“The doorbell’s busted?” He nodded as I leaned in, inspecting it.
“That’s not good. Did you call the office to let them know?”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Ivy’s a light sleeper. If it did work she’d probably be even crankier.”
“Yeah, but this place is brand-new. Nothing should be broken. Yet, anyway.” I pushed the Call button. Nothing: no buzz, no click, no annoying blast of mariachi-like music that came as the default chime.
“This house is new?” Theo asked.
“Yeah. Just built this year.”
He looked around the foyer as I came inside. “Wow. I didn’t even realize.”
“You’d notice the difference if you went into one that had been around awhile. Wear and tear and all that.” I checked out the inside console, hitting buttons. Still nothing. “I’ll let maintenance know about this tomorrow. It’s probably just a fuse or something.”
“Do you ever stop thinking about work?” he said, shutting the door and motioning for me to follow him upstairs.
“Doesn’t feel like it, no.” I wanted to add that this visit also felt like being on the clock, but I held my tongue. Hopefully they’d realize soon enough I was of no use to them and go bother someone else.
The third and main floor, which housed the kitchen and living room, had been transformed since my last visit. Gone were the couches and coffee table—making me wonder (1) where they had put them and (2) if the floors/walls were scratched during the process—replaced by a row of foldout tables lined with computers, video equipment, and several half-full bottles of Diet Coke. The kitchen was equally cluttered, with to-go containers and newspapers piled on the counters. By the dishwasher, three different cell phones were plugged in and charging, a row of tiny lights.
“Sorry about the mess,” Theo said, pushing aside a plastic crate of cords with one foot so we could pass. “We’ve been working nonstop the last couple of days. Have a seat.”
The only chairs were also folding ones, lined up along the tables. I pulled one out, only to see a stack of thick books piled on the seat. Urban/Rural: A Retrospective was the title of one, with a shot of a brick wall on the cover. Another, Modern Coast, featured a close-up of a painting of what looked like sand magnified into tiny grains.
“Cool, huh?” he said when he saw me checking it out. “You’ve seen that before, right?”
“What?”
“Clyde’s painting.”
I shook my head. “This is his?”
“Yeah.” He reached across me, flipping the book open and turning to a page marked with a sticky note, which featured the same sand image. Here, though, it was just a small center square, surrounded by a cityscape: slabs of concrete, brick wall, and storefronts. The street view was dark and grimy, and in contrast the tiny piece of beach almost glowed. “His early stuff was more collage, standard cutouts. But after a couple of years, he started this contrast series. It’s what he’s best known for.”
“Really,” I repeated, turning to the next page and another painting, this one featuring alternating squares of dune grass and barbed wire. “I didn’t even know about this stuff.”
“That’s not really an accident. Just going by our New York interviews and the personal history we’ve been able to gather, it’s pretty clear he’d prefer to keep this part of his life to himself.”
“If that’s true,” I said, “why are you guys chasing him down?”
“We’re not,” he replied, sounding somewhat defensive. Upstairs, a door banged. “We want to tell his story, give his work the attention it deserves. That’s what’s so maddening about his resistance. I mean, he put this out there. Why not own it?”
I flipped back to the sand painting, looking at it again. “Maybe because it’s part of his life he’d rather forget?”
“Most painters spend their lives looking for this kind of attention for their work.”
“But he’s not a painter anymore. Right?”
Theo drew in a breath, ready to reply to this. Before he got the chance, though, Ivy’s voice came booming down the stairs at full volume. “Theo!”
I jumped, startled both by the volume and her impatient tone. It sounded like a third or fourth attempt at contact, not an initial one. But he hardly seemed ruffled as he said, “Yes?”
“Didn’t I ask you to contact that guy from here who was at Parsons? The one cited in that article?”
“You did.”
“And?”
“I’ve called and e-mailed. No response yet.”
There was a bang, followed by a thud. What was she doing up there? “God!” she shouted. “What the hell is wrong with the people down here? Are they so backward they can’t even tell when someone’s trying to do something good for them?”
I raised my eyebrows, looking at Theo. He bit his lip, then walked over to the stairs, taking them two at a time to disappear upstairs.
“What?” I heard Ivy say a moment later. He said something to her. “Oh, for God’s sake. Fine. I’ll be right down.”
That’s it, I thought. I grabbed my bag from the table and started for the door. I was almost there when he came back down, spotting me in mid-escape. “Hey, hold on,” he said. “Don’t—”
“Find someone else to ‘help’ you, okay? I’m not your girl.” Upstairs, there was another loud thud. I pointed at the ceiling, adding, “And while you’re at it, you might want to tell your boss to reread the rental contract she signed. If this house is damaged in any way, she will pay for it.”