No talent. It wasn’t easy to stomach. The public had no use for his
abstract expressionist paintings. They were too big for most walls.
He’d be a has-been, except he never was.
He’d be a has-been, except he never was.
Uncle Dudley’s letter was still in his pocket. It said, “Come home to run the
restaurant, or it’s going on the block February 1st. It’s time you should
make a living, already. Either way, Rebus, I’m retiring."
Could Rebus leave Key West? Face real winters?
restaurant, or it’s going on the block February 1st. It’s time you should
make a living, already. Either way, Rebus, I’m retiring."
Could Rebus leave Key West? Face real winters?
The temporary life of the aspiring artist/bartender/cab driver is better suited to
the young Turk, still waiting for his ship to come in. Meanwhile, this old
Turk hadn’t had a new idea in years. His opinion was stale. Out of
schemes, Rebus sighed, polished off his beer and reached for another.
the young Turk, still waiting for his ship to come in. Meanwhile, this old
Turk hadn’t had a new idea in years. His opinion was stale. Out of
schemes, Rebus sighed, polished off his beer and reached for another.
Dudley’s ultimatum. This was his ship coming in? After all the years of sweat and turpentine it looked more like a dinghy.
Like so many before him, Rebus had believed that once he finally got old
enough to dwell on anything other than getting laid, his serious work
would inevitably emerge.
enough to dwell on anything other than getting laid, his serious work
would inevitably emerge.
On the road in South Carolina, he could see the plain truth. The artist scheme
might have gotten more traction if he’d been half as talented as he’d been
horny ... and maybe if he'd made smaller paintings.
might have gotten more traction if he’d been half as talented as he’d been
horny ... and maybe if he'd made smaller paintings.
-- Art and copy by F.T. Rea
