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Time for a tale. A tale that will run at least four issues and that will have a cast of characters, some of whom will be given pseudonyms and some who will be named as they deserve recognition. The tale is what I would call a retributory stroke of (close to) genius. I was a passive participant, but I was instrumental in that the entire scheme was retaliatory as regards an action that one of the principals in the tale took against me. Essentially, it is about the turning of the tables on a prankster who always laughed at her own practical jokes which I thought involved a certain amount of sadistic glee on her part. I am not a fan of practical jokes and when the retributory joke was established by my friend Guy Durham (he died in 1997) I wasn't immediately thrilled at participating, but I adored Guy and I knew that he had a light touch and that he was much more interested in the mechanics of the table turning aspect of his prank than inflicting hurt on anyone. He thought that the antagonist would see the error of her ways and reform. Fat chance! In any case, here goes. Herewith, the mise-en-scene and I only hope that the ongoing narrative makes some kind of sense.
The antiques business is partly about knowing people and creating some kind of relationship with them that has them thinking of you when they need some piece of furniture or decorative item. I'm okay at schmoozing, but not the best. My clients, I believe, like to buy from me because they trust me--or at least I hope they do, and they like my taste. There was an elite group of buyers that I knew about when I started, everyone knew who they were, they were the ones who seemed to understand what they were looking at and would just buy without hesitation. Every dealer wanted to meet these people. When they saw what they considered to be a great object, they bought it, no matter whether it was from the most hallowed, well established dealer or from someone like me, relatively new to the business (15 years at the time) and hardly known by anyone. Ann Getty was one of these buyers. She had extraordinary taste and somehow she knew what was rare and wonderful--she bought with great acumen. When I finally met her on a book tour at Sotheby's around 2003 or so, long after this tale of retribution took place, she knew who I was and when I mentioned that I had a sister who schooled her young kids, she knew exactly who my sister was (we look alike). In other words, her visual memory was pretty exceptional.
When I first moved into New York City, I rented the front room of a townhouse on 74th Street between Fifth and Madison. Leigh Keno, the American furniture dealer, had the back part of the townhouse and my little room, perhaps 12' x 16' was hardly a blip on the landscape of English antique furniture available in NYC. But there were a few people who knew me and I was able to sell from there. And one of the ways to meet people interested in English furniture was to meet them at auction. I went to all the sales at Sotheby's and Christie's of which there were many, and that is where I met one of the main characters in my tale, Daisy, who was with Barbara and her son Basil. Barbara had a job to buy, really just do the bidding, for Mrs. Getty and Daisy, who was gregarious and garrulous, saw me bidding on something and asked me why it was worth bidding on-- as it happened, I was sitting directly in front of the three of them. I forget what I was bidding on, but we started to talk and she told me that she and Basil lived together in Queens and that Basil's Mom was Ann Getty's buyer--factotum was the word she used. She introduced me all around and we chatted for a bit and then Barbara proceeded to spend about three quarters of a million dollars on various items in the sale. I suggested that Barbara drop by my place sometime, but that did not happen right away.
TO BE CONTINUED-I've only just begun.
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