A Question of Values

By Harry Buschman

It began on a Tuesday. Every Tuesday Fred and Louise Snapp gassed up the van
and headed north from Upper Stepney in Connecticut all the way to Rutland,
Vermont. If you were in the antique business you knew the really good buys were in Rutland -- a little cleaning up here and there, a few minor repairs and they could be sold for three times the price in Upper Stepney, or ten times the price back on Madison Avenue in New York.

"Fred loves to work with his hands," Louise would say when she told her friends about their business. Louise, on the other hand, had a sharp eye for art and things of value. When Fred took early retirement from B.V.D. & B., he and Louise started a small antique business in Upper Stepney out of their own home and finally had to rent a store in town. They called it "Snapp Impressions," it was Louise's idea not Fred's. After 30 years in the advertising business Fred lost his touch for words.

Every Tuesday they closed the store and drove to Vermont. They'd stay until
Thursday morning, then drive back to Upper Stepney with a load of butter
churns, lobster traps and syrup buckets, then they'd open "Impressions" in the afternoon.

Ten minutes out of Upper Stepney, Louise began to talk. "We could sell paintings Fred. Gladys Brewster-Phipps came in looking for paintings on Sunday .... early American, Hudson River School. We don't have anything like that."

"We're doing OK now," Fred grumbled, "we don't have a gallery, we don't have
the space for it, you need walls and lighting and besides, you can't buy bargain paintings." Fred had lost his touch for pictures. After a spotty career in advertising, words and pictures no longer had value to him. Old broken things .... that's what he loved .... putting them back together, making them live again.

They took Route 103 into Rutland and stopped in Cuttingville for coffee. "Think about it, Fred," she went on, "we could put up hinged panels, you know, swinging out from the wall? We have the space and it would be less work for you too."

A small gallery Louise noticed on a previous trip sat diagonally across the street from the coffee shop -- "Jasper Jones, Canvasses" She was determined to get Fred over there and check it out.

"Look, Fred, over there -- let's take a look while we're here."

Reluctantly, Fred trailed after her, "Jasper Jones," he grumbled, how could anybody make a living with a name like that?

Fred cupped his eyes with his hands and looked through the glass door, "It's
dark in there, Louise -- must be closed," but a hand lettered sign on the door said "Open for Business." Another one said, "You Won't Believe Your Eyes." In the rear of the gallery they could see a tall man in a black suit standing under a skylight. Louise opened the door and immediately the gallery was flooded with soft light. Paintings were everywhere .... the walls and floor were covered with them. It was as though they had blundered into a museum basement storage room. She thought there must be a king's ransom here .... how did a priceless collection like this ever find its way into a one horse town like Cuttingville?

All six feet four of Jasper Jones pulled himself erect and walked toward them, with legs bent backward. A strange sort of walk -- like a large aquatic bird.

"Welcome, my friends. Welcome to the gallery of Jasper Jones. I trust you are
lovers of the art of painting. If so, my gallery will please you. From the
Renaissance to Post-Impressionism .... the treasures of the world hang before
you." He waved his arms expansively.

"This guy must have done time in the advertising business," thought Fred. He
whispered to Louise, "We're not gonna find any bargains here, Louise .... let's go and get what we came for."

"Sir! -- I have never been in the advertising business .... and as for bargains, where can you find a Monet for $150?"

Had he whispered louder than he thought .... or had this man read his thoughts? He tried to pull Louise's arm but she was overcome by the value of these precious paintings and Fred couldn't move her. She stood like Lot's wife, transfixed in front of a Van Dyke .... a portrait of a beefy, red-faced man holding a silver tankard of ale. "It must be worth millions," she murmured.

"If I had not painted it last week, madam," Jasper smiled.

"My God!" she exclaimed .... "You painted this?"

"Exactly madam! An understandable response from someone who knows value when she sees it, but now we've depreciated the painting by a hundred percent. Had it been an authentic Van Dyke, it would certainly be worth millions -- but
now you know who painted it, and it is worth next to nothing."

Louise stole a quick glance at Fred and he was aware of an unfamiliar, calculating expression that crept across her normally frank and honest face, one he had only seen at tax time.

"The gentleman in the painting Madam, it is Charlie Spivak .... the bartender
at a local tavern here in Cuttingville. It is not my custom to copy the masters, but to recreate -- in the master's style -- scenes he was not privileged to see. Scenes he might well have painted were he living in Cuttingville today. The Van Gogh at your feet .... that is the cow path leading to Singleton's Dairy Farm .... might I assume you are Louise Snapp, and you, sir .... are Frederick?"

"Now wait a minute .... " Fred began, but Jasper went on as though he were
lecturing children.

"Your names are well known in Rutland sir .... you go there weekly, and what
goes on in Rutland is the talk of the town here in Cuttingville. I am not psychic, but I am quite able to read your name on the van across the street. I am acutely aware of the actions of others .... I am by nature an impressionist." He picked up the Van Gogh and hung it next to the Van Dyke. "You are practical people. You must know magic is a practical business and the better the magician, the better the business .... the better the magic."

Louise took a deep breath .... "You mentioned $150?"

"Ah, yes, the Monet. It is lovely isn't it? Claude could not have done better; he did do far worse, mind you, but I'm sure he could not have done better." He picked it up and moved closer to Fred and Louise, close enough for them to detect a dusty smell. "Like he'd been beating a rug," Fred thought.

"You place great value in money, madam?"

"I .... well .... I think money is the scale we use for value, isn't it? I mean, you can't put a price on everything .... but, well .... you know what I mean. Unless you put a price on something, you don't know what it's worth."

"I did not mean to be elliptical, Mrs. Snapp, but it occurs to me that the price we put on things of value is based on what we think people will pay for them. Do you agree, Mr. Snapp?"

Fred didn't like the way this was going. He could sense the manipulation, and
he didn't like Jones's effect on Louise. She seemed to be mesmerized by the
paintings. That's what he hated about paintings, people talked about them too
much. Give him lobster pots every time.

"Money's just about everything, Mr. Jones," Fred sighed. "When you've got
money you can have anything it buys."

"Then why bother with values .... heh, Mr. Snapp? Yes .... why not steal it?"
Jasper's eyes narrowed. "Things of value fade quickly in the face of money.
Your wife is quite willing to spend $150 for this painting that looks like a
Monet, is that not so, Madam?" Louise nodded eagerly. "For the sake of
argument, let me ask you if you would still pay $150 for it if I sign it "Jasper Jones?" Louise looked helplessly at Fred, then back to Jasper Jones.

"Somewhat less, I expect, Mrs. Snapp. Is it because of the magic -- the illusion that perhaps this painting is really a valuable Monet after all? Or perhaps someone else might be convinced that it is. Enterprise! Yankee ingenuity! Is that not the American way? I am not so out of touch with the world up here in Cuttingville that I have forgotten the value of good business."

"Would you excuse us, Mr. Jones? I'd like to have a word with my husband --
alone."

Louise steered Fred to the front door. "Listen to me," she started. "You see the possibilities, don't you? -- we don't have to claim they're authentic. We don't have to guarantee anything -- just put a bug in their ear. We'd come in somewhere between the $150 we spend and the million we could sell it for. Is
that a profit or what?!!"

"Louise, I don't like this. It's crooked! It's why I got out of advertising in the first place. I don't want to spend the rest of my life cheating people."

"Ridiculous," Louise snorted. "What do you think we're doing with butter churns and lobster traps, why only last week Gladys Brewster-Phipps bought what she thought was a stuffed alligator planter from us. You and I both know it was papier-mache."

Jasper Jones was silently pacing in front of the Monet. He had placed a smaller, colorful Picasso next to it. Together, they made an irresistible combination.

"Look at that, Fred," Louise was almost beside herself. "If that isn't an honest to goodness Picasso!" In a voice louder than it had to be, she announced, "We'll take them both Mr. Jones .... the Monet and the Picasso," she hastily added, "and we'll pay in cash if that's all right with you."

"Cash is an excellent choice, madam. Quite acceptable, and untraceable as well may I add."

With Fred's grudging compliance, the pictures were bubble wrapped. He carried
the larger Monet and Louise, with great care carried the smaller Picasso.

The return trip to Connecticut was stressful to Fred. Louise, however, could see nothing but profit ahead. It lay temptingly, just beyond every turn of the road. Fred was silent, but she bubbled with enthusiasm.

"We just don't guarantee anything, see. That's the beauty of it, right .... and if push comes to shove we take a minimum mark-up, but once in a while we'll get lucky and somebody's going to talk themselves into a Monet or a Picasso or whatever. Fred stared glumly ahead. "Damn it, Fred, will you lighten up!"

"I watched Jones when he wrapped the pictures. Did you notice the canvasses
are stapled to new stretchers .... huh, Louise? You think Monet or whatever had access to a staple gun? What about the price tags on the stretchers .... huh Louise .... $4.98 Glick's Art Supplies?"

"No problem. We bought them rolled up, see. A lot of paintings are brought in
from overseas that way. We tell them they were rolled up and smuggled into the States by a wealthy Arabian oil millionaire. Honestly Fred, you're making .... "

© Harry Buschman 1998

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