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Authors: Glenys O'Connell
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hear old
Chief Ohmer is pretty peeved with everyone, going around giving us all the
beady-eyed stare,” Paul chuckled, then his voice grew serious as he added: “But
I really never thought things would turn so nasty. We still aren’t really sure
what happened. Lucy remembers everything going into a swirling purple haze and
then reaching out to grab hold of you in a panic, but that’s all.
“Honestly,
Lauren, when I saw her lying there…I suppose, really, I should thank Jon Rush
for getting her, and you, out from that mess before either of you were really
injured. Although I understand the poor man got clobbered over the head for his
efforts! You always did have a nasty temper, Lauren!”
“Paul! I am so
tired of explaining to people that it was an accident—as it quite obviously
was.”
“Okay, okay,
kiddo, I believe you. So you’ll call around and see Lucy later?”
Assuring him
that she intended to visit the hospital during the early part of the morning,
Lauren said goodbye to Paul and went to get on with her morning routine. Before
she could decide where to start the phone shrilled again.
This time it
was Alex Waters, artists’ agent and owner of the Waters Gallery near Curve
Lake, a more populated area some miles south-west of West River. Besides being
Lauren’s agent and chief fan, Alex had also become a good friend over the last
few years.
This time,
however, as organizer of Lauren’s important first full solo exhibition in
Toronto, Alex was wearing his agent’s hat as he chided her.
“Well, well,
my dear, I hope you’re working hard. I suppose I needn’t mention that the
deadline is fast approaching?”
Lauren’s heart
sank to the soles of her wool-encased feet. Unreliability, thought by many of
the uninitiated to be a trait of the typical artist, was anathema to exhibition
organizers and gallery owners. It was also death to the career of an offending
artist, and Lauren wanted to succeed with this show so much she could taste it.
“Alex, I’m
sorry. I should have called you. You know everything has been so hectic, I
don’t know if you’ve heard of the campaign up here.”
“Heard of it?
Darling, it’s legendary! And such wonderful publicity, too. A picture tells a
thousand words, they say…But you’ve got to deliver the goods, regardless. Now I
can possibly squeeze a couple of days out of the schedule since you’ve been
such a good girl in getting so much attention and publicity. No more than that,
though. I don’t think an exclusive gallery like the Harrison will be happy
about hanging still-wet works while the guests are mingling!”
“Alex, this is
not a publicity stunt! What do you mean a picture tells a thousand words? I’m
not using the ABC campaign as the basis to promote the show.”
“Don’t be
obtuse, sweetheart! Of course I know your heart’s in the campaign! Just
remember that your next paycheck is in your sales! Comprenez ? Bye-bye!”
Sighing with
frustration, Lauren put the phone down. Alex was a dear friend, and she’d often
had dinner with him and his partner, Pat Allen, in the luxurious flat above
their Gallery with its panoramic views of Curve Lake and the reservation lands
around it. Gentle and hospitable, Alex could be a total slave driver when it
came to his protégées. The more talent he thought an artist had, the harder he
drove her.
Lauren knew
that it was a compliment that he was driving her so hard but it was becoming
excruciating. Not to mention the disturbed sleep and increasing level of stress
stemming from those hang-ups on her answering machine.
Glancing at
her watch, she smiled to herself as she filled the coffee maker. If she
hurried, there would just be time.
Quickly she
tidied her work area while the coffee machine dripped, laying out paints,
replacing empty tubes of acrylics and oils, taking brushes from cleaning
solvent and wiping them dry. Other brushes, the ones she used for acrylics,
were ready and waiting, clean in the
Chief Ohmer is pretty peeved with everyone, going around giving us all the
beady-eyed stare,” Paul chuckled, then his voice grew serious as he added: “But
I really never thought things would turn so nasty. We still aren’t really sure
what happened. Lucy remembers everything going into a swirling purple haze and
then reaching out to grab hold of you in a panic, but that’s all.
“Honestly,
Lauren, when I saw her lying there…I suppose, really, I should thank Jon Rush
for getting her, and you, out from that mess before either of you were really
injured. Although I understand the poor man got clobbered over the head for his
efforts! You always did have a nasty temper, Lauren!”
“Paul! I am so
tired of explaining to people that it was an accident—as it quite obviously
was.”
“Okay, okay,
kiddo, I believe you. So you’ll call around and see Lucy later?”
Assuring him
that she intended to visit the hospital during the early part of the morning,
Lauren said goodbye to Paul and went to get on with her morning routine. Before
she could decide where to start the phone shrilled again.
This time it
was Alex Waters, artists’ agent and owner of the Waters Gallery near Curve
Lake, a more populated area some miles south-west of West River. Besides being
Lauren’s agent and chief fan, Alex had also become a good friend over the last
few years.
This time,
however, as organizer of Lauren’s important first full solo exhibition in
Toronto, Alex was wearing his agent’s hat as he chided her.
“Well, well,
my dear, I hope you’re working hard. I suppose I needn’t mention that the
deadline is fast approaching?”
Lauren’s heart
sank to the soles of her wool-encased feet. Unreliability, thought by many of
the uninitiated to be a trait of the typical artist, was anathema to exhibition
organizers and gallery owners. It was also death to the career of an offending
artist, and Lauren wanted to succeed with this show so much she could taste it.
“Alex, I’m
sorry. I should have called you. You know everything has been so hectic, I
don’t know if you’ve heard of the campaign up here.”
“Heard of it?
Darling, it’s legendary! And such wonderful publicity, too. A picture tells a
thousand words, they say…But you’ve got to deliver the goods, regardless. Now I
can possibly squeeze a couple of days out of the schedule since you’ve been
such a good girl in getting so much attention and publicity. No more than that,
though. I don’t think an exclusive gallery like the Harrison will be happy
about hanging still-wet works while the guests are mingling!”
“Alex, this is
not a publicity stunt! What do you mean a picture tells a thousand words? I’m
not using the ABC campaign as the basis to promote the show.”
“Don’t be
obtuse, sweetheart! Of course I know your heart’s in the campaign! Just
remember that your next paycheck is in your sales! Comprenez ? Bye-bye!”
Sighing with
frustration, Lauren put the phone down. Alex was a dear friend, and she’d often
had dinner with him and his partner, Pat Allen, in the luxurious flat above
their Gallery with its panoramic views of Curve Lake and the reservation lands
around it. Gentle and hospitable, Alex could be a total slave driver when it
came to his protégées. The more talent he thought an artist had, the harder he
drove her.
Lauren knew
that it was a compliment that he was driving her so hard but it was becoming
excruciating. Not to mention the disturbed sleep and increasing level of stress
stemming from those hang-ups on her answering machine.
Glancing at
her watch, she smiled to herself as she filled the coffee maker. If she
hurried, there would just be time.
Quickly she
tidied her work area while the coffee machine dripped, laying out paints,
replacing empty tubes of acrylics and oils, taking brushes from cleaning
solvent and wiping them dry. Other brushes, the ones she used for acrylics,
were ready and waiting, clean in the
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