About two weeks ago, as Mary walked into the coffee shop to grab a cappuccino to go, Betsy gave her the widest smile Mary had ever seen grace the Goth girl’s lips. ‘I got a place at an exhibition,’ she said, offering Mary a flyer, almost bouncing from one foot to the other out of excitement. ‘I’m allowed to display up to five pieces.’
‘Oh my god. That’s amazing.’ Mary took the flyer and gave Betsy a hug. ‘Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.’
‘Will you come?’ Betsy asked with puppy eyes. ‘Please… it would mean a lot if you did.’
‘Of course I will.’ Mary’s smile was almost as happy as Betsy’s. ‘It will be an absolute pleasure.’
Mary rushed into her bedroom and swung open the wardrobe doors.
Just like she’d done back in Nashville, Mary had kept her private belongings down to a bare minimum. The apartment that she had rented came fully furnished, and though she’d been itching to add her own personal touches to the décor, she’d somehow managed to restrain herself from doing so. Her wardrobe was pitiful. It looked more like a disused cupboard than anything else, but there was a flipside – at least she never ended up spending an hour trying different outfits before going out.
Mary caught a glimpse of her reflection on the wardrobe door mirror. She was wearing black jeans and a blue-and-white striped, long-sleeved shirt.
‘Yeah, this will do,’ she said to herself, as her eyes darted to the window for an instant. There was no sign of rain, but the temperature outside was around 52°F – not exactly cold – but if she was to walk for twenty minutes by the Bay, she’d need more than just a jacket, and in her limited wardrobe, there was only one option – a knitted white sweater that she had bought a week or so after arriving in San Francisco. She reached for it, put it on, and rushed into the bathroom. Her makeup also wasn’t that bad. All she needed was to reapply some lipstick, maybe a new coat of eyeliner, and put her contact lenses back in. Her hair had already grown long enough for her to not need her wig anymore… and she kept the style pretty much identical.
Makeup reapplied and look restored, Mary was ready to go. At the front door, she slipped into her black ankle boots, grabbed her leather jacket from one of the hooks on the wall, and checked the time one last time – 8:02 p.m.
The flyer said that the exhibition closed at 9:00 p.m.
Mary reached for her handbag and quickly checked its contents – the same as always – including her go-bag.
She locked the door behind her and hurried towards the stairs, completely oblivious that that night would give George Oakfield’s old clichéd sentence – ‘this is the first day of the rest of your life’ – a brand-new meaning.
Thirty-One
Located inside an old warehouse, the art gallery where the exhibition was taking place was extremely spacious, with tall office-like partitions that had been arranged to create a labyrinth of corridors, leading to different rooms.
Mary made it to the warehouse with over half an hour to spare before the exhibition was due to close. The place seemed packed.
At the entry doors, she was greeted by the gallery owners, a charming gay couple in their early forties, who handed her a map of the labyrinth inside. According to the map, Betsy was sharing a small room with one other artist, located about halfway down the labyrinth. Mary unzipped her leather jacket and began making her way through the crowd and the corridors. She navigated past four different rooms before she finally got to the one where Betsy’s pieces were being displayed.
‘Oh my god, you made it,’ Betsy said, as soon as she saw Mary appear at the door. Her entire face seemed to morph into a giant smile.
‘Of course.’ Mary smiled back, giving Betsy a hug. ‘I told you I’d be here, didn’t I? And wow…’ She took a step back, allowing her eyes to look at Betsy from head to toe. ‘You look fantastic.’
‘Aww, thank you so much,’ Betsy said, showing Mary inside. There were about ten people inside the small room. ‘Have youseen the other rooms yet? There are some incredible artists displaying here tonight.’
‘I haven’t.’ Mary came clean. ‘I’m a little late. I just got here, so I came straight to your room.’
‘I really am glad you came.’ Betsy hugged Mary again. ‘I’ll leave you to look around on your own, it’s better that way, but please come find me at the end, OK?’
‘Of course.’
The lighting in the room was moody… almost somber, reflecting the theme of the art pieces displayed in it. As Betsy walked away, Mary turned to face the wall to her right, where three people had gathered, all attentively studying a painting that hung from it. Mary decided that that would be a good place to start.
The piece was a framed, 24 by 24 inches, spray-painted canvas. It was titledVeils of Darkness, by Judith Wallace – the other artist who was sharing the room with Betsy.
‘Amazing, don’t you think?’ a dark-haired woman with a hawk nose and large dangling earrings commented, addressing the older gentleman standing to her right. His hair was cut short, exposing his ears, which seemed a little too large for his head.
Mary had paused just a step or so behind them.
‘You can clearly see the veils through all that darkness if you angle your body just a little to either side,’ the woman continued. ‘It’s all a question of perspective and contrast.’ As she said those words, the woman swung her body a few inches to her left, paused for a second or two, then swung it over a few inches to her right, in a slow rocking motion.
Mary frowned, took a second, and then copied the woman’s swinging motion – first left, then right. As she did, through the corner of her eye, she noticed that the man standing to her left was doing the exact same.
‘Yeah, I see it,’ the gentleman standing with the woman aheadof Mary said. He too was gently moving his body from left to right in front of the painting.
‘And look.’ The woman carried on. ‘From this angle.’ She stopped with the gentle rocking motion and tilted only her head to her right. ‘In a standing still position, you can see a different effect – as if the veils were flailing in the wind.’
