The Painted Kiss by Elizabeth Hickey Read Free Book Online

eye.”
    “Well, I did study drawing with Hans Lerner when I was in school.”
    “Hans Lerner, he’s a legend. And for him to take you as a student, what an honor!” Helene kicked me under the table. Why was he flattering our mother so outrageously?
    “And I went to Italy,” she said. “Before I was married.”
    He sighed in rapture over her descriptions of the Fra Angelicos and the Tiepolos and the Masaccios she’d seen.
    “Your girls should have the opportunity if they wish.” I waited for Papa to say that it was his business to decide what opportunities we should have, but he didn’t.
    “Helene is musical,” said my mother. “She has lessons every afternoon. I doubt she’d have time for more.”
    “What about the other two?” said Klimt.
    “Pauline is scheduled to begin a special language course when she finishes school in the spring. But Emilie is free.”
    I looked at her beseechingly but she either didn’t understand my look, or didn’t care.
    “I know she must be busy with her acting,” said Klimt. “I see by her sash that she must have been practicing before I arrived.” It was only then that I noticed the pink silk band tied around my waist, poking out from under my school blouse with the brooch still attached. I had missed it in my rush and we’d all been too preoccupied by the sittings and the dinner to notice. But now, thanks to Klimt, everyone in the family was staring at it.
    “Emilie!” shrieked my mother, “go upstairs and take that off right now!”
    I left the table, wishing I didn’t have to go back, that I could crawl into bed and stay there until Klimt had gone. I tried to remember what the punishment was for borrowing Mother’s things without asking. Was I to go without dinner for three days? Though this time it would be worse since I had embarrassed my parents in front of a guest. Would Father take out the strap? As I climbed the stairs I could hear my mother making excuses for me. “I know she’s too old to play dress up, but she enjoys it so much, and it seems harmless.” I pulled the clasp around my waist, unhooked it, and balled the sash up in my fist, wishing it was Klimt’s face.
    When I came back down, it had already been decided. Klimt was going to be my drawing teacher, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Four
    T he day of the first lesson I woke up before it was light. I tried to wake Helene, hoping her soothing voice would calm my nerves, but despite my vigorous prodding, she only frowned, and rolled onto her back, eyelids fluttering and hand dangling dramatically, as if she were a society queen with the vapors. She was obviously having a dream from which she didn’t want to be taken. I threw off the covers, which Helene promptly grabbed. It was cold. The bones in my feet ached as I walked over to Pauline’s bed. She was muttering in her sleep, explaining to her teacher why she was late and why she wasn’t wearing shoes.
    I went to the windowsill and pulled my cambric nightgown over my feet. Soon it would be time to bring our flannel nightgowns out, and our heavy goose-down comforters, stuffed by the farmer’s wives in Attersee.
    When I was in a temper, I often sent my thoughts to Attersee, a small town in the lake district several hours west of Vienna. My family had been spending summers there since before I was born. Mountains ringed the glacial lakes there and the hills were covered with wildflowers. It was impossible to think of it and be upset.
    The air outside my window was foggy and dense. The apartment building across the street looked as if it were underwater. A few people were out; the man who sold newspapers on the corner came into view rolling a dolly loaded to the handle and slid its pile of Vienna Times onto the pavement. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and sliced the twine on the bundles and stacked them in his cart. Then he disappeared around the corner to do it again. Rolling, unloading, cutting, stacking.
    The carts were