"Well, I don't know nothin about art," Lizzie added, "but I would say that you definitely got my good side."
Alicia and Gwen were similarly impressed and likewise, voiced their approval.
Kit was glad that they all liked the first painting because she had steeled herself for, at least the possibility, that the second canvas might have a very different reception. Kit pulled off the cover and looked across the room waiting for their reactions.
The room went silent!
The second painting was a dark and gritty portrayal of Matt and Hector's beating in the alley. The grim scene captured the two boys fleeing down the alley with the small army of girls descending upon them from both directions, striking them with the steel pipes. It showed Matt's contorted face as a pipe struck him in the forehead, blood bursting from the wound. It showed Hector's terrified eyes, as he stumbled, falling forward, crashing against the dumpster. Perhaps, what stood out most were the angry faces of their assailants. Especially grim were the eyes. The wide-eyed look of rage in young girls was shocking. The scene showed the meticulously rendered background of the alley, with its soot-stained brick walls, scattered pieces of paper trash and the fire escape- with uncanny realism. Anyone who had actually been there would have had no difficulty picking themselves out in the painting. It was like a freeze-frame of the incident. Lizzie sat in stunned silence for several seconds.
Alicia and Gwen were the first to speak.
"Uh, I just remembered; I gotta be somewhere," Alicia said.
"Yeah, me too," Gwen said, as she got to her feet.
"You coming Lizzie," Alicia asked, as her head motioned slightly toward the door.
"Yeah, I better go too," Lizzie said.
The three girls walked to the door of the apartment and filed out. Alicia, the last out the door, turned and said good-bye to Kit.
"I'll call you later Kit," Alicia said, as she quickly exited.
The three women left in the room sat conspicuously silent. Celeste had a blank expression on her face. She had always suspected that her daughter's life was significantly more complex than she let on. Celeste knew the neighborhood and had overheard the hushed whispers in the market; felt the weight of the other mother's stares, as she went about her grocery shopping. She had thought about confronting Kit, but reasoned that she had her own reasons for withholding, for not sharing the drama in her life. Her love and trust for Kit were unconditional, as a mother's love always is. Besides, what could she do about it? She also knew that whatever Kit and her friends had done; they had been forced to do.
Mrs. Shay walked to the canvas and studied it carefully.
"I must say Kit, it shows a lot of imagination. It's really very good! I do hope that the others are a bit more cheerful," Mrs. Shay said lightly, as she sipped her coffee. Laura Shay knew that the painting depicted a reality that perhaps Kit's mother might have difficulty dealing with. Her remarks, however unsuccessful; were intended to defuse the tension from the moment.
Though not totally unexpected, Kit wasn't quite ready for the reaction from her friends. She knew it would not change their friendships, but she did sense that they felt some measure of betrayal. Kit had pulled back the curtain and exposed a part of their lives that was private, that they didn't share with their parents, or anyone, outside of those directly involved. It was a part of their lives, they barely acknowledged to themselves.
Julia, now no stranger to drama in her life, sat watching Kit's response. At that moment, she felt a deep sadness for her friend. She wondered, how courageous she must be, to survive in that violent world. Life was tough! She saw that herself. It should not have to be that difficult for a young girl. It pained her to realize, just how naive she had been.
After a long, awkward silence, Mrs. Shay spoke.
"So, do we get to see the rest?" she said, trying to brighten the mood.
Grim faced, Kit crossed over to each of the canvases and quickly pulled the sheets off each of them, allowing them to fall to the floor. Without waiting for a response, she turned, walked into her room and closed the door behind her.
Julia and Celeste rose and slowly viewed the remaining paintings. The next portrayed the confrontation with Caesar, with Kit and her friends standing over his shattered body, the pool of blood, bright crimson, beneath his head. The basketball hoop hung like some rising monument in the background.
The next, was of Celeste, sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, her open books from her night school classes laid out before her, she, intently writing something on a sheet of paper. She had a tired look in her eyes, and her glasses hung precariously near the end of her nose.
The next painting showed a scene of Kit's favorite street with all the merchants going about their business. Mr. Carducci was prominently displayed standing outside his shop sweeping the walk, his large, bulbous nose almost glowing red, his silver hair catching the bright sunlight. The fruit vendor stood animated, making change for a customer, for a bag of apples. A meat wholesaler was carrying a beef half, slung over his shoulder, into the butcher's shop. Children played, and young boys ran mischievously, weaving through the crowds. The buildings showed the wear of decades of neglect, as evidenced by the peeling paint, dilapidated business signs and dirty, finger smudged windows. Baskets held bouquets of brightly colored flowers outside the florist shop. They looked somehow, out of place, against the ordered chaos of the scene. A yellow taxi made its way down the street; the driver's head slung out of his window, shaking his fist and cursing angrily, as a pair of old women crossed in front of him. The raw power and complexity of the painting, was a clear testament to Kit's keen powers of observation and her skills as an artist.
Celeste left Julia and Mrs. Shay and walked to Kit's room. She entered, without her customary knock and closed the door behind her. Kit was sprawled on her bed, looking up at the ceiling, twisting a lock of her hair between her fingers.
"I wanted to tell you." Kit said, feeling bad for keeping it from her.
"I know," Celeste replied. "I've known for some time. Perhaps not the exact details, but I knew. There isn't much that gets past me these days. Do you really think that I don't hear what goes on in this sewer of a neighborhood? I knew you would tell me about it, when you were ready to, and I guess, in a way, you did! A picture is worth a thousand words. Besides, I have known you all your life, I can usually tell when something's bothering you. That's not an easy trick with someone who keeps her emotions in check as well as you do."
Kit sat up on the side of her bed; Celeste sat down beside her and put her arm around her.
"I'm sorry Mom," Kit said, "I just thought that you had enough to worry about.”
"Kit, I'm your mother. It's my job to worry about you. You may want to spare me that, but it's never going to happen. I'll always worry about you until the day I die, maybe longer. I grew up in a neighborhood, not that different from this one. There are good people and there are not-so-good people. I had hoped that your experiences would be with the good ones, but I'm realistic enough to know, that isn't always going to be the case. Part of the reason I work so hard, is my hope that I could one-day, take you somewhere better."
"Oh Mom, I love you," Kit said, and hugged her mother close.
"We had better rejoin our guests. Kind of rude to leave them alone, don't you think?"
"Yeah, suppose so," Kit agreed.
"Where's Mrs. Shay?" Kit asked Julia.
"Oh, she said she had to go. She had some place she had to be. She asked me to give her apologies, thank you for the refreshments, and to tell you that she loved your paintings; all of them."
Julia turned, facing one of the smaller canvases. It was a picture of Paul and Emily, their faces smiling, blue sky and white puffy clouds overhead, like halos. Julia knew that Kit had only seen the two pictures of them; she had shown her, and not very long at that, and that she had to have painted it, purely from memory. No, wait, she remembered; Kit also knew their faces from her dream. Still, it was an amazing
accomplishment and a beautiful painting.
"That one, I painted for you," Kit said, placing an arm around Julia's waist. "I hope you like it."
Julia hugged her tightly. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"Like it?" Julia replied, "I love it! Thank you Kit; I'll love it forever."
"And the rest," Kit asked.
"They are truly amazing!" Julia replied, "Works to be proud of. There is only one thing missing."
"Huh, what's missing?" Kit asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
"You forgot to sign them," Julia laughed, playfully mussing Kit's hair.
"Wow, you're right!" Kit said.
Kit ran into her room and returned with her palette and a fine brush. She carefully added her stylized signature, "K. Collins," to the bottom of each canvas. Finishing the last one, the one she painted for Julia, she turned, smiling, proud of her work.
"Now they're finished," Julia said, "Now, you're a real artist!"
"This calls for a celebration," Celeste said. "I know a great little Italian place, just walking distance away, that serves the best lasagna in the city. Julia, you in? My treat,"
"Wouldn't miss it," Julia replied.
Julia, Celeste and Kit walked to the restaurant and soon found a table. A waitress came and took their order. Kit excused herself to go to the ladies' room while they waited for their food.
"Julia," Celeste said, "I'm no expert at art, but even I can see how good Kit's paintings are."
"You're absolutely right Celeste; her work is extraordinary! I'd like to show it to my friend, Sybil, who owns the gallery that handles my work. Would that be okay with you?"
"I think that's entirely up to you and Kit. Me? I'm all for it." Celeste replied.
Chapter 14 - First Payday
The next-day Julia met Sybil at the gallery. A man who worked for Sybil, carried the paintings into the gallery, each wrapped in brown paper.
"Looks like you've been busy,” Sybil said, "I was wondering when I would get some more of your work. Looks like you've gone back to painting. You get tired of working with clay?"
Julia said nothing in response but helped Sybil unwrap the paintings and set them on a series of empty display easels. Sybil stood back and surveyed the paintings.
"But these can't be yours; they're so raw, so visceral."
"They're not. What do you think of them?"
"Obviously, they're brilliant. The subject matter, the colors, the realism, the melding of styles- quite unique! Who's the artist?"
"She's waiting outside. Would you like to meet her?"
"Of course, please, bring her in."
Julia stepped outside and came back in holding Kit's hand.
"Okay, very funny," Sybil said, chuckling, "Now who is the real artist?"
"Sybil, meet Kit Collins, the artist."
"This must be some kind of joke! Do you really expect me to believe that this," she sputtered, "this child, painted these?"
"Well, whether you believe it or not, she did, and quite well, I might add."
Sybil regarded the young girl before her and glanced back and forth between Kit, and the paintings displayed before her. She walked closer, then lifted the reading glasses that hung around her neck, to more closely examine each.
Sybil leaned down close to Kit. "What was your name again, Kat, was it?"
"Kit," she corrected her.
"Kit," Sybil repeated it. "Sorry. How old are you?"
“Fifteen,” Kit said, knowingly fudging her answer.
"Well, Julia, If I'm not on some hidden camera show... (please tell me I'm not); I believe you just may have discovered the greatest art prodigy of the last fifty years." Sybil said, now eyeing, with some disdain, the young girl standing before her in jeans and a faded blue t-shirt, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Suddenly, Sybil’s frown turned into a smile as the germ of a brilliant notion came to her.
"Wait a minute," Sybil said excitedly, "talk about a P.R. bonanza. No one will believe that a fifteen year old painted these! Yes! By God, we will take the art world by storm. We'll..."
Julia interrupted her, cutting her off. "Relax Sybil! I can see you're excited, but I don't think that Kit, or her mother, are looking to turn her life into some kind of media circus. You've got to remember; she's still a kid."
Kit leaned close and whispered something into Julia's ear. Sybil leaned forward, straining to hear what was being said.
"Kit has informed me that she and her mother want me to represent her in all matters regarding her artwork." Julia announced.
"So now you're her agent?" Sybil replied, somewhat aghast.
"I prefer, advisor, since I won't be taking any commissions from the proceeds of any sales of her work," Julia said, snickering just a bit, and nudging Kit.
"Fine, have it your way," Sybil said, "But if we're going to move forward with this, we need to have an exhibition of all the paintings she has produced thus far. How soon can you get them here?"
"I'm afraid that you're looking at all she has produced so far." Julia replied.
"Please God, kill me now," Sybil said, throwing her hands up in the air.
"The good news is, she painted all of those in just sixteen days," Julia said.
"Scratch the, kill me now, statement,” Sybil said, looking up, "this, I can work with."
Julia and Kit left the gallery and stopped for a hot dog from a street cart vendor. They found a few open seats at a small plastic table and talked as they ate.
"I like Sybil, she's funny!" Kit said, as she added more ketchup to her hotdog.
"Yes, she can be a hoot," Julia replied, "She is a great gal, but still, maybe a little too focused on money."
"What's wrong with money?" Kit asked, "it's easy to say that it's not important, if you have plenty, not so easy, when you don't."
"I guess I can't argue with that," Julia agreed.
"Sybil wants you to paint ten more before she can justify an exhibition for your work. Think you can do that?"
"Sure, I've got a lot more ideas floating around in my head. Besides, summer vacation starts in a couple of weeks. I'll have a lot more time then." Kit said.
"I want you to take your time on these. Don't feel as if you have to whip them out in sixteen days this time. I'd like you to enjoy the artistic process. Remember, it's supposed to be fun! Oh, one more thing..."
Julia reached into her purse and set something paper in front of Kit.
"What's this," Kit asked, holding the paper in her hand. She started reading the print on it, "Pay to the order of Kit Collins & Celeste Collins... Ten thousand dollars?" There was a long silence and Julia almost laughed watching Kit's lips silently mouthing the words, “This is a check for ten thousand dollars?"
"Shhh, not so loud, you want us to get mugged," Julia said, looking around at the people, now staring at them.
"It's an advance from Sybil against the first sales of your work. I don't think she would have given you that, unless she really believed in you." Julia said.
"Do I have to finish the new paintings before I can cash this?" Kit asked, concerned.
"No Honey, it's yours to do with, as you please. Your Mom will still have to give her approval and sign a formal contract, but yeah, I'd say it's a done deal. Just do me a favor, okay?"
"Sure Julia, anything," Kit replied.
"Open a bank account!" Julia leaned close and whispered, "You're going to need it!"
"So judging from the violent themes in those two painting you did; I'm not the only one here with a mysterious past. It would appear as though there's a whole other side to you that I'm not aware of. You want to talk about it?" Julia asked.
Kit knew that it had been coming, from the instant; she took the sheets off her paintings. Still, she didn't know if she was prepared to provide Julia with the answers she wanted. It worried her to think that maybe it would change her opinion of her, that perhaps, she wouldn't like her anymore, if she knew the terrible things, she was capable of. She liked Julia so muc
h, and she desperately wanted her to approve of her and like her back.
"I'm not here to judge you Kit, and I only want you to tell me, if you want to." Julia said.
Kit lowered her head and told Julia about the incident with Matt and Hector, and then finished with the Caesar story. She didn't leave anything out and was insistent in her story that she hadn't wanted to fight. There just did not seem to be any way to avoid it.
"It sounds as though those boys got just what they deserved. Mind you, I think we should all avoid fighting when we can, but I really don't think that they gave you much choice. I just have one question. Where did you learn to fight like that?" Julia asked, genuinely curious.
"I'm no great fighter Julia," Kit replied, "I just try to look for the weaknesses of anyone who threatens me, or my friends. I knew that I was no match for Caesar, so I stood there and took his slaps. But I knew that if he thought I wouldn't fight back; he would drop his guard. That's when I gave him my best shot, when he wasn't expecting it. James and Javier were just your basic bullies, and most bullies are cowards at heart. I pretty much knew that they would cut and run when things got rough. I also knew that my friends would jump in to help, when I made my move. We always have each other's back. It's like we know each other so well, that we know what each other is thinking."
"With Matt and Hector, there was no great strategy there. Two boys are simply no match for a dozen mad girls with steel pipes. It's like when we studied the American Revolution in school. I remember thinking that as long as the colonists stood together, King George and his whole army couldn't defeat them. You know, 'United, we stand, divided we fall', or 'Give me liberty, or give me death'. I love that stuff,” Kit said.
"Those are great words- still; it takes a lot of courage to live by them," Julia replied.
"It's not as hard as you think, on the streets. You can face the problem today, or you can face it tomorrow. It's not going away, so there's not much point in putting it off. You either stick up for yourself, and each other, or you run away and hide like a scared little mouse. Eventually, the mouse gets caught. Without my friends, I could end up like that mouse."
The Ghost Locket Page 9