by Vern Buzarde
The magnitude of having all twenty-seven of her paintings displayed exclusively here was finally sinking in. She scanned them, now displayed together for the first time. The effect was thrilling and unfamiliar. Washed by the gallery lights, each piece popped with a unique sense of urgency yet seemed to form one larger motif, like precise puzzle pieces finally interconnected. The idea they would soon be separated, never to reassemble, felt like a lonely ending.
The brick walls and polished wood floors reflected clean white halogen light. Several uniformed servers moved through the crowd offering champagne and hors d’oeuvres, a mix of caviar, carpaccio, and crab cakes. Suddenly aware of the increased flow of curious patrons, Tess felt embarrassed but also thrilled.
Why am I here?
Michael approached, dressed in black jeans and a pink dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His signature ponytail draped down the middle of his back like a shiny thick cable, anchored by the silver streaked hair line stretched perfectly across his tanned forehead. Not one single line or wrinkle.
Michael took a sip of champagne, grinning like a kid who had overheard a secret. He gestured toward Anicca’s Portal. “What do you think about the lighting? Really adds another dimension, don’t you think?”
Tess smiled. “I’ve never seen it quite like this. It’s almost as if… like it…”
“Like it came to life? Yes, it almost seems like it’s feeding off the light, something organic. Honestly, Tess, I don’t even know how you’re able to paint anything in that godforsaken tiny dungeon you live in. Much less something as spectacular as this.”
“Yes, I mean. It’s all overwhelming. It’s too much.”
“You, my talented superstar, are quite the celebrity here tonight. And I’m happy to be the bearer of good news. You’ve sold out. In thirty minutes. I’ve never seen that happen before, not even close. I’m going to save a fortune on booze. The food? Well, that’s not returnable, so I’ll be sending you home with several jars of beluga. It makes a great omelet. I’ll come over and cook you one. Do you have a frying pan? Never mind. I’ll bring one.”
“I have a pan. Cast iron.”
“I’ll bring mine anyway. And eggs. Anyway, everything was scooped up before the show really even got started. Except this one, which, as we know, hasn’t been priced. It’s truly magnificent. I think we should hold on to it until the buzz from the show has a chance to grow. Based on how quickly everything moved, the new owners of your work have already made money. And that’s going to make a lot of noise in our little world… rattle a lot of windows. They’re appreciating as we speak.” He regarded Anicca’s Portal again. “It really seems to have a hypnotic effect. Almost otherworldly. I’m curious, was there something specific that inspired you to create such a special piece? A childhood memory, or possibly another work of art?”
Tess searched for an answer. “I’m really not sure. It felt almost like I was painting something right in front of me… or maybe inside, looking out.” She smiled nervously. “Who knows?” She didn’t feel the need to tell Michael she rarely remembered much of anything after immersing herself in her art.
Michael wrapped his arm around hers. “Come on, you should mingle. Your new fans need to connect the art with the artist. I’m afraid that after tonight, Tess Carrillo is going to find herself in a never-ending, torturous gauntlet of meaningless conversations with people she’ll never remember.”
Tess looked around the room, feeling disoriented and strangely small in the cavernous gallery with a twenty-foot ceiling. The attendees were a mix of well-dressed professionals, casually attired Silicon Valley types, and the heavily pierced and tattooed crowd. Tess wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected, but this was nothing like what she envisioned. She talked to anyone who approached, hoping to find common ground, but she mainly found herself on the receiving end of compliments, something she found awkward and uncomfortable. The urge for a cigarette was becoming difficult to suppress, and she scanned the room for the door to the balcony.
Michael groaned softly. “Okay, you’re about to meet your first movie star. It’s everything you’d expect,” he said, then his face brightened politely. “Daniel, how wonderful to see you. Thank you so much for coming tonight.”
The man ignored Michael, his eyes on Tess. Michael smiled in spite of the snub. “Allow me to introduce you to our featured artist. Daniel Fillmore, meet Tess Carrillo.”
Tess was stunned. She had seen every movie Daniel Fillmore had ever been in and felt as though she knew him as if he were a family member. She met Daniel’s gaze, not sure if she should offer her hand. He offered his, saying, “An honor to meet you, Ms. Carrillo. It is my hope you and I will be doing business for a long time. I’d heard Michael had finally discovered a legitimate talent, but frankly I really wasn’t expecting a genius.” He removed a small bottle of sanitizer from the pocket of his sports coat and rubbed it into his hands.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Fillmore. That’s kind of you to—”
Before she could finish, Daniel gestured to Anicca’s Portal and asked, “How much?”
“She’s not ready to sell it yet, Daniel,” Michael said. “It’s her best work—so far, at least. I’m sure when she’s ready…”
Daniel dismissed Michael with a look. “It’s wise of you to wait. I understand that. As your star rises, so will the value of your work. I’m prepared to factor that into the purchase price. Tess, pick a number, your wildest dream, how much Anicca’s Portal might sell for someday.”
Michael’s mouth fell open, at a rare loss for words.
Tess smiled. “Mr. Fillmore, I’m so flattered, really. But it’s not… I’m emotionally attached to that one. I’m afraid I just couldn’t let it go. Not yet.”
“Daniel,” Michael said, “I’m sure once she’s ready to sell it we can commit to giving you first right of refusal. Perhaps you’d be interested in commissioning Tess to—”
Daniel cut him off again. “I understand. But please consider my offer.” He retrieved a card. “This is my direct contact information. Only a handful of people in the world have it. Please let me know if you change your mind or would like to discuss it. I want us to be friends.”
Tess took the card and nodded. Daniel turned to leave, and she noticed for the first time three burly men moving with him.
“It appears you have a new friend,” Michael said. He downed his champagne. “Now, in celebration of your successful debut, I’m going to get drunk and—”
Michael tilted his head discreetly.
Tess took a peek, did a double take, and mouthed, Cantu?
Michael nodded. It was indeed the reclusive art critic Dominick Cantu. She looked again, and he met her eyes. They exchanged a smile, then Tess turned away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze.
“He’s coming over,” Michael whispered. “Wait, no. He’s talking to someone. Looks like… No, they appear to be leaving.”
A large hand with multiple thick rings wrapped around her arm, and a tall exotic-looking woman leaned down and kissed Tess’s cheek. “Spectacular! Orgasmic! You’ve tapped into something special. I will not leave here without one!” The woman recognized someone and moved away.
Tess looked at Michael, her eyes wide.
He nodded. “Yep, Zora Dawn, genuine supermodel. I’ll have to let her know she’s too late. Maybe we should sneak you out of here so you can get back to work.”
Michael grinned and waved at someone behind her. “Ryan, please come meet our guest of honor. Tess, this is Ryan. Ryan and I met several years ago. He’s a musician. In a band.” Michael smiled mischievously. “You may have heard of it. Ghost Garden.”
Tess and Ryan shook hands. She was familiar with his band—and with him. Ghost Garden had achieved a following, local at first, but they were beginning to get national airplay. Their YouTube videos garnered views in the hundreds of thousands.
; “So,” Ryan said, “are you enjoying the Golden Gate City? Michael tells me you’re from Louisiana.”
“Yes, a small place called Delacroix. Mainly a fishing town. My dad had a shrimp boat. There used to be a billboard that said ‘You have reached the end of the world.’ The road literally ended at the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Wait. Delacroix. Bob Dylan. ‘Tangled up in Blue’?”
“That’s very perceptive. I’d guess most fans of that song don’t know it’s a real place. But if you ever go there, don’t speed. Legend has it that Bob got locked up for doing thirty-two in a twenty-five zone. Rest is history. Probably resulted in the one line of the song that immortalized our tiny hamlet.”
“Oh, I’m a big fan. Did you know Dylan said that whole album was code? With no time?”
Tess wasn’t sure how to respond. There was a lot there.
“I don’t hear a Cajun accent,” he said. “Do you hide it?”
Tess laughed. “Oh, yeah. I can turn it on and off like a light switch. You’d barely understand anything I said otherwise. And you sure seem to know a lot about Louisiana culture for someone with an obvious Bronx accent.”
“New Orleans is my favorite place on Earth. I lived there for two years. We play there all the time. It’s magical. Gravity’s different down there.”
“Yes, it’s a special place.” Gravity. Yes, exactly.
“And, I might add, certain aspects of Bronx accents sound a little like those I heard in New Orleans. Particularly around the Ninth Ward. In fact, I was, on numerous occasions, proudly mistaken for a native.”
Tess smiled. She’d never heard anyone say what she had long known. There were similarities in those accents. “Again, that’s very perceptive.”
“And have you always painted? Were you formally trained?”
“Well, somehow, I was selected for an internship by Anton Satoshi. He would never say why he picked me, but the fact he did is… Let’s just say it was a long shot. I spent two years in Kyoto, Japan. That’s really when I became…well better.”
“Satoshi. I’ve heard of that guy. Kind of mysterious.” Ryan smiled. “There’s a theory among the fringe conspiracy club that he’s an alien.”
Tess chuckled. “Well, he is different than anyone I’ve ever met. And a true artistic genius. He would pick some random object, a rock or a flower or a chair. It didn’t really matter what. He’d put it in front of me, then after five seconds snatch it away and tell me to paint what I remembered. It was his way of teaching me the importance, and impermanence, of perception. He showed me a different way to see. He taught me to tune my mind to a frequency that allowed me to consciously do what I unconsciously felt.” Tess smiled. “Too much?”
“No. Really. It’s fascinating.”
“So, a band? And what do you play? No, forget I asked that. I already know. The singer. And guitar. I didn’t want to sound like a groupie. I’m an awful liar, though. That song. ‘Liminal.’ Every time I hear ‘Liminal’ on the radio, it gets stuck in my head for days.”
He smiled. “Yes, I hear that a lot. We got lucky with that one. You just never know when the muse is gonna visit. I’m sure you understand. You know, we play clubs in this area all the time. If you’re ever in the mood for music, come check us out. As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to a show right now. We’re playing the Rattlesnake Room tonight. You should stop by.”
An almost imperceptible beeping noise began repeating. Tess smiled, slightly embarrassed, and pressed a button on her watch.
“Am I keeping you from something?” Ryan asked.
“No. I have a tendency to lose track of time. Mainly when I’m working. I have the alarm set for every other hour, just in case. It’s an actual medical condition called dyschronometria. I’ve had it my whole life. When I’m in the zone, well, hours can pass, and it feels like minutes. Time almost ceases to exist.”
Ryan smiled. The song playing in the background registered, and she realized it was the song she knew—“Liminal.” His voice stirred something primal in her.
“Well, seeing all this, it’s easy to understand how someone from the bayous of Louisiana wound up at Michael’s gallery in the middle of San Francisco. I’m certainly no art expert, but even I can see that you’re exceptionally talented. And it’s pretty cool to meet someone who’s about to be famous. I can’t afford one of your paintings, so the chance to see them here, tonight, before they’re hanging in some Chinese billionaire’s high-rise—well, it’s cool. But back to my question. How do you like the city?”
“I find it exciting but disorienting. I’m not used to the density, the people, the buildings. It’s all a bit…”
“Intimidating?”
“No. Just… all this energy. I feel it. I like it, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. It feels like a dense roux. Undiluted.”
“Roux? That’s a pretty good analogy.”
Tess smiled. Ryan had a runner’s body, wiry and well maintained, but there was something about his eyes. So much there.
Things were moving too fast. Suddenly cautious about the strange familiarity, their conversation began to feel awkward. Boundaries needed to be established. She glanced at her watch.
“I’d better go now,” Ryan said. “Really a pleasure to meet you, Tess.” He smiled, looking like he wanted to say something else, then turned to leave.
As Ryan walked away, she had an urge to stop him. She watched as he left the room. What just happened?
The crowd had thinned; only a hand full of people lingered. Michael held court over his tight-knit group of constant companions, having succeeded in achieving a drunken state. Tess glided slowly toward Anicca’s Portal, anxious for another uninterrupted view in its newly enhanced state. She felt herself falling in again, as if the neurons in her brain were being captured like slivers of steel by a magnet.
Is it moving? A faint noise annoyed her, out of place in her serene state, and she tried to ignore it. Wait…
She recognized the beeping of her watch again. But it sounded different, louder. Tess opened her eyes, realizing she was in her bed. She tried willing herself back to the warm embrace of the place she’d been snatched from. Her heart rate spiked as she felt the cold reality of where she was. Back now… but it had all seemed so real. She could still smell the gentle candle-scented aroma of the gallery—the dream had been that vivid. But it was all fading quickly from her memory… too quickly to hold on to. Fragments of the dream scattered, scurrying away and abandoning her like smoke blown by an icy breeze.
But Ryan was there. Wasn’t he?
She stood, walked to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. You must hold this together. You are losing your shit, and that’s the same as killing him twice. She opened the medicine cabinet and stared at three bottles of prescription antidepressants, a bottle of aspirin, some over-the-counter allergy medication, and Flintstones daily vitamins. Tess read the names of each of the prescription labels and tried remembering the details of their common side effects.
She then opened all three bottles and dumped their contents in the toilet and flushed.
4
Karen Vu stared down at an iPad wrapped in an attractive navy-blue case that perfectly set off her fuchsia manicure. “I see here you never refilled the prescriptions for your medication. Was there a problem?”
Tess was curled up in a sleek tan leather pub chair, staring out the window at a peach tree that had just started to bear fruit. Spring already. I hadn’t really noticed.
She liked Karen’s office. Sometimes she even wished she could stay longer. A faint scent of jasmine always hung delicately in the air, and the room had a contemporary Asian feel, quiet and serene. The clean lines and fine finishes of rosewood furniture flowed perfectly with the simple watercolor paintings on the walls.
She particularly liked the one hanging behind Karen’s desk, an aerial impressionist view of mul
tiple ships and fishing boats in a harbor at night. Hong Kong, maybe? Their multicolored lights glowed and shimmered off emerald-green water. A peaceful, self-contained world she wanted to join, like an aquatic version of a snow globe. Tess closed her eyes and imagined she and Ryan were safe there, on his boat. For a moment she almost believed it.
“No,” Tess said. “After our last session, I stopped taking them again. Like we discussed before, all these mind-mending drugs have some sort of opposite effect on me. Something about my chemistry. When I was twelve years old, I was prescribed Ritalin. My dad found me sleepwalking in the middle of the night. On a busy highway.”
Karen looked up. “Tess, we understand so much more about how the human brain works than we did back then. There are many—”
“Trust me, Karen. I know a little bit about brains too. I design them for a living. For machines. Anyway, that’s not really the point. My mind simply isn’t wired to assimilate any of these pharmaceuticals. It’s like dumping gasoline on a hot toaster. Might get away with it for a while, but no. It’s just way too combustible. Every time I’ve tried, things quickly ranged to a much darker place.”
“And the alcohol use? Is it under control now?”
Tess chose her words carefully, determined to be totally transparent with Karen. “Almost. I’m much better than I was three months ago. I can’t honestly say it’s totally under control, but it’s more normal. I’m moving in the right direction. I’m running again. That seems to help.”
Karen swiped the iPad. “I’ll just have to trust you on that one. And I’ll never be one to try to talk someone into taking medication when they’re against it. Especially if alcohol’s still in the equation. I usually have the opposite problem with my patients. And your dreams? Are they still the same?”
I wonder what she takes? Surely, she’s curious. “Yes, nothing new. The same old nightmares, just a bit more intense now. Climbing gigantic cliffs with no clue how to get down. Driving cars with no brakes. Standing in airports, having forgotten the luggage. And the ticket. All dark, ominous, hopeless. But I don’t sleep that much anyway.”