Art in the Blood - Chapter Three
Feb. 22nd, 2025 11:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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i_read_whatSo last time, in a rare bit for this series, Jack actually got to have a good time and get involved with other people's drama. There's not even a case yet. It's just random artists being goofy at a party.
I mean, we know eventually someone's probably going to get murdered, but it hasn't happened yet! Woo!
So we left off with a minor cliffhanger - Evan the artist got himself beaten up and Walt, the waiter, has come to Jack's new friend, "Alex Adrian" to help. Jack went instead.
...I'm enjoying the alliterative names. It does help keep people straight. So anyway, Jack being a busybody, asks who did it: that Dreyer guy's a poor loser apparently.
So it's time to take Evan home. Evan would rather not tell his more responsible sister what happened, so he tells Jack to tell her he got an unexpected date. He ends up taking Jack up on his offer for a ride and Jack goes out to play messenger.
(Bobbi, by the way, is singing "Gimme a pigfoot" and it occurs to me that youtube is searchable, so this is the song! Neat!)
So Jack goes to find Sandra and Adrian. Tragic artist Adrian's enjoyment, we're told, seems a little forced. But the hesitant smiles that he gives Sandra are genuine. So aw. Tragic widower tentatively discovering new love? Jack isn't remotely invested in that concept.
He passes the message along, then writes a note to Bobbi explaining that he's driving a drunk guest home. He gives it to the Cello player, because he doesn't really trust Marza. Hah.
So, anyway, it's time to take Evan home. It turns out trickier than Jack expected though, because as soon as they get outside, the poor guy ends up throwing up in the flower beds. A very amused Alex Adrian appears to offer color commentary. He'd figured out that the story was crap (Evan's usually not so considerate when he falls in love for the night), and that Evan's probably not in any condition to give directions. So he'll come along.
There's a funny bit where Jack only remembers to turn on the headlights because he sees Adrian look alarmed. Vampire vision is convenient sometimes.
Jack and Adrian chat abit. This isn't the first time Adrian's had to take Evan home like this. And Jack gets a chance to ask a really famous artist about Sandra's view on Brett's work: namely that he deliberately makes it too perfect.
The exchange is interesting:
“No doubt she is right. Leighton insists on a great deal of control in his life, there’s no reason why his art should be different.”
“Doesn’t that limit creativity?”
“That depends on your approach. All good art requires control, the real skill is not letting the control itself show.”
“It should look easy? Like anyone could do it?”
He glanced over once, approving. “Exactly. You end up with a thousand students going in for art. It looks easy, especially the more modern schools. That’s how Evan got started. He thought that anyone could slop paint over a canvas and call it art, but he surprised himself and a few other people. He’s one of the few with a true talent for the expression of an idea as well as the work.”
“But what about Brett’s control?”
“He paints what the public wants to see and he does it so well. Not many of them notice what’s missing.”
“What’s that?”
“Leighton Brett.”
Per Adrian, art is often a process of "self-revelation", but Brett is very careful and private. He paints things that are popular and sellable, but without lasting value.
This is a nice dig:
All you’ll know about him from his paintings a hundred years from now was that he was a competent draftsman with a streak of bogus sentiment.
Jack asks about Adrian himself, and he says, probably the same but without the sentiment part. Jack disagrees, he doesn't think there's anything bogus there.
And here we get the thread about Jack's career popping up again. Adrian asks if Jack's an artist too. Jack says he writes a little, and explains that he used to be a journalist but had to get out.
The latter part is the truth, which Jack realizes is a risk given Adrian's past. The former part really isn't though. Jack hasn't really, at least as far as we know, had any kind of creative inspiration. He does work with Escott, though. But unofficial vampire assistant to a private investigator is a bit tough to explain, I suppose.
Adrian asks about the "had to?" Jack explains that he didn't like what it was turning him into so he became something else.
The last part is interesting because my first instinct is to say that he's lying. But then I realize that we don't actually know WHY Jack decided to come to Chicago in the first place. Maureen had been gone for five years, so we know it wasn't her. And everything we know now came about after Jack's murder.
So maybe he's NOT lying. (I do feel like there was an implication of alcoholism at one point, but I might be wrong about that.)
Adrian has his own issues though, as mentioned, and kind of freezes up, even though Jack reassures him that it's not an interview. He doesn't bolt, but the small talk is over.
So they get to a lower-class neighborhood of "tired brick buildings". Evan's pretty out of it, so Jack carries him up fireman style, which Adrian attributes to the strength of youth. And oh, yeah, I do tend to forget that vampire Jack looks about twenty-three. His possibly true story would probably be more believable if he looked his actual age. (Thirty-six. And now that I'm forty-two, I find that pretty funny.)
We get some nice description though:
The front room was obviously a work area, its length running along one wall to take advantage of the north-facing windows. Two large easels were set up, one with a light cloth covering a work in progress, the other with its colorful canvas on display. The place was stuffy with the smell of linseed oil and harsh turpentine. The furnishings were sparse and unpretentious: some simple chairs and a table with a lumpy bronze sculpture as its centerpiece. A few unframed paintings clung to the walls, mixed in with a family photo or two. One of them was of two young men grinning like devils, hamming it up at some kind of carnival. A slender girl stood between them and their arms were around her. It was Sandra, a young teen just starting to bloom into a woman. One of the men was Evan, who hadn’t changed much in looks or attitude. The other was Adrian, who had. A lot of years and life had come between the carefree face in the photo and the solitary, saturnine man who stood next to me.
Aw.
So Jack is settling Evan in his bed, when he hears the sound of a fight. Someone in a cheap suit has just punched Adrian in the stomach. Another bigger dude comes in too. But this is what Jack's good at. Fisticuffs commence. Jack takes the bigger guy, and Adrian gets to fight the smaller one and apparently he's got a fair bit of temper. Jack even has to intercede.
They search the guys' pockets. The one Adrian almost killed has eight hundred dollars. As a reminder, eight hundred dollars in 1936 is about the equivalent of 18000 today. Jeeze.
So Jack wakes up the bigger guy and subtly hypnotizes a name out of him. "Dimmy Wallace." The smaller guy comes to and tries to shut him up, so they go talk to him. More subtle hypnotizing in the guise of normal intimidation. Dimmy Wallace is apparently a mobster but not one who made the papers. Based on the quality of henchmen, Jack doubts he ever will. Jack would probably be a pretty good judge of that by now.
So they go with throwing the guys out. Adrian suggests the police, which surprises Jack given Adrian's own past. But Jack would rather not, pointing out that it's hardly worth the trouble.
So with a little more intimidation/hypnotism, Jack scares the dudes off.
They go back to Evan and Adrian decides to wake him up with a good old carafe of water to the face. They ask him about Dimmy Wallace. With a bit of light friendly water-boarding threat (I'm kidding, Alex and Evan are very clearly old friends and the threat is just more water being poured on him), Evan admits that Dimmy's a bookie. He offered credit, willing to wait until Evan sold something. Evan did, but there was interest. You get the deal.
Evan has, as far as he knows, paid back the original debt but the interest is never ending. Jack just feels sorry for poor Sandra. Adrian is annoyed, but tells Evan to pack his toothbrush. He doesn't want to leave Sandra alone when there's people like this after Evan (Evan himself doesn't count.)
So Jack plays chauffeur and we get to see a fairly famous artist's house. Actually, it seems pretty ordinary. There's an oil stain out front where Adrian parks his car. Jack realizes that he probably wouldn't be apt to using the garage considering his wife's suicide. Eek. I'm surprised he still owns the house, but then Chicago real estate prices were probably a bitch.
So a bit of description:
I followed him into the kitchen. Perhaps it had been a bright place once; cheery little feminine knickknacks decorated the walls and cupboards. Now they were dull with dust, and the once-fluffy white curtains hung limp and dejected. The usual litter of inexpert cooking and casual cleanup cluttered the counters, and a plate with its dried scraps rested on the table where Adrian had eaten the latest in a series of solitary meals.
He rummaged around in some half-opened parcels on the table and brought out a box of headache powders. He mixed a double dose in a glass of water and drank it straight down. “Need any?” he offered.
“No, thanks.”
He edged the glass in with a dozen others by the sink. The sad atmosphere of the house was uncomfortable. It seemed to ooze from the walls, or more likely from Adrian. Either from his wife’s death or by his natural temperament, he’d turned everything inward, and though too polite to obviously show it, he did not like having a stranger in his home, especially an observant ex-journalist.
Adrian does end up relaxing a bit when they get back to the party and even thanks Jack, heading off to fill in Sandra.
Jack goes off to find Bobbi. She's taking a break, though there are a lot of men trying to offer her drinks. Heh. The other performer, Titus, is helping keep the worst interlopers at bay, and happily hands Bobbi over to Jack.
They banter a bit and Jack fills her in. She's pretty impressed that Jack got to meet THE Alex Adrian. Jack describes him as "the sort of smoldering type women go crazy for, except in his case, [he thinks] the fire's gone out."
Bobbi knows about the wife thing and asks what Jack thinks. For Jack, jury's still out. Bobbi's pretty tired, and they make a date for Jack tucking her in after the part. (Just tucking her in, but Jack's okay with that.) Jack sticks around and endures the string quartet for her. Aw.
Sandra eventually comes by, thanking him, and asking him what exactly happened. Adrian (or "Alex" as Jack calls him, which might be interesting) had clammed up.
Jack does fill her in. She thinks it's a bit unbelievable that neither thought to call the police, but she's grateful anyway. She does ask that, should it happen again, he just tells her the truth. He promises on scout's honor.
She goes to scold Adrian, but it seems to go well, since they turn up later arm in arm, and he seems almost relaxed.
The hostess/gallery owner pops by, pretty happy. They're all friends in the same circle, basically. She'd been really worried about Alex doing the same thing as his wife, and she's happy to see him maybe coming out of it.
Jack thanks her for letting him come along and she asks about his writing. The response here is interesting too:
Good question. I gave her a song and dance about a novel I’d started in high school and she lost interest quickly enough. It’s probably the reason I never finished the thing and went into journalism instead.
I'm really getting the sense that Jack needs some kind of job. Helping Escott is fun, but maybe not really his calling. I don't remember this getting resolved in this book, but eventually, he does figure something out as I recall. But that's the plot of a later book.
Then, at one o'clock, something interesting happens. Alex Adrian comes by. He asks if Jack is still interested in the commission, bluntly asking if Jack can afford it. When Adrian names a price, he can.
The usual procedure is half down, half on delivery, and Adrian admits he's not completely sure he can do it. But if he can't, he'll return the money. Jack thinks it sounds fair and they make arrangements for further contact.
Bobbi comes over then, asking what that was about. And Jack has finally found a gift for the girlfriend that won't bring back any negative connotations:
I slipped an arm around her. “The Alex Adrian, and that was about my Christmas present to you.”
“I see what you mean about smoldering—what Christmas present?”
“Well, it might take that long for the paint to dry.”
“Jack—”
“You said you didn’t want diamonds, but what about your portrait done by—”
She gave out a soft shriek of pure delight and threw her arms around me in a stranglehold.
Aw. With that bit of cuteness, the chapter ends.
I mean, we know eventually someone's probably going to get murdered, but it hasn't happened yet! Woo!
So we left off with a minor cliffhanger - Evan the artist got himself beaten up and Walt, the waiter, has come to Jack's new friend, "Alex Adrian" to help. Jack went instead.
...I'm enjoying the alliterative names. It does help keep people straight. So anyway, Jack being a busybody, asks who did it: that Dreyer guy's a poor loser apparently.
So it's time to take Evan home. Evan would rather not tell his more responsible sister what happened, so he tells Jack to tell her he got an unexpected date. He ends up taking Jack up on his offer for a ride and Jack goes out to play messenger.
(Bobbi, by the way, is singing "Gimme a pigfoot" and it occurs to me that youtube is searchable, so this is the song! Neat!)
So Jack goes to find Sandra and Adrian. Tragic artist Adrian's enjoyment, we're told, seems a little forced. But the hesitant smiles that he gives Sandra are genuine. So aw. Tragic widower tentatively discovering new love? Jack isn't remotely invested in that concept.
He passes the message along, then writes a note to Bobbi explaining that he's driving a drunk guest home. He gives it to the Cello player, because he doesn't really trust Marza. Hah.
So, anyway, it's time to take Evan home. It turns out trickier than Jack expected though, because as soon as they get outside, the poor guy ends up throwing up in the flower beds. A very amused Alex Adrian appears to offer color commentary. He'd figured out that the story was crap (Evan's usually not so considerate when he falls in love for the night), and that Evan's probably not in any condition to give directions. So he'll come along.
There's a funny bit where Jack only remembers to turn on the headlights because he sees Adrian look alarmed. Vampire vision is convenient sometimes.
Jack and Adrian chat abit. This isn't the first time Adrian's had to take Evan home like this. And Jack gets a chance to ask a really famous artist about Sandra's view on Brett's work: namely that he deliberately makes it too perfect.
The exchange is interesting:
“No doubt she is right. Leighton insists on a great deal of control in his life, there’s no reason why his art should be different.”
“Doesn’t that limit creativity?”
“That depends on your approach. All good art requires control, the real skill is not letting the control itself show.”
“It should look easy? Like anyone could do it?”
He glanced over once, approving. “Exactly. You end up with a thousand students going in for art. It looks easy, especially the more modern schools. That’s how Evan got started. He thought that anyone could slop paint over a canvas and call it art, but he surprised himself and a few other people. He’s one of the few with a true talent for the expression of an idea as well as the work.”
“But what about Brett’s control?”
“He paints what the public wants to see and he does it so well. Not many of them notice what’s missing.”
“What’s that?”
“Leighton Brett.”
Per Adrian, art is often a process of "self-revelation", but Brett is very careful and private. He paints things that are popular and sellable, but without lasting value.
This is a nice dig:
All you’ll know about him from his paintings a hundred years from now was that he was a competent draftsman with a streak of bogus sentiment.
Jack asks about Adrian himself, and he says, probably the same but without the sentiment part. Jack disagrees, he doesn't think there's anything bogus there.
And here we get the thread about Jack's career popping up again. Adrian asks if Jack's an artist too. Jack says he writes a little, and explains that he used to be a journalist but had to get out.
The latter part is the truth, which Jack realizes is a risk given Adrian's past. The former part really isn't though. Jack hasn't really, at least as far as we know, had any kind of creative inspiration. He does work with Escott, though. But unofficial vampire assistant to a private investigator is a bit tough to explain, I suppose.
Adrian asks about the "had to?" Jack explains that he didn't like what it was turning him into so he became something else.
The last part is interesting because my first instinct is to say that he's lying. But then I realize that we don't actually know WHY Jack decided to come to Chicago in the first place. Maureen had been gone for five years, so we know it wasn't her. And everything we know now came about after Jack's murder.
So maybe he's NOT lying. (I do feel like there was an implication of alcoholism at one point, but I might be wrong about that.)
Adrian has his own issues though, as mentioned, and kind of freezes up, even though Jack reassures him that it's not an interview. He doesn't bolt, but the small talk is over.
So they get to a lower-class neighborhood of "tired brick buildings". Evan's pretty out of it, so Jack carries him up fireman style, which Adrian attributes to the strength of youth. And oh, yeah, I do tend to forget that vampire Jack looks about twenty-three. His possibly true story would probably be more believable if he looked his actual age. (Thirty-six. And now that I'm forty-two, I find that pretty funny.)
We get some nice description though:
The front room was obviously a work area, its length running along one wall to take advantage of the north-facing windows. Two large easels were set up, one with a light cloth covering a work in progress, the other with its colorful canvas on display. The place was stuffy with the smell of linseed oil and harsh turpentine. The furnishings were sparse and unpretentious: some simple chairs and a table with a lumpy bronze sculpture as its centerpiece. A few unframed paintings clung to the walls, mixed in with a family photo or two. One of them was of two young men grinning like devils, hamming it up at some kind of carnival. A slender girl stood between them and their arms were around her. It was Sandra, a young teen just starting to bloom into a woman. One of the men was Evan, who hadn’t changed much in looks or attitude. The other was Adrian, who had. A lot of years and life had come between the carefree face in the photo and the solitary, saturnine man who stood next to me.
Aw.
So Jack is settling Evan in his bed, when he hears the sound of a fight. Someone in a cheap suit has just punched Adrian in the stomach. Another bigger dude comes in too. But this is what Jack's good at. Fisticuffs commence. Jack takes the bigger guy, and Adrian gets to fight the smaller one and apparently he's got a fair bit of temper. Jack even has to intercede.
They search the guys' pockets. The one Adrian almost killed has eight hundred dollars. As a reminder, eight hundred dollars in 1936 is about the equivalent of 18000 today. Jeeze.
So Jack wakes up the bigger guy and subtly hypnotizes a name out of him. "Dimmy Wallace." The smaller guy comes to and tries to shut him up, so they go talk to him. More subtle hypnotizing in the guise of normal intimidation. Dimmy Wallace is apparently a mobster but not one who made the papers. Based on the quality of henchmen, Jack doubts he ever will. Jack would probably be a pretty good judge of that by now.
So they go with throwing the guys out. Adrian suggests the police, which surprises Jack given Adrian's own past. But Jack would rather not, pointing out that it's hardly worth the trouble.
So with a little more intimidation/hypnotism, Jack scares the dudes off.
They go back to Evan and Adrian decides to wake him up with a good old carafe of water to the face. They ask him about Dimmy Wallace. With a bit of light friendly water-boarding threat (I'm kidding, Alex and Evan are very clearly old friends and the threat is just more water being poured on him), Evan admits that Dimmy's a bookie. He offered credit, willing to wait until Evan sold something. Evan did, but there was interest. You get the deal.
Evan has, as far as he knows, paid back the original debt but the interest is never ending. Jack just feels sorry for poor Sandra. Adrian is annoyed, but tells Evan to pack his toothbrush. He doesn't want to leave Sandra alone when there's people like this after Evan (Evan himself doesn't count.)
So Jack plays chauffeur and we get to see a fairly famous artist's house. Actually, it seems pretty ordinary. There's an oil stain out front where Adrian parks his car. Jack realizes that he probably wouldn't be apt to using the garage considering his wife's suicide. Eek. I'm surprised he still owns the house, but then Chicago real estate prices were probably a bitch.
So a bit of description:
I followed him into the kitchen. Perhaps it had been a bright place once; cheery little feminine knickknacks decorated the walls and cupboards. Now they were dull with dust, and the once-fluffy white curtains hung limp and dejected. The usual litter of inexpert cooking and casual cleanup cluttered the counters, and a plate with its dried scraps rested on the table where Adrian had eaten the latest in a series of solitary meals.
He rummaged around in some half-opened parcels on the table and brought out a box of headache powders. He mixed a double dose in a glass of water and drank it straight down. “Need any?” he offered.
“No, thanks.”
He edged the glass in with a dozen others by the sink. The sad atmosphere of the house was uncomfortable. It seemed to ooze from the walls, or more likely from Adrian. Either from his wife’s death or by his natural temperament, he’d turned everything inward, and though too polite to obviously show it, he did not like having a stranger in his home, especially an observant ex-journalist.
Adrian does end up relaxing a bit when they get back to the party and even thanks Jack, heading off to fill in Sandra.
Jack goes off to find Bobbi. She's taking a break, though there are a lot of men trying to offer her drinks. Heh. The other performer, Titus, is helping keep the worst interlopers at bay, and happily hands Bobbi over to Jack.
They banter a bit and Jack fills her in. She's pretty impressed that Jack got to meet THE Alex Adrian. Jack describes him as "the sort of smoldering type women go crazy for, except in his case, [he thinks] the fire's gone out."
Bobbi knows about the wife thing and asks what Jack thinks. For Jack, jury's still out. Bobbi's pretty tired, and they make a date for Jack tucking her in after the part. (Just tucking her in, but Jack's okay with that.) Jack sticks around and endures the string quartet for her. Aw.
Sandra eventually comes by, thanking him, and asking him what exactly happened. Adrian (or "Alex" as Jack calls him, which might be interesting) had clammed up.
Jack does fill her in. She thinks it's a bit unbelievable that neither thought to call the police, but she's grateful anyway. She does ask that, should it happen again, he just tells her the truth. He promises on scout's honor.
She goes to scold Adrian, but it seems to go well, since they turn up later arm in arm, and he seems almost relaxed.
The hostess/gallery owner pops by, pretty happy. They're all friends in the same circle, basically. She'd been really worried about Alex doing the same thing as his wife, and she's happy to see him maybe coming out of it.
Jack thanks her for letting him come along and she asks about his writing. The response here is interesting too:
Good question. I gave her a song and dance about a novel I’d started in high school and she lost interest quickly enough. It’s probably the reason I never finished the thing and went into journalism instead.
I'm really getting the sense that Jack needs some kind of job. Helping Escott is fun, but maybe not really his calling. I don't remember this getting resolved in this book, but eventually, he does figure something out as I recall. But that's the plot of a later book.
Then, at one o'clock, something interesting happens. Alex Adrian comes by. He asks if Jack is still interested in the commission, bluntly asking if Jack can afford it. When Adrian names a price, he can.
The usual procedure is half down, half on delivery, and Adrian admits he's not completely sure he can do it. But if he can't, he'll return the money. Jack thinks it sounds fair and they make arrangements for further contact.
Bobbi comes over then, asking what that was about. And Jack has finally found a gift for the girlfriend that won't bring back any negative connotations:
I slipped an arm around her. “The Alex Adrian, and that was about my Christmas present to you.”
“I see what you mean about smoldering—what Christmas present?”
“Well, it might take that long for the paint to dry.”
“Jack—”
“You said you didn’t want diamonds, but what about your portrait done by—”
She gave out a soft shriek of pure delight and threw her arms around me in a stranglehold.
Aw. With that bit of cuteness, the chapter ends.