Michelangelos Shoulder | Page 2

at him.
The pigeons took off in a sudden rush, flapping and swerving around
the trees. Don stood and walked slowly across the square. "So long,
Ruby."
"Be good, now," she said.
You can survive unloved, but you can't make it without loving
somebody--or something. Ruby loved her birds. And who knows who
else? He loved Lorna. Lorna loved Pike, or used to, and Molly, their

daughter. Molly herself would be falling in love any time now, if she
weren't already. Round and round we go, getting the job done. Except
he hadn't gotten the job done, not unless you counted the paintings as
kids. Not a happy train of thought. Piss on it, he'd have a waffle at
Cleary's. Tide him over until the big feed.
On Thursdays they had the big feed, he and Riles and Kai. Thursdays,
because weekends were unpredictable. He walked the six blocks to
Cleary's, just around the corner from the house--Riles's house, Kai's
house--he couldn't call it home exactly, although he'd spent more
winters than he cared to remember in the basement studio reserved for
caretakers or indigent relatives. He was a little of each--an old friend of
Riles and useful around the place, watching the gallery several times a
week and doing the framing jobs that came along.
The Cleary's waitresses were wearing Midnight in the Garden of Good
and Evil T-shirts. Not a bad image, from the cover of the best seller,
but it annoyed him to see his friends wearing advertisements.
"Pecan waffle, Don?"
"Yes, Ma'm--for my strength. It's that time again. I'm going north."
"Take me with you."
"Can't afford you."
"Next year," she suggested.
"Do my best," Don said. "Something to live for. There's not much up
there, Jilly, just Yankees, shivering and eating beans."
"I could stand the shivering. Want some grits?"
"Read my mind," Don said.
He ate slowly, drank an extra cup of coffee, left a big tip, and got on
with packing. By cocktail hour he had cleaned his room and stashed his
belongings in a footlocker and a duffel bag. The easel and the painting
gear stayed, part of the decor. He packed his best brushes, his
watercolors, and a block of good paper. There was no limit to the
number of lighthouse and/or lobster boat paintings he could sell, if they
were cheap enough. The portraits and the figures were different. Drawn
or done fully in oils, they were given away, or nearly. It was hard to put
a price on them.
"How well you look, Don," Kai said.
"Thank you. I'm having my annual burst of optimism. Did Riles tell
you that I'm off to Maine tomorrow?"

"Riles never tells me anything."
"Mother, really!" Riles appeared and put an arm around her shoulders.
They were handsome together, short and dark with identical flashing
smiles. Riles's hairline had receded considerably, and Kai's hair had
long ago turned a tarnished silver, but they both were slim and upright
and moved with a lack of effort that made Don feel as though he were
dragging a wagon behind him. "I only just found out. Don is secretive,
you know."
"Don is not good at planning," Don said.
"We must count on the turning of the seasons, Mother, the great
migrations, to bring him back to Sherman's Retreat."
"He is not a goose, Dear." She turned to Don. "The sooner you come
back, the better."
"Honk," Don said, embarrassed, and added, "if you love Jesus."
"I think this calls for a Riles Blaster. Don? Mother?"
Riles Blasters were made from light rum, Grand Marnier, lime juice,
and other secret ingredients combined with ice and served, after great
roaring from the blender, in sweating silver tumblers. Riles claimed
that they prolonged life by rendering stress inoperable and irrelevant. A
Riles Blaster, he pronounced, allowed one to focus on what mattered.
"What mattered" was left undefined, allowing to each a certain latitude.
They toasted what mattered and then "Absent loved ones."
Blasters were reliable--one brought a sigh; two put a helpless smile on
your face. It was best to switch to wine at that point. Another virtue: "A
modest red becomes--acceptable." Riles pronounced each syllable of
"acceptable" so lightly and with such pleasure that you had to agree.
The dark side of Riles was private. Don understood and left it alone.
"Will you be seeing that attractive friend of yours?" Kai made her
innocent face.
"I usually do--at least once. I'll try."
"I love that oil of her as a young woman. Would you part with it? We
think it belongs in the permanent collection."
Riles raised his eyebrows, indicating that "we" meant "she."
"You may have it, of course."
"We can't afford what it's worth."
"You don't have to buy it. I'll give it to you. It's yours."