Page 172 - A Little Life: A Novel

which the director of the gallery had sold it to an important British collector
and the owner of the gallery had sold it to the Museum of Modern Art.
“So, perfect,” Willem said to Malcolm, knowing Malcolm would ferry

his words back to JB. “JB should tell the gallery that he’s keeping the
painting, and he should just give it to Jude.”
“He can’t do that,” Malcolm said, as appalled as if Willem had suggested
simply tossing the canvas into a trash can. “It’s MoMA.”
“Who cares?” Willem asked. “If he’s that fucking good, he’ll have
another shot at MoMA. But I’m telling you, Malcolm, this is really the only
solution he has left if he wants to keep Jude as a friend.” He paused. “And

me, too.”
So Malcolm conveyed that message, and the prospect of losing Willem as
a friend had been enough to make JB call Willem and demand a meeting, at
which JB had cried and accused Willem of betraying him, and always
taking Jude’s side, and obviously not giving a shit about his, JB’s, career,
when he, JB, had always supported Willem’s.

All of this had taken place over months, as spring turned into summer,
and he and Willem had gone to Truro without JB (and without Malcolm,
who told them he was afraid of leaving JB on his own), and JB had gone to
the Irvines’ in Aquinnah over Memorial Day and they had gone over the
Fourth of July, and he and Willem had taken the long-planned trip to
Croatia and Turkey by themselves.
And then it was fall, and by the time Willem and JB had their second

meeting, Willem had suddenly and unexpectedly booked his first film role,
playing the king in an adaptation of The Girl with the Silver Hands and was
leaving to shoot in Sofia in January, and he had gotten a promotion at work
and had been approached by a partner at Cromwell Thurman Grayson and
Ross, one of the best corporate firms in the city, and was having to use the
wheelchair Andy had gotten him that May more often than not, and Willem

had broken up with his girlfriend of a year and was dating a costume
designer named Philippa, and his former fellow law clerk, Kerrigan, had
written a mass e-mail to everyone he had ever worked with in which he
simultaneously came out and denounced conservatism, and Harold had
been asking him who was coming over for Thanksgiving this year, and if he
could stay a night after whoever he invited had left, because he and Julia
needed to talk about something with him, and he had seen plays with

Malcolm and gallery shows with Willem and had read novels that he would