"Oh my God! That ees JUST what I have been looking for!" Monique was standing in front of my painting "Spirit of Light." Each languorous syllable rolled from her French tongue, entered my ears, leaped from one little bone to the next, did a little dance on my eardrum, then proceeded directly to my heart, which skipped a beat.
"JUST what I have been looking for." Music to my jaded ears.
Then this: "Oh, I am so peesed off. I may be without a home in thirty days."
My heart returned to its usual, humdrum beat.
"You're being foreclosed?"
"It ees my marriage (she said it in three peesed-off syllables--mare-e-ajh) that is being foreclosed. It ees I who ees foreclosing the son of a beech. I am very peesed off. And I may not get the house."
"Oh, I see. Then you may not have a wall for the painting."
"Of course I will have a wall for the painting. It ees exactly what I have been looking for. There ees always a wall for what one has been looking for. Do you take Visa?"
My painting "Spirit of Light" appeared to have found the proper (broken) home. Monique proceeded to describe to me how she would pay for the painting. She would put down a deposit of 20%. In 45 days I would charge her Visa account the balance. Since she might be in the market for a home, as the "son of a beech" might get hers, she wanted to keep all of her credit card balances as low as possible so as to maximize her credit score. I agreed to this. It made sense. Monique was a distinguished economist after all. And I adored her accent.
I know. I know. This is where I'm supposed to explain how Monique waffled on the offer 45 days later, how she called me and with those persuasive nasalized vowels, cajoled me to refund s'il vous plait her deposit. That's what I would be expecting to read anyway. I already told you. These ears have heard it all. They are jaded ears.
Only thing is that's not what happened. The rest of the story is:
- I charged the balance on Monique's account 45 days later.
- I shipped Monique "Spirit of Light."
- I shipped the painting to the same address that Monique had had 45 days earlier.
- The son of a beech didn't get her house.
- There was a wall for the painting.
- Had the address changed, there would have been a wall for the painting.
The moral of the story:
When there's a will, there's a wall. The hard part is recognizing what you've always been looking for. It helps to have your eyes open. Even in the darkest times.