Silver Linings

complete disaster, which, until now, was what it definitely had been.

CHAPTER

Seven

    The Hellfire bar was another classic island dive. Mattie decided she was in a position to judge now, after having spent most of yesterday evening in one. This tavern was open to the breezes, just as the one last night had been. It had a sluggish ceiling fan and a long, long backbar filled with the basics: beer, whiskey, rum, vodka, and gin. There was no white wine as far as Mattie could see.
    The crowd was light and appeared to consist entirely of men who looked as if they had spent their lives working around docks and fishing boats. In one corner sat a handful of sailors who were presumably off the Navy ship that Mattie had seen at anchor in the harbor.
    In another corner near the rail that separated the interior of the Hellfire from the street sat a mountain of a man. He had an overgrown beard and a shock of hair that had obviously been bright red at one time. He was dressed in a flower print shirt that hung unbuttoned to the waist and revealed a great expanse of massive, tanned chest. He also had on a pair of shorts and a pair of thongs. There was a glass of what looked like whiskey on the rattan table in front of him.
    The splotches of paint on the shorts were all the clue Mattie needed. Smiling her best gallery-owner smile, she started across the room, deliberately ignoring the wolf whistles and moist sucking sounds that came from the group of sailors.
    “Mr. Silk? I'm Mattie Sharpe from Seattle. I just saw the painting you're working on down on the Griffin , and I think it's absolutely wonderful. I'd like to talk to you about representation.”
    The big man turned his head very slowly to stare at her with slightly bloodshot blue eyes. His leonine face went well with the rest of him, Mattie decided. He was truly huge all over, but everything about him appeared to be very, very solid.
    The blue eyes lit up as they settled on her. She continued to smile back, feeling quite hopeful. She had never met an artist who was not more than anxious to sell his work.
    “Well, well, well.” The voice fit the man, a deep, booming, Southern drawl. “Who the hell did you say you were?”
    “Mattie Sharpe. I own a gallery back in Seattle called Sharpe Reaction, and if the painting I saw on board your boat is a sample of the body of your work, I would love to represent you.”
    The man's grin was slow and magnificent and revealed two gold teeth. “The body of my work, eh? Sit down, Mattie Sharpe, and let me buy you a drink. We can have us a real nice discussion on the subject of my body.”
    Mattie sat down. “Thank you. Is Silk the name you prefer or would you rather I use your first name?”
    “Honeypot, you can call me anything your little heart desires. But if you can't think of something better, Silk'll do just fine.” Silk turned and called out to the bartender. “Bernard, my lad, bring the lady whatever she wants.”
    “What's she want, Silk?” the bartender called back.
    Silk turned to Mattie. “What'll it be, Mattie Sharpe?”
    “Iced tea would be nice.”
    “Hey, Bernard, you got any iced tea for the lady?”
    “I think I got some tea and I know I got ice. I guess I can put the two together. Take me a few minutes, though.”
    Silk nodded in ponderous satisfaction. “No rush, Bernard. No rush at all. Me and the lady are going to just sit right here and get to know each other. Ain't that right. Mattie Sharpe?”
    It occurred to Mattie that the man called Silk might be a little farther gone than he had originally appeared. “About your painting, Silk.”
    “Forget my painting. We can talk about that later. Much later. Tell me about yourself, Mattie Sharpe. Tell me what you like to eat, what your favorite color is, and how you like for a man to ball you. Tell me all the little details. I always aim to please.”
    Mattie stared at him, uncertain whether she had heard him correctly. Surely he had not actually said what she thought he had said. “My gallery is quite successful, Silk,” she began earnestly. “I feel certain your work would do very well there. It has the timeless appeal of landscape art and the immediate impact of a powerful, passionate statement.”
    Silk's grin got bigger. “That's me, Mattie Sharpe. I ain't nothin' if not passionate.”
    “All good artists are passionate about their work. Look, I'm only going to be here on St. Gabriel for a very short time. But if we can work out a suitable contract,