King Perry Read Online Free

never stop staring at him.
    He flinches, and I know my intuition was on track.
    Others draw near.
    “The adult man behind the instrument is strong yet formless at the same time, more shapes and colors than a human outline. Naked potential. The painter had not met this man; he is the future. But note the face, such joy and youthful energy. I bet the only time Richard Mangin could get his son to sit still was during cello practice. If you ran into this kid as an adult and made him laugh over a joke about onion rings, I bet you could catch a glimpse of that same smile, even if he grew up to become an uptight investment banker.”
    Perry’s blue eyes lock on to mine in surprised threat.
    Throw open the kingdom gates; it’s on.
    Perry gets nudged closer as more pack in, and my hunch is he can’t tell what to make of me, of this show. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him uptight. Gently, Vin. Let his face be your compass.
    “This painter knew he was dying. Siren Song is an instruction manual to a man he would never meet. Richard Mangin says ‘Son, it’s pretty fucked out there. The sky is slashed and bleeding, but don’t be alarmed. The purple is everything. Trust the violets, the lavender whirls, the eggplant streaks. Don’t let anyone tell you what kind of man you should be. You are more than flesh; you are swirling light and formless energy.’”
    “Yes,” someone says. “I see it.”
    “The Golden Curve. Right there.”
    Murmuring ensues. Murmur murmur murm—
    You’re fucking talking, you moron!
    I jerk my arms to mimic the contours.
    “Threatening, jagged rocks crawl across the desert, yet this parched land is painted watery celery green, as if from between dead cracks emerges life itself. The painter says, ‘From your desolation, my son, create yourself anew.’”
    I soften my face and breathe. I speak into Perry with quiet authority. “A dying king painted this, a love letter to his young son. It’s a father’s final blessing. And its message is….”
    The crowd remains still in anticipatory silence.
    Perry’s face remains locked in alarm.
    “Its message is,” I say, drawing out the words, “remember who you were always meant to be. Remember the king. ”
    Perry flinches and backs up, pushes his way out of the crowd in a manner that’s somewhere between polite and hasty.
    Crap.
    Still talking, Vin.
    “Notice those wings and prison bars. On one level, it’s obvious, but look again.”
    Dammit, Perry, don’t leave. I have more to say.
    “You can see in the position of those prison bars that the Golden Curve is not the only physics reference. Those bars curve to represent cosine….”
    Perry scissors his legs toward the giant glass doors. Seconds later, Perry Mangin disappears into the night without glancing backward. Cute Twink nods with relief.
    Well, fuck.
    Scrap the old plan; I’ve got a new one. Siren Song gets purchased tonight. Maybe I can help all three of these paintings get sold. I have to get Perry’s attention, get him back to the gallery. While I can’t force anything, I bet king energy can influence this. I can influence this. Three or four people seem awfully interested. I try to make extra eye contact with them as I wrap it up. That dude over there is hooked.
    Dude?
    Oh, right. Perry said that.
    “… and a tribute to his son,” I say and clasp my hands together. “If giving this painting as a gift, a mom or dad might retell this sad story and say, ‘Like this painter, I would find a way to cross time and death just to tell you how much I loved you.’”
    I pause and then dip my head. “Thank you.”
    A smattering of polite applause follows.
    Jeez, I drove Perry out of the gallery.
    A man in the crowd blurts out, “I’ll take it.”
    Someone else—perhaps a rakish real estate agent—disagrees. Quite politely, I might add.
    The first man says, “Two hundred above asking.”
    “Three hundred above asking.”
    Act surprised by what’s happening, Vin. Look surprised