carlyinrome

“This has always been one of my favorites.”

Booth peered intently at the canvas, eyes narrowing, and Angela smiled, holding her tongue on several squint jokes.

“It’s . . . what is it?”

Angela gently pulled Booth upright; he was getting so close to the painting that Angela was afraid museum security would intervene, and they’d spend the rest of the afternoon in a jurisdictional measuring contest.

“It’s a dog barking at the moon.”

“And you can tell this how?”

“For one, it’s the title,” Angela said, indicating the plaque beside the painting. “Plus . . . look at it.”

Booth frowned. “It looks like a clown humping a pudding mountain.”

“Pudding mountain?”

Booth motioned helplessly. “Well, it’s all . . . puddingy. And what’s with the ladder? Does the clown need help to get to the moon, or . . . ?”

Angela grinned. “How would you get to the moon?”

Booth abandoned his scrutiny of the painting and turned on Angela, his charm smile in full effect. He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her close.

“I have some . . . alternative methods.”

“Jackie Gleason methods?”

Booth pinched her bottom, and she giggled.

“No,” he purred against her ear. “Like maybe we cut the museum trip short and—”

“Nice try, mister,” Angela said, and smoothly disengaged herself from his grasp. “But you promised me a full day of fine art.”

Booth sighed and followed her into the next room. He perked up considerably as he focused on one of the prints.

“Hey! This is—should this be in a museum?”

Angela smiled. “The human form is one of the hallmarks of art.”

He cocked his head, studying a charcoal silhouette. “Well . . . good. I mean, you know I try to . . . support the arts . . .”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re a real aficionado.”

“A what?”

Angela smiled and took his hand, leading him further into the room. “I tell you what. If you’re good the rest of the afternoon, tonight I’ll see if we can’t make a few of these of our own.”

When Booth caught up with her train of thought, he smiled and picked up the pace.

“Really?”

“Really. I think you’d be a good model, all muscly and—”

“You want me to . . . ?”

“What? You’re an artist now? I saw that map you drew with the directions to the museum—”

Booth chased her into the next exhibit.


* The painting in question is Joan Miró's, "Dog Barking at the Moon"