@@@@@The other promise was that I knew two
@@@@@The other
promise was that I knew two sisters - two living
sisters - who were never, ever, going to set foot
on Duma Key at the same timeOr ever, if I could
help it
That was one promise that I kept
12 - Another Florida
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"All right, Edgar, I think we're almost finished
Maybe she saw something on my face, because Mary
laughed"Has it been that awful?"
"No," I said, and it hadn't been, really, although
her questions about my technique had made me feel
uncomfortableWhat it came down to was I looked
at things, then slopped on the paintThat was my
techniqueAnd influences? What could I say? The
lightIt always came down to the light, both in
the pictures I liked to look at and the ones I
liked to paintWhat it did to the surface of
things, and what it seemed to suggest about what
was inside, hunting a way outBut that didn't
sound scholarly; to my ears it sounded goofy
"Okay," she said, "last subject: how many more
paintings are there?"
We were sitting in Mary Ire's penthouse apartment
on Davis Islands, a tony Tampa enclave which
looked to me like the art deco capital of the
worldThe living room was a vast, nearly empty
space with a couch at one end and two slingback
chairs at the otherThere were no books, but then,
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there was no TV, eitherOn the east wall, where
it would catch the early light, was a large David
HockneyMary and I were at opposite ends of the
couchShe had her shorthand pad in her lapThere
was an ashtray perched beside her on the arm of
the sofaBetween us was a big silver Wollensak
tape-recorderIt had to be fifty years old, but
the reels turned soundlesslyGerman engineering,
baby
Mary wore no make-up, but her lips were coated
with clear goo that made them shineHer hair was
tied up in a careless, coming-apart twist that
looked simultaneously elegant and slatternlyShe
smoked English Ovals and sipped what looked like
straight Scotch from a Waterford tumbler (she
offered me a drink and seemed disappointed when I
opted for bottled wate