Free The Mysterious Edge of the Heroic World by E.L. Konigsburg Page B

returned with two cans of Coke, wrapped in paper napkins. Once seated, he placed a coaster on the table near William and asked him to help himself to the almonds that were in a clear crystal bowl.
    William took a sip of Coke and carefully centered thecan on the coaster. He looked around the room. “My house is nothing like this. It’s small, and it’s in an old part of town. But it’s beautiful. Ma has good taste.”
    Amedeo said, “My mother had a decorator. Decorators have good taste.”
    William started walking around. “Decorators like beige a lot, don’t they?”
    â€œTaupe,” Amedeo replied. “Our place in New York was beige. This one is taupe, the daughter of beige.”
    â€œTaupe,” William repeated.
    Amedeo watched as William continued his survey of the room. He could tell that William hated what he was seeing. His house was too horizontal, too coordinated, too taupe. Too done. His house was too much a part of the neighborhood, too much a part of the Neighborhood Watch, and it made William feel that he wasn’t. Amedeo pointed to a painting in the foyer. “Look at that,” he said. “Not beige. Not taupe. My dad and Peter picked it out. They picked out all the art in our house.”
    William walked to the foyer and stood in front of the painting.
    â€œThat’s an abstract,” Amedeo said.
    â€œI know what it is,”William answered.
    â€œDo you like it?”
    â€œIs this some kind of test?”
    â€œNo. It’s not.”
    â€œIs this something your dad did?”
    â€œNo. I just want to know if you like it. Simple.”
    â€œWell, I do. I like abstract.”
    Amedeo said, “Jake has taken me to see tons of abstracts. He told me to look at them like I am listening to a conversation in a foreign language.”
    William looked at him skeptically. “But don’t you feel left out of the conversation?”
    â€œSometimes. Sometimes Jake and Peter—
    â€œPeter?”
    â€œPeter Vanderwaal, my godfather. I already told you about him. He’s director of the Art Center of Sheboygan. Peter and Jake would sometimes have a conversation about an abstract that took up more time than the artist took to paint it.”
    They walked back to the family room, and William asked, “Since you’ve seen so much art, what do you think of Mrs. Zender’s?”
    â€œKitsch,” Amedeo said.
    â€œKitsch?”
    The paintings on Mrs. Zender’s walls were modest landscapes framed in ornate gold frames and hung fromsilk cords suspended from carved ceiling moldings. The walls in the parlor were covered with red silk brocade, and the ceiling was high enough to accommodate two rows of paintings. Each frame had its own little light, which Mrs. Zender never turned on. “The light fades the brocade,” she said.
    â€œMaybe not kitsch. Maybe it’s calendar art. Peter says that paintings of Elvis on velvet are kitsch and make him smile, but mediocre landscapes in elaborate gold frames are calendar art, and calendar art makes him want to cry.”
    William leaned back and stretched his arms and did a slow turn around the room. “Mrs. Zender told Ma that her husband bought most—or maybe even all—of the art for her house. She’ll be keeping only a few pieces. To cover wall smudges, she said. And Ma, she’s so smart that—without ever hearing what you just said—she turned on the lights that are on those gold frames, took a good look at each of the paintings, and said she’s turning all of it over to an interior decorator and not even calling an art dealer.”
    When Amedeo and William thought that Mrs. Wilcox had safely turned away Mrs. Zender’s anger, they walked over. Mrs. Zender approached Amedeo. “It seems I must purchasetelephones. Since your mother is an executive with a communications company, I’ll need you to come with me. We’ll go