This had a familiar feminine ring to it which balked pursuit of _that_
subject. I wouldn't have believed that Willy possessed such a dogmatic
objective imagination. If _I_ wanted to conjure up a babe I'd make sure
beforehand that she came out the way I whimmed her. Red had a mind of
her own, which was the negative, or feminine, part of Willy's mind.
All these thoughts popped up in my head because I had to keep this in a
practical light to insure against a return of the shakes. If I started
considering the _impractical_ side of it I'd recognize it in its true
light, which was unmitigated madness.
Willy and Red remained silent, inferring that I was to carry the ball.
"What I'm dim about, Willy, is how this ties in with your professional
livelihood. Why do you have to give up art?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
I shook my head meekly. Willy sighed and reached for a pastel stick. He
sketched quickly on the layout pad, first in greys, then filling in with
the three basics. It was a martini glass, and the first basic was the
cherry in it. Then he addressed his signature under the sketch.
He picked up the martini glass and drained it.
Looking apologetically at my ogle he picked up the pastels again and
said, "Sorry. Care for one?"
I said sure. You have to go all the way or nowhere with these things.
Besides, a drink might stop the rumbling in my stomach. "Make it a rye,"
I said. "Triple."
He sketched it and signed it and handed it to me, and I said, "I see
what you mean. Everything you sketch, huh?" The rye was good.
Willy sighed morosely. "Anything in color. And I made my name in color
work. I can't do a black and white for beans."
"Why don't you--"
"Leave off my signature?" He smiled wanly. "You know better than that,
Jim."
I did. He had a big name, and that, as is the way of commerce, is what
the buyers paid for. Things looked hopeless for Willy. We sat. Red got
up and stretched, then adjusted her halter, into which Willy had put too
much imagination. She jumped from Willy's knee to the drawing desk, and
stretched out on the pad. Willy looked at her hungrily, and she smiled
warmly back at him. I was beginning to get that "third party"
feeling--and then it hit me.