Free An Emergence of Green by Katherine V Forrest

time. He was gnawing on a chicken wing, watching Peter Jennings report on the Reverend Jesse Jackson’s visit to Cuba. He looked away from the TV screen and toward her, blankly. “You did what?”
    “I bought a painting. From Mrs. Hunter. Next door.”
    “The Amazon? You don’t even know her.”
    “We’ve talked a few times,” she said as casually as she could.
    Dabbing at his lips with a napkin, he studied her. “Oh? You’ve never mentioned it.”
    She shrugged to convey that she had not considered it important.
    “It seems odd that you didn’t mention it. Talking to an Amazon who paints strikes me as unusual enough to be worth mentioning. Now I see the reason for the art books. I don’t see why you wouldn’t tell me.”
    She was irked as much by his characterization of Val as by his inquisition. “Do you tell me everything that goes on during your day? You hardly mention anything at all. You’re never interested in my job—”
    “Why did you buy this painting? An act of charity?”
    Anger flared. “She’s very good. She’s a wonderful artist. Her work is displayed in a gallery.”
    “Oh?” He looked taken aback. “Which one?”
    How could she have been so stupid? She hadn’t thought to ask. “Venice, I don’t know where.”
    “Venice,” he repeated. “Where all the loony tunes roller-skate.”
    She said crossly, “Does she have to hang in the Metropolitan? I like her work. Isn’t that good enough?”
    “How much was it?”
    Swiftly she gauged her husband. Val had said: Whatever the traffic will bear. “Four hundred,” she said.
    “Four hundred? Carolyn! You might have consulted me!” He stared at her.
    “Oh, Paul.” She did not feign her disgust. “I spend almost that much on each of those dresses you insist I wear to your office parties.”
    “That’s different. This is something for the house. What if I don’t like it?”
    “I don’t think you’ll mind it. It’s a study of rain—really quite unobtrusive. It’ll fit in very nicely in the living room.”
    He said sarcastically, “So you’ve even decided where it should hang.”
    “Honey,” she said in her most conciliatory voice, “let’s not fight. If you don’t like it we can hang it in the garage.” Not very damn likely , she thought.
    “Four hundred. For an amateur she’s pretty proud of her work.”
    Anger flared again. “She is not an amateur. I told you her work is displayed in a gallery. She sells her work. I sell my work. You sell your work. Are we amateurs?”
    “I don’t know anything about this so-called gallery and neither do you. Maybe she’s just giving you a line. And if she sells her work only to you, she’s an amateur.”
    “You’re so quick to sneer and judge things—”
    “I’m not prejudging anything,” he said in a tone edged with ice. “Not till I see this painting you went ahead and bought without even a thought for my opinion. It must be these new hours of yours—you’ve been testy and strange ever since you’ve been on them.”
    His voice softened. “Why don’t you invite Mrs. Hunter over, maybe for dinner? If you’re that impressed with her, I’d like to meet her.”
    Nonplussed by this unexpected tack she blurted, “I don’t think you’d care for her.”
    “Now you’re the one who’s prejudging.”
    “She doesn’t seem your kind of person, that’s all,” she said lamely, feeling suddenly that she had lost control. “There’s her son too, he’s only ten—”
    “Invite him too. Wednesday’s the Fourth of July—invite them over, we’ll barbecue. The kid’ll love the pool. Okay?”
    “I’ll ask her,” she said reluctantly.

    The next day during her lunch hour she drew four hundred dollars from their bank account, and back at her office consulted the Valley yellow pages. After work she drove out along Laurel Canyon to an art supply store. Afterward she stopped again at the library and checked out several more books. She had the remainder of this