitus interruptus to buy the paint and not put it on the wall myself.”

    Maya was angry about this. She stormed into the nursery. “Weezy, you’re crazy. I didn’t want you to have to do the painting and make the curtains. I just asked you to pick out the right color for Bernard.”
    Weezy straightened up, paint dripping from the roller in her hand. Her wild frizzy red-yellow hair was tied back with a lacy scarf, and a child’s plastic barrettes, red and yellow and green, held back different tendrils which threatened to escape and curl onto her forehead. She had narrow jewel-green eyes and an intelligent horsey face which was illumined by her smile. She was wearing an old white shirt of Bernard’s, vastly big for her, which was rolled up to reveal her pale freckled forearms.
    “Don’t be silly, sweetie.”
    “I’m not being silly. I don’t want you to do this. Bernard can do the work. He’s happy to do it.”
    “I’m a full-service decorator,” Weezy said, rolling the paint smoothly onto the wall with a practiced hand. “Curtains, walls, even furniture, we do it all.”
    “Weezy!”
    “Go away, you’re bothering me. Get out of here. You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be smelling the paint anyway. Now, what do you think of the color?”
    Maya looked around the room, seeing it for the first time. She smiled slowly.
    “Oh, Weezy, it’s … it’s perfect. Like a dream.”
    “It’s going to take two coats to cover those dark colors