Free Venus Envy by Rita Mae Brown Page A

whichwas tucked underneath, a few tendrils escaping. Her gray eyes evidenced no passion but she didn’t seem cold, just preoccupied. Her shield rested on a tree stump behind her. She looked at her father, Zeus, and he returned the gaze. She was his favorite child.
    Standing between them but a step back was Hades/Pluto. So enthralled was he by his underworld kingdom that he, too, rarely ventured out of it, much less to Mount Olympus.
    Hades/Pluto was as dark as Neptune was light and tremendously handsome. All three brothers were powerfully built men with beautiful mouths and white teeth. The finest cloth covered his body. Unlike Neptune he showed little interest in plotting against their brother. Pluto, although distant and judgmental, was a loyal, honest soul.
    In the near distance the artist had placed immensely muscular Hephaestus/Vulcan, still sweating from his work at the forge. Zeus/Jupiter couldn’t stand him, so Hera/Juno tried to make up for this by taking his part at each opportunity. His crippled leg stuck out at an odd angle from his good one.
    Another god at a distance from the others was Dionysus/Bacchus. He lounged in the lower right-hand corner of the canvas. In his late twenties or early thirties, the prime of life, he should have cut a splendid figure. He was slovenly attired, however, which detracted from his beauty. A golden goblet was raised in his right hand, raised not to Zeus but to the painter or the viewer, for Dionysus peered out of the painting, away from the circle of gods. A slight smile played on his ruby lips—a jeer or genuine pleasure?
    This florid artwork had supposedly hung in the grandest whorehouse in Venice. The sneaking sensuality of it, the subtle assault on Judeo-Christian priggishness,the sheer grandeur would attract someone, a buyer moved by impulse, an impulse probably not understood.
    Frazier especially liked the brushwork, so smooth, so silky, so unobtrusive. The flesh seemed real. She could reach out and caress Mercury’s eternally youthful figure or tweak Jupiter’s majestic beard. The painter believed in art that conceals art, an attitude in keeping with Frazier’s philosophy. She detested artists who wailed about how difficult their work was and then further tried the patience of all the giving saints by telling you how they accomplished their masterpiece.
    The front door opened. Frazier’s shoulders stiffened. Was it Mother? Dad? Carter? Was the axe raised ready to grind? The Fed Ex man dropped off a package, offered his congratulations upon her good health, and left with a wink. Frazier was relieved and strangely disappointed.

13
    T HE METALLIC-COFFEE EXPLORER PURRED DOWN THE TREELINED drive. Frazier pulled up at her parents’ white brick Federal home. She sat a moment remembering the first time she had driven the Explorer down the brown pebble driveway. Libby had walked out of the house, disappointment etched all over her face.
    “You sold the Range Rover?”
    “Yes, Mother.”
    “But why? A Range Rover has some élan.”
    “Because the dealer is eighty miles away.”
    “I loved your Range Rover.”
    “Then you should have bought it.”
    Frazier blinked, tried to focus on today, got out of the car, and slowly walked to the back door. She opened the door, hinges squeaking.
    Libby, potting plants in her sink, barely uttered a hello.
    “Need any help?”
    “No, thank you” came Libby’s clipped reply. “I want these narcissus ready for your dinner party.”
    “What dinner party?”
    “The dinner party to thank God for the miracle of your recovery,” Libby pronounced.
    “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
    “I was planning to call you tonight.”
    “Momma, did you pick up your mail yesterday or today?”
    Libby’s lips stretched tighter across her face. “I did.”
    Frazier was losing patience. She hated this trick of Libby’s. Don’t volunteer any information; don’t facilitate a discussion. Force the other party to bring up any unpleasant