Ijust stood there, the dutiful 'daughter', waiting to carry the bags whenthe cashier handed them to me.Back in the car, my mother turned to me."Now th...t wasn't so bad was it darling?" No too bad, I suppose," I responded half-heartedly."Oh come now, you can do better than that, especially after all the moneyI've just spent on you, and don't tell me you're not looking forward totrying on that lovely new nightdress." Thank you, mother," I answered, and then half-truthfully but mainlywanting to. ' Artists and museum patrons. She said you can tell them apart by the haircuts ... some of the patrons will be sporting bush shirts." I laughed."Another bunch of phonies. We could sell them those two." I waved at the wall. We'd brought the Fred Williams and the Max Dupain that had been on the station in Mitchell back east with us. Dad kept the Nolan at home. [see "Gordy's Problem"]"Not if you value your life! A gouache and a photo. They're our only real works of art." I was kidding. And. More

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