The Longest Ride(143)

Again, the audience laughed.



“But I’m here to tell you that Ira would have been pleased by my selection of this quote. Ira believed in good and evil, right and wrong, love and hate. He’d grown up in a world, in a time, where destruction and hate were evident on a worldwide scale. And yet, Ira never let it define him or the man he strove daily to be. Today, I want you to view this auction as a memorial of sorts to all that he found important. But most of all, I hope you understand.”





Sophia wasn’t quite sure what to make of Sanders’s speech, and glancing around, she wasn’t sure that anyone else was, either. While he spoke, she’d noticed a number of people texting on their phones while others studied the catalog.



There was a short break then as the silver-haired gentleman conferred with Sanders before the auctioneer returned to the podium. Again he put on his reading glasses and cleared his throat.



“As most of you are aware, the auction has been scheduled in phases, the first of which will be happening today. At this point, we have not determined either the number or timing of the subsequent phases, as those will no doubt be affected by the progress today. And now, I know that many of you have been waiting for the parameters of the auction itself.”



Almost as one, the crowd began to lean forward in attention.



“The parameters, again, were set by the client. The auction agreement was quite specific in a number of… unusual details… including the order in which the pieces would be offered today. Per the instructions that all of you received in advance, we will now adjourn for thirty minutes to allow you to discuss the order with your clients. As a reminder, the list of paintings that are definitively being offered today can be found on pages thirty-four through ninety-six of the catalog. They are also represented in the photographs along the walls. In addition, the auction order will be listed on the screen.”



People rose from their seats, reaching for phones; others began to confer. Luke leaned over to whisper in Sophia’s ear.



“Do you mean that no one here knew the order of the works? What if the one they wanted didn’t come up for sale until the end? They could be here for hours.”



“For such an extraordinary opportunity, they’d probably wait until the end of time.”



He motioned toward the easels lining the wall. “So which one do you want? Because I have a few hundred dollars in my wallet and a numbered paddle beneath my seat here. The Picasso? The Jackson Pollock? One of the Warhols?”



“I wish.”



“Do you think that the sale prices will approach the estimates?”



“I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure the auction house has a good handle on that. It’ll probably be close.”



“A few of those paintings are worth more than twenty of my ranches.”



“I know, right?”



“That’s crazy.”



“Maybe,” she admitted.



He swiveled his head, taking in the scene. “I wonder what Ira would think about all this.”



She recalled the old man she’d met in the hospital, and the letter, which never mentioned the art at all. “I wonder,” she said, “whether he would even care.”





When the break was over and everyone was back in their seats, the silver-haired gentleman stepped toward the podium. In that instant, two men gingerly carried a covered painting to the easel on the stage. While Sophia expected a palpable buzz of interest now that the auction was getting under way, she realized when surveying the room that only a few people seemed to care. Again, she saw them tapping away on their phones while the speaker prepared his introduction. She knew that the first major work, one of the de Koonings, was scheduled to go second and that the Jasper Johns was scheduled to go sixth. In between were artists Sophia had a harder time identifying, and this was no doubt one of them.



“First up is a painting that can be found on page thirty-four of the catalog. It is oil on canvas, twenty-four by thirty inches, that Levinson, not the artist, called Portrait of Ruth. Ruth, as most of you are aware, was Ira Levinson’s wife.”



Both Sophia and Luke snapped to attention, focusing on the easel as the painting was unveiled. Behind it, magnified, was the painting projected on-screen. Even with her untrained eye, Sophia could tell it had been painted by a child.



“It was composed by an American, Daniel McCallum, born 1953, died 1986. Exact date of the painting is unknown, though it is estimated to date anywhere from 1965 to 1967. According to Ira Levinson’s description of the item, Daniel was a former student of Ruth’s, and it had been gifted to Mr. Levinson by McCallum’s widow in 2002.”