Her Name Was Lola

12 When Claude Met Lula Mae

February 1997. A Sunday afternoon. Max and Lola in the National Gallery, standing in front of Claude’s Landscape with Psyche outside of the Palace of Cupid. ‘Poor Psyche!’ says Lola.

‘If she hadn’t lit that lamp to sneak a peek at Cupid he wouldn’t have flown away,’ says Max. ‘But she wasn’t content to be kept in the dark.’

‘No one likes to be kept in the dark,’ says Lola. ‘Now she’s lost her love and there’s darkness all around her.’

‘Consequences of…’ says Max. He’s picking up a scent, a fragrance.

‘Of what?’ says Lola.

‘Magnolia blossoms?’ says Max. He turns to see a young woman looking at the same picture. A homecoming-queen kind of beauty and he can tell by the hang of her face that she’s American.

‘Clawed!’ she says. ‘You can’t beat him for atmosphere.’

‘Clowed,’ says Max.

‘But in Casablanca it’s Clawed Rains who says, “Round up the usual suspects,”’ says the homecoming queen.

‘In the National Gallery it’s Clowed,’ says Max.

‘I’ll keep that in mind. I’m Lula Mae Flowers.’

‘Max Lesser.’ Handshake. ‘This is Lola Bessington.’

‘Hi,’ says Lula Mae to Lola. To Max she says, ‘You here for a visit?’

‘I live here. You?’

‘I work here as of last week, Everest Technology Sales, transferred from Austin. What do you do?’

‘Write,’ says Max. ‘Novels.’

‘What have you written?’

‘Any That You Can Not Put Downe was the most recent. Not published in the States.’

‘You’re an H. P. Lovecraft fan! How about that! So far from home!’ She speaks with exclamation marks.

‘I think I’ve seen enough of this one,’ says Lola to Max. ‘I’ll move on to the next room.’ To Lula Mae she says, ‘Nice meeting you.’

‘Likewise,’ says Lula Mae.

‘I hope you enjoy London,’ says Max to her as he follows Lola.

‘Do my best. Maybe our paths will cross again.’

‘You never know,’ says Max as he watches the sweet primeval motion of her going-away view.

‘I never noticed till now that your eyes are on stalks,’ says Lola.

‘Retractable,’ says Max.

‘I think Lula Mae Magnolia Blossom has gone,’ says Lola, ‘and I want to get back to the Claweds.’ She leads the way to A Seaport with the Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba. ‘There’s the ship waiting to take her away into the early morning with fair weather and favouring winds. It looks as if it’s happening on a stage, I can almost hear the rollers creaking as the waves lap at the shore. How many filters of unreality are there between the real Queen of Sheba and this one!’

‘Unreality is part of reality,’ says Max.