at the National Gallery, beneath de Goya’s portrait of Dona Isabel de Porcel, i wait. an assignation with the property agent who’s charming my husband with her long, dark, curly hair and vibrant smile.
“what do you think?” i ask Dona Isabel.
“it doesn’t matter how many times i change my clothes, i still feel the same,” she whispers and glances meaningfully to the right. it’s as if she’s on the lookout for the property agent, too.
Dona Isabel is wearing a black lace mantilla and is heavily corseted. she’s clasping her waist with an open hand and, paradoxically, i clasp mine. stand up straighter, too. mimic this black sail of a woman with satin on her collar and cuffs.
we are two buxom women on the lookout for pirates.