The Permanent Collection

“I can’t get that painting out of my head. I’ve got to go back again.”

Gabby studied her husband. “What, you mean, as in, now?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Gabby leveled her eyes at him. “We’re standing here in our bathing suits. The sandwiches and drinks are in the cooler at your feet, which you’re going to carry.” She tapped an oversized bag on the floor with her foot. “That’s our towels, blanket, suntan lotion, and chips.” She raised her hand and dangled a keychain in front of him. “I’m holding the car keys, Charlie. But you’re telling me, now, you want to go back to the museum. Now.”

“I know it’s crazy. But I won’t be able to relax at the beach.”

“Honey. You’ve been there three times for the one review you’ve already submitted. The one that’s already gone to press.”

“I know that, too. But, this art, it, it’s gnawing at me.”

“You said they elevated it to the Permanent Collection. You can go back any other time.”

“It’ll take me five minutes. All I need to do is check it from one more angle, further away. Those damn eyes. I should’ve done it the last time.”

“You told me eyes in great paintings look like they’re looking right at you. And that this is one of the greats. End of story. Grab the cooler.”

“Yeah, but never like these. I think this time they’re really seeing me.”

Gabby arched her eyebrows. “Should I tell you how insane you sound?”

“The museum’s on the way. You can pull up out front and wait for me. Five minutes. I promise.”

Gabby drew in a deep breath and blew it out through puffed-out cheeks.

* * *

Charlie leaned across the center console and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I love you, babe. Ten minutes, tops.”

“What happened to five?”

He grinned, leaped out the door, and dashed up the entrance steps.

Maybe it was the gorgeous day outside, or because the exhibit had a long run and ended today: the new, ultra-modern museum was near empty.

“Welcome back, Mr. Barry. One last look?”

Charlie smiled at the elderly docent. “Thanks, Marie. Yes. I’ll be quick.”

“Take your time. We both know how much they love being stared at.”

Charlie chuckled and made his way toward the New Exhibit wing housing the Elizabethan Collection. He stopped just short of the entrance to the high-ceilinged, massive room holding the painting. He checked his watch. Damn, he’d already used up half his time. The exhibit was further inside than he remembered. Relieved there was no one around to witness his odd behavior, he peeked his head around the threshold and spotted the art piece. Named Admiration, it portrayed an upperclass couple holding hands, facing forward, looking directly at their painter. Dressed in the colorful, elaborate, flamboyant garments of the era, they looked magnificent. Ornately framed paintings adorned the wall behind them. It appeared they too might also be in a museum viewing artwork.

His view from the entrance gave Charlie the vantage one would have if they turned back and looked one last time as they exited the room. He couldn’t remember having ever done that, but he felt compelled by this artwork. Like Gabby said, whatever he saw wouldn’t find its way into his article. Still, this was his bread and butter, and his professional curiosity had its claws in him. He had to experience this painting one more time from this one last angle.

His eyes bulged. He was at least seventy-five feet away from the art, and yet both pairs of eyes in the painting were most definitely staring directly at him. It almost seemed as if their heads had swiveled in his direction. He glanced around at the other pieces in the room that included people. Most were individual portraits, but none of them, from this extreme viewpoint, wielded the same power. But what truly made it remarkable—even though it was the most common form of art of that era—Admiration was a miniature.

Charlie had been in the business of critiquing art his entire adult life. But Admiration was unlike anything he’d ever reviewed. It gave him an eerie feeling, looking deep into the couple’s eyes for an extended length of time. He recalled, on his previous visits, none around him who were also viewing it seemed to have taken notice of anything unusual. But to him, the eyes would twinkle and the ends of their mouths would curl slightly upwards, like they were alive. He squeezed out a few vigorous blinks, and the apparition vanished. Still, his heart and breath rate were a little more rushed.

He moved in closer, his eyes glued to theirs with each step. They did the same with him. A few feet away, their eyes brightened, as if to say good to see you again. He took a seat in front of Admiration on the sleek, modern bench. 

His phone rang. He fished it out of his bathing suit pocket. The screen’s glow lit up the side of his face. “I know! Almost done. Just need a few more…”

“Charlie? You there?”

“Impossible,” Charlie muttered. His jaw dangled. The elegant couple was no longer looking into his eyes. They appeared to be staring at his phone.

* * *

“I say, darling. What on earth do you think just happened?!”

“I do not know! It looks as if a flat slab of some kind has illuminated his face. It is scaring me, my love. I do not believe it is of this Earth.”

“Was it there a moment ago? I do not recall, but I think it was not.”

“No! I am quite certain it was not.”

“I dare say, this artist is most unusual. The background decor and the garments of this individual are unlike anything I have ever seen. As you well know, I have traveled the seas and have visited distant lands. Never have I beheld such starkness and, well, simplicity.”

“His attire is rather refreshing. I do not mind telling you, I would be most happy to never again wear this corset or these hoops beneath my dress or this silly, frilly ruff around my neck.”

“Yes. I suppose it would be quite a relief to forego my heavy brocade, stockings, and tight-fitting doublets. We must seek the whereabouts of this artist and purchase these habiliments. Whatever the cost.”

“We will be the talk of the town! I like that. Yes. We must find this fellow.”

“I would also like to ask what magic he employed to paint this gentleman with such penetrating eyes. I cannot seem to clear them from my brain. It is as though he is watching us. I find it both haunting and invigorating.”

“Well, my dear, the painting is, after all, entitled Admiration. Perhaps the artist intended we experience our viewing as a mutual exercise in,” she giggled, “admiration.”

“Your insightfulness is what I so love about you, my sweetness.”

* * *

“What’s impossible? Charlie? Hello? You there?” Gabby was beside herself. It had been twenty minutes, and a cop had already pulled up and told her she was in the loading zone too long. She hung up and pulled the car forward to a parking spot. She was not about to lose her beach day to a stupid painting. Not when the weather was so beautiful for the first time in months. She threw a couple of quarters into the meter and bounded up the stairs.

Marie-the-docent smiled as she surmised who Gabby was by her lost look, bathing suit and beach cover-up. “Mr. Barry is in the Elizabethan Exhibit. Straight back that way and to your right.”

Gabby thanked her and speed-walked along to gather her delusional husband. The sole person in the room, he was easy to spot sitting on a bench, facing the tiny painting. She calmed herself down, went up to him, stood alongside and joined in his gaze at the miniature. “So, this is the little demon?”

Charlie didn’t respond. She flicked a glance at him and did a double-take. His jaw was slack, his eyes fixed. He was frozen, like he’d seen a ghost.

“Charlie?” She got onto her knees in front of him. “Charlie! Look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Snap out of it!”

He didn’t. Charlie was catatonic. At least she could see he was breathing.

“Hey! Wake up!” She shook him gently. Then a little not so gently. Gabby bolted to the exhibit entrance and yelled for the docent: “Help! Need medical attention! Help!” She ran back to her husband muttering to herself: “Call 911, call 911!” She called 911.

Gabby set the phone on speaker, tossed it onto the bench and repeated the 911-Operator’s instructions back to her. “Okay! I’ve got him lying on the bench—now his feet are up—well, they’re on my lap! Huh? No, I can’t get them any higher! Oh, good idea!” Charlie was like a rigid rag-doll filled with lead, but somehow she pulled him off the bench and laid him on his back on the floor. “Okay, his feet and lower legs are on the bench! What?! I am calm! Okay, I’ll talk softer. Sing to him? What song? Never mind.” She took a deep breath to slow her racing heart and crooned out their favorite tune.

 On her knees behind his head, she stretched her arms out and rubbed his chest and arms to generate some heat. “No. No change. I am rubbing hard!”

“Please. Charlie. Come back to me. All you need to do is—”

Charlie smiled and let out a long breath of air.

Gabby gasped. “Oh, sweetheart! I knew you could—”

It was his last breath. His body deflated like a balloon with a pinhole.

“No! Breathe Charlie!” She shook him again and then screamed toward the exhibit entrance: “Help! Somebody help us!” She pulled his head back and performed mouth-to-mouth. He didn’t resume breathing. She pounded his chest above his heart.

“He is ours now.”

Gabby’s eyes bulged—she jerked her head up—no one was there. She twisted her body around toward the wall behind her. The voice sounded like it came from—from the painting. “Who, who said that?!” She looked all around the room. They were alone. Her throat went dry. 

* * *

“Why, whatever do you mean, my darling?”

“I mean, the Council voted just today. Admiration is now the newest work to be elected to the Permanent Collection. This most unusual gentleman is now all ours, forever. Is that not wonderful news, my precious?”

“Oh, this is music to my ears! We shall return often and one day pierce its veil of mystery and uncover the secret of this very odd, modern admirer.”

* * *

Paramedics tried the defibrillator on Charlie twice. The police arrived as they wrapped up. The exhibit was abuzz. Tear-tracks stained Gabby’s drawn face. She stood in a daze, her bleary eyes fixed on the miniature painting. 

“Mrs. Barry. My name is Sergeant Walters. I am very sorry for your loss.”

Gabby swiveled her head to face the policeman in slow motion. “They said he belongs to them now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her hand trembled as she pointed at the miniature painting.

Sergeant Walters had been in this kind of situation many times and knew compassion was called for here. She was possibly in shock; he nodded and gave her a condolence-smile. “Yes. You said he was an art critic.”

“No. They took him.”

Walters resumed his nodding. “I understand. Mrs. Barry, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He went up to the lead paramedic and exchanged a few words. The two then looked at Gabby and nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, Gabby darted toward the painting. She leaped over the velvet rope hanging between two stanchion posts, grabbed the miniature by the sides of its frame, yanked it off the wall, and screamed at the artwork. “What have you done to him?! Give him back to me! I know you did this!”

Sergeant Walters and Deputy Adams were there in a flash. Walters grasped her arms; Adams tried to pry the masterpiece softly from her hands. He finally pushed his thumbs into pressure points on her wrists.

“No! Don’t! Ow! You’re hurting me!” She released her grip.

Walters maintained his, though, on her arms.

“Let me go! You don’t understand! I’m not crazy! Let go!”

He waited until she stopped resisting and then released her. Gabby crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

The paramedics gave her a sedative.

The museum personnel replaced Admiration on the wall.

The Elizabethan couple returned to their sentinel posts. Permanently.