Hideout
 

Saturday morning, I opened letter that came from the city of Los Angeles on Friday. It turned out to be a $160 parking ticket for an Acura Integra - the car I used to drive two years ago. 

"Wait a second, " I said to myself. "Didn't I sell it by then? Where is the damn bill of sale?" 

I looked inside my filing cabinets for about fifteen minutes and felt nauseous. "Oh man, is this how I'm supposed to spend my weekend?" I asked Francis the First, who was mysteriously half smiling at me from the reproduction that hung on the wall of my office. 

I slammed the cabinet drawer, fell back into the chair, and closed my eyes. 

Francis, Francis, I'd much rather wander in your time then deal with the nasty parking tickets. I can just see it.

Foggy morning, November, 1505. Turin, France: 

A group of horsemen are approaching the City Hall building. They are armed and dressed fancy. In the middle of the group is a young man without a helmet. His red tunic is flapping on the wind.

Wait a minute…It couldn't have been 1505. Francis was born in 1494. In 1505 he was only eleven. Think. Think, man, think! Okay. Hold your horses Francis…

Bright morning, August 1516, Amboise, France:

A young man wakes up with a smile, gets up and rings the bell. The lackey immediately walks into the large room and bows.

"Your majesty?"

"Fertiet, did he come?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"When?"

"Yesterday, late in the evening." Fertiet buttoned Francis’ doublet. "Your majesty, please straighten your back."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Francis turned letting his lackey straighten the garment on his back.

"Your majesty was asleep. I did not dare."

"How silly, Fertiet. Didn't I tell you to inform me as soon as he arrived?" 

"Yes, your majesty. I am sorry, Sire." Fertiet bowed even deeper than etiquette required.

"How does it look?" Francis asked.

"Marvelous your majesty, marvelous." Fertiet looked at the young Francis with admiration. 

"So where is he? Did he sleep well?" Francis put his right hand in a sleeve of a robe. 

"Yes, your majesty. He was given an apartment in the left wing of the palace."

"So where is he now? I can't wait to meet him."

"The Master from Vinci is in the main hall with all the other courtiers. He is seeking to be admitted to your sight."

"Quick, Fertiet, quick. Hold the robe straight."

Francis Valua, the king of France, left his bedroom and quickly went through the corridors of the palace toward the main hall. His lackey, Fertier, adjutant - count d'Alene and ten soldiers who were guarding the entrance to his bedroom at night, followed him. 

The young king walked so fast that his followers had to run at times to catch up. Their steps left a loud dull trace in the tranquility of the castle corridors.

Hmm… I wonder about that? Were the corridors carpeted? I should look it up in the "History of Arts" or something. 

 "His majesty, King of France," the announcer proclaimed. 

All the courtiers aborted their conversations at once and the main hall became very quiet. Francis took a quick look around, scanning through French courtiers and foreign diplomats.

"Ah, here he is!" He exclaimed and walked toward the right side of the hall. People parted, leaving an old man with long gray hair and modest, black clothes standing in front of the king.

"Master Leonardo from Vinci!" Said Francis loudly, so everybody could hear him, grabbing and squeezing the old man's hands. "I am so happy to see you."

"Your majesty," Leonardo said, his voice hoarse from excitement as he dropped on one knee and kissed Francis' hand.

"Please don't do this, monsignor," said Francis, trying to lift Leonardo from the floor. "The honor is all ours. The whole civilized World knows about your incredible achievements! I was in Milan and saw your "Last Supper." A magnificent piece! Wait. Was it Milan or Pisa? Hell, I don't remember. Oh who gives a damn …"

"I am very honored, your majesty," Leonardo replied, slowly getting up from his knees and bowing low. "You won't be sorry that you've invited me. I am old, but I am still strong. I can be very helpful as a military engineer and architect as well as a painter."

Francis gestured for the man to stop.  "Master Leonardo," he said loudly and distinctly. "We have been following your life. None of your previous patrons gave you justice. You see, we don't want you to do anything." He smiled turning toward the crowd, lifting his hands and smiling. Everybody smiled in return, praising his generosity. He was charming in spite of the characteristic Valua family long nose and small eyes. "We just want you to rest and be happy with us." 

He turned back to Leonardo. "That doesn't mean you cannot do something if you want to. We have very big plans. We just don't want you to worry about survival."

Leonardo Da Vinci stood in front of the young king with tears in his eyes. "Your majesty, I brought you a present." He made a sign to his apprentice who stood in the corridor behind the door of the main hall. 

The apprentice brought what seemed to be a painting covered so that observers could see only the backside of its canvas. Francis stood impatiently and his impatience transferred to all the people in the hall. Finally, he removed the draping. The crowd sighed deeply. Several ladies screamed. 

Francis' eyes glued to the canvas. "My god!" He exclaimed. "What is it?"

"It's a portrait of a young lady, your majesty. Her name is Mona Lisa."

She looked at the people with strange half smile, as if knowing everything about them and much, much more.

I wondered if their real meeting was similar to the way I had imagined it. I thought that it was actually wise of this Renaissance politician to invite Leonardo and give him a sense of stability in his old age. In return, he received one of the most precious pieces of art ever created on Earth, and a place in history. He did what he had to do for the glory of France back then, and I had to do what I had to do now. I opened my eyes and winked to Francis on the portrait.  "Right, man?"

"You bet," Francis told me, winking back. I smiled and went back to look for that damn bill of sale.