Anita shakes her hand enthusiastically. Jackie doesn’t seem to mind the clay, either.
Anita is just as absent-minded and kind as she was when Claire worked here. She and Jackie take to each other right away, and Claire is reminded of another reason Pete wanted her to quit this job—he disliked Anita, and she never seemed to think much of him, either. Pete thought it was odd that Anita was a spinster with her own business.
“I’ve had girls in and out working the cash over the years, but none were half as good as Claire,” Anita is saying. “They didn’t have your work ethic, or your passion for the arts. You were a gift, dear. If you ever want your old job back, the door is wide open.”
“You’ve always been too kind to me,” Claire says.
“Only as kind as you deserve,” Anita says firmly.
“That’s what I’ve been telling her,” Jackie pipes up. “She’s too hard on herself. See, Claire, it isn’t just me.”
“I never should have introduced you two,” Claire says, but she can’t stop herself from smiling. There’s something very calming about having both of them in a room together. Two people who are justhers, without the involvement of Pete or the rest of the neighborhood.
“Are you still painting?” Anita asks. “I know you turned down your college acceptance, but your talent is too good to waste.”
Jackie tilts her head. “College? Which college?”
“The San Francisco Art Institute,” Anita says before Claire can think to answer, with all the gusto of a proud parent. “And she got early acceptance, too.”
“SFAI?” Jackie says, turning to Claire with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been holding out on me, saying you’re not a real artist. That school isn’t easy to get into. Why didn’t you go?”
Claire twists her fingers into her pearls. The answer is simple, but in present company she’s ashamed to admit it. Anita encouraged her to apply, even helping to pay for the application, but Pete wanted to settle down and get married right away. Claire sobbed on Anita’s shoulder in this very shop the night she agreed to reject the admission offer. Being back here is like a strange reminder of the path she almost took.
“She’s a brilliant painter, Jacqueline. She has an incredible grasp of color,” Anita says, thankfully interjecting before Claire needs to reveal yet another of her weaknesses. “And such insight—she could capture more about a person in a five-minute sketch than most artists could in a full portrait sitting. Just wonderful.”
“Anita, please,” Claire says, pressing her cool hands to her warm face. “I only sketch sometimes. I haven’t painted in ages.”
“That’s too bad. I’ve kept some of your pieces up around the place to liven things up, see?” Anita says, pointing to the painting of the acacia tree.
Jackie’s eyes widen dramatically.
“This is yours?” Jackie says. She takes a few steps closer to the painting, raising a hand as if to trace the yellow brushstrokes. “Claire, it’s gorgeous. You didn’t tell me you could paint like this.”
“It was a long time ago,” Claire says quietly.
“I have more in the back. Come on, we’ll dig them out,” Anita says, already halfway to the studio door.
“We really don’t need to do all of that,” Claire calls, but Jackie is already following Anita with a grin on her face.
“This one got the attention of the Art Institute,” Anita says, flinging a dusty sheet off of a rack full of unframed paintings. She pulls out the closest one, holding it up for Jackie to see. It’s one Claire remembers well—her first mixed media piece. She’d painted scraps of fabric into the canvas with oils, using thedifferent textures to offset the detailed faces she sketched above them.
“Claire,” Jackie says softly. She steps closer to the painting, and this time she does trace the brushstrokes. Her fingers drift across the composition Claire had long forgotten. “Thisis what you called a silly distraction?”
“She won an art competition with this piece,” Anita boasts.
Claire is torn between discomfort, and a sudden and fierce rush of pride. Jackie is looking at her art as if it’s worth something. The visit ends up being far longer than Claire anticipated. Anita drags out every old painting and sketch of Claire’s she can find, from landscapes to portraits to her brief forays into abstracts, showing each to Jackie in turn, and Jackie praises each one in detail. Claire is sure by the end of it that all the blood in her body has moved to her face.
Once Anita has finally let them leave with yet another assurance that Claire is welcome back anytime, Claire buckles into the Mustang with a lighter heart than she’s had in years.
“That woman is a riot,” Jackie says, chuckling as she checks her mirrors and pulls out of the parking spot. “I’d like to introduce her to Theo.”
Claire hums in agreement. She’s not entirely sure Anita’s view on homosexuals, but she can see her being tickled by Theo’s attitude.
“And you,” Jackie says, levelling Claire with a pointed look over her sunglasses, “you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel. Those paintings were amazing. And I’m not saying that to be nice,” Jackie says loudly, before Claire can protest. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I’ve seen much worse work hung in galleries.”
Claire can’t bring herself to accept the compliment, but she manages not to deflect it by pressing her lips together.
“If your sketchbook is anything like those pieces, I’d love to see it someday,” Jackie says. “Anita is right. Why would you hide a talent like that?”
