Nita caught up to Fitz and TJ at the pony ride. This was TJ’s second go-round, and he was clearly enjoying himself.
“Guess he wants to be a mounted cop,” mused Fitz.
“What makes you think he wants to be a cop at all?” she countered. She saw no reason why her son should put himself in harm’s way just because policing was a Fitzgerald family tradition. Especially since she had no intention of enlarging her branch of the family. As the saying goes, she had all her eggs in one basket.
They had been weaving around this issue ever since TJ was born. But Fitz was not the dictatorial type, preferring to lead by example as his own father had done, and let the boy decide for himself when the time came. He figured the chances were in his favor. After all, TJ admired his mother, too, and wasn’t she on the force?
Nita decided to change the subject. “Do you remember that exhibit we went to at Peggy Guggenheim’s gallery, the one that had a Pollock painting in it? Right after we got married. She sent us an invitation to the opening—I thought it was really nice of her to remember us.”
“That’s where we saw all those abstract and Surrealist pictures,” Fitz recalled. “More than enough for a lifetime, if you ask me. I remember the one by Matta, the guy whose wife did the number on Lam. It was full of alien-looking creatures, all having a bad day. But I don’t remember a Pollock painting, do you?”
“No, but I’m sure he was in the show, because he and his wife were there—Peggy pointed them out. What was it she called him? Oh, yes, ‘my new genius.’ That’s why I remember him. Of course there were a lot of people at the opening, so it was hard to see anything. I don’t think we paid much attention, except to Matta, and then only because he was central to the Lam case. Pollock was on the sidelines then, but he got famous later on, thanks to Peggy pushing him. And that Life magazine article a few years ago. That really put him on the map.”
“How did he wind up in this neighborhood, I wonder?” said Fitz. “Not exactly the center of the art world, is it? Kind of pretty, though, and not too remote. There’s always the train, and with that Olds he could get into Manhattan pretty quick, especially at the speed he was traveling just now.”
Their attention was drawn to TJ, who had reluctantly turned over the pony to the next young equestrian in line and was ready for lunch. Then the ring toss, his father promised him.
On the way to the food tent they stopped to buy a raffle ticket. The prize was a Jackson Pollock screen print, donated by the artist—a stark, black image of a strange hybrid figure struggling to free itself from that tangle of string Finch had described. Neither Fitz nor Nita cared for it, but TJ thought it was kinda interesting.
“Looks like a leapin’ lizard,” he declared, in the words of Little Orphan Annie, so they put down a dollar for a chance on it. The lady in the booth said they didn’t have to stick around for the drawing. Somebody would call the Sea Spray if they won.