He smiled when he saw her. “Hey.”
She unlocked it and opened it. “Hi.”
“Is Harper around?”
“No, she’s out with Mitch.”
“Mitch Ripley, from next door?”
Frankie nodded. “That’s right. She works with him.”
“Cool, cool. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Could you just tell her to give me a call when she gets in? I tried texting her, but she didn’t respond.” He grinned. “Guess I should have figured out she was busy.”
“I’ll let her know.”
He glanced toward the office. “You working in there, man?”
“I am. It’s quiet.”
He went past her to look in, leaning against the door. “My dad used to sit in here and read through all the scripts he got.”
“Yeah?” Of course, she’d known Arlington had to have used this office. It had been his house. She just hadn’t had any context for how he’d used the office.
Jack nodded. “Sometimes, he’d get one with a part he thought would be right for me or Teddy. That’s how Teddy gotThe Last Salesmanand how I ended up inLong Nights and Lonely Hearts.”
“I lovedLong Nights. That movie was just…” She sighed dreamily as she thought about the film. “The cinematography on that picture was likeNighthawkscome to life. You know, the painting of the people in the diner by Edward Hopper?”
Jack turned to face her. “Sure, I know it. That’s exactly what the director was going for. That sense of loneliness and Americana. Cool, man. You know a lot about art, huh?”
She smiled. “You could say that. I’m the one who did that watercolor of theSojourner.” She pointed into the office, toward where the painting hung on the wall.
Jack’s mouth came open as he looked in at the painting. “No way, man. You did this? Oh, of course. You’re Frances Vaughn. Frances. Frankie.” He shook his head. “Dude, I’m an idiot. You’re amazing.”
Frankie laughed. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Do you still paint?”
“I do. Although it’s been a while. Most everything these days is done on my tablet using a graphics program. But I should do some physical stuff once in a while. Good to keep those skills in shape, too.”
“Do you do portraits?”
“People or pets?” She grinned. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. I can do either.”
“Yeah? Could you paint a portrait of my dad? I’d love to have one.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man. I mean it.”
“Um, sure. I have a few commissions already lined up, but then we can certainly talk about it.”
He nodded at the watercolor. “Something about that size. What would you charge for that?”
Was he serious? She couldn’t tell. She bought herself some time. “I haven’t done a portrait that size in a while. I’d need to estimate my time and materials. Can I let you know tomorrow?”
“That’s cool.” He studied the painting. “I’d love a portrait of my dad to hang in my house. I have photos, you know? But a painting is something else. It’s like a deeper medium, man. It’ssoulful.”
She nodded. “I agree. I’d be honored to do a portrait of your dad.” It would mean getting supplies. She had nothing. Nopaints, no brushes, no canvas, no easel, not a thing. But for Jack Marsh, she’d get what she needed. If he was serious.
