Chapter Nineteen
I stepped out of the cab onto the narrow street. The streets of Rome were packed this evening with tourists and young partygoers. I headed in the opposite direction from the restaurants and nightclubs. After opening the doors of the art museum, I walked into a room filled with the upper crust of art snobbery.
“Look at his use of Conté,” said one woman with feathers in her hair. She puffed up her chest as she used the artsy-fartsy term for what amounted to a crayon. “It’s so playful and whimsical.”
“It’s as though he’s deconstructing what it means to be a child but through the eyes of a man,” said a rotund man. His chubby fingers hovered over the lines of the art piece.
They were both wrong. Zane’s work was always straightforward. He didn’t believe in the metaphysical.
