I see that there’s a blank for “Non-Vocational Interests” on Henry S’s printed sheet. “It wasn’t just a hobby,” I explain. “She was an artist. The University has some of her stuff in their permanent collection.”
“Ah,” says Henry S. “Maybe I can talk to someone at the gallery. There may be records of some kind. Maybe slides of the artwork.” He makes a note in the margin of his notebook.
I couldn’t get Joe to go with me to Rose’s show, and we wound up arguing.
“I told you, Jackie, I ain’t goin’ to no artsy-fartsy show. Now stop buggin’ me.”
“But I want to go.”
“So, go. It’s just across the street, for Chrissakes. You don’t need me to hold your hand. I’m tired, and I wanna go to bed early. I thought you said you knew some chick who was gonna be there.”
“Well, I do, but I don’t know her that well. I just met her once. But I want to go.”
“SO GO!”
He slammed out of the room, and I pulled on my jacket and crossed Fifth Street to the Fine Arts Building. The gallery was on the lower level. When you go in the front doors, there are two curving stone staircases branching down, right and left, and I stood hesitantly at the top, looking over the side. Rose wasn’t in sight, but I could see Tony shaking hands with some people. A tiny bald spot at the crown of his thick, dark hair winked up at me. Tony motioned the people toward a table that was set against the wall and loaded with bottles of wine, a punch bowl with orange slices floating in it, and trays of cheese and fruit and bread splayed out like hands of cards laid face down. I started slowly down the stairs, sliding my palm along the cool stone banister. As I reached the bottom, I caught Tony’s eye and was treated to another of those slow, appraising smiles of his.
“Well, look who’s here--Rose’s little friend. Jenny, was it?”
“Jackie. But with a Q-U-E.”
“Oh, with a Q-U-E, huh? Well, good to see you again, Jackie with a Q-U-E.” He pointed at the refreshment table. “Have something to eat?”
“Uh, no thanks. Is Rose here?”
“Was a minute ago. She’s around somewhere.” Tony moved up close, and even as tall as I am, I still had to lean my head back to look up at him. “Want me to show you around?” He was so near that I could feel his warm, burgundy breath on my forehead.
Just then, a blond woman in overalls and a pair of pink, high-topped sneakers slid up to Tony and looped her arm in his, pulling him toward her, off-balance. “Tony, you old lech. What are you up to?” She turned to me and smiled widely. Deep lines crinkled away from the corners of her eyes. Her wet, bright lipstick matched her shoes, and I noticed that she had a gold-capped tooth in either side of her mouth. “You better run along and look at the pictures, sweetie. I need to talk to Tony-Boy, here.” She yanked Tony away toward the table, and I turned and went into the gallery.
I’d never been to an art show before. Oh, I’d been to the craft fairs that the ladies in the church put on, of course, and I’d been to the Art Barn at the Eastern Idaho State Fair. In fact, the summer after ninth grade, I won an Honorable Mention in the Senior High Division for a collage I’d done in art class. I’d torn a bunch of pictures of Wonder Woman out of old comic books and arranged them all around at different angles. Then I cut out pictures of vegetables from my mom’s gardening magazines and pasted them on top of Wonder Woman, putting tomatoes over her breasts and stalks of corn where her legs should be. I glued pictures of lettuce on her head and apples over her heart and strawberries between her legs. My mom didn’t like it--she said it made her feel “upset”--but my art teacher, a young guy who was only at our school for one year before he moved back to Oregon, said it was the best thing he’d seen all year. After it won Honorable Mention, he said the State Fair judges would have given it First Place, except for one old fart who wanted to throw it out of the contest altogether, 'cause he thought it was "nasty."
I wonder what I did with that picture. It used to hang in the kitchen of the house on Fifth, but I don’t remember seeing it after I moved away from there.
I wonder what I did with that picture. It used to hang in the kitchen of the house on Fifth, but I don’t remember seeing it after I moved away from there.
