April 4, 2012
One big muscular man, one enormous man, and one wiry thin man are in the living room wrestling with the baby grand. I don’t think they are enough, but let’s trust them to know their business. I want to cry to them, “For God’s sake, stop taking phone calls and get the job done,” but, again. The upheaval of this moment should be balanced by the fact that Marco got my show set up in not much more than an hour, it looking professional and elegant, as good a setting as those paintings are going to get. I had produced too much, and several things had to be left out. At least today the anxiety of not being at the studio producing is fully mitigated.
Rain impends. They wonder how to get the pedals off. I am useless.
The rain has started and the piano is gone. The “Mighty Movers” were quite sufficient, it turned out, with a functional knowledge of physics far superior to my own. The piano is the last vestige of my contact with the Yeagers, that odd and ultimately unprofitable interlude. The very big man had to run out on the porch every five minutes to spit. The other two had the bodies of superheroes.