he wasn't
really hers either.
Sometimes, late at night when she was
alone, she wanted him to be.
But that wasn't going to happen.
Sure, there'd been a split-second when they'd met that she'd had a crush on
him, but she'd gotten over it quickly.
For the most part.
Lost in thought, she almost passed
the storefront, but the colorful sign caught her attention. She stopped
abruptly and peeked in the window.
Black velvet draped the whole case,
and a short screen provided the background. The gourds had intricate Asian
designs carved and painted on them—koi, dragons, nature—in vivid
colors. The effect was rich and exotic.
It shocked her.
Inside Outta My Gourd, there was more
art, similar to what was in the window and also completely different. All of it
was amazing. She'd expected gourd art to be kitschy and ludicrous.
Craftsy—on par with a velvet Elvis.
She picked up a clever gourd that was
actually an earring keeper. The finish was satiny smooth, and the peacock
detailing on the surface was intricate. She held it up to get a closer look.
"That's one of my
favorites," a chipper voice said from behind her.
Camille turned around, startled.
A woman bounced out from behind. She
was a blaze of color—streaky long red curls, pink tunic, orange leggings,
and red kitten heels. She dressed like a bohemian artist, but the vague, dreamy
look most of the artists had—at least the ones she'd met through her
mother—was absent. This woman looked alert. And happy, like she was pleased
with her place in the world.
Camille felt a niggle of jealousy at
that.
The woman walked toward her, a warm
impish smile on her lips. "I was afraid of peacocks when I was a child.
It's funny that I'd be so fascinated with them now. Go figure."
"Yes." She set the jewelry
box down. "Are you Gwendolyn Pierce?"
The woman went from happy to wary.
"Yes. I own this shop."
"My name is Camille
Bernard." She took out a business card and held it out. "I'm with the San Francisco Daily . I left a message
for you. I'm covering the new art exhibit at the de Young, and Jennifer Brady,
the curator at the museum, told me you were part of the show. I wanted to ask
you a couple questions for an article I'm writing."
Ms. Pierce stared at the card and
then looked Camille in the eye. All of her previous welcome was replaced by
cool politeness. "This isn't a good time."
Camille looked around. No one was
there. What better time could there be? Elizabeth would have pointed that out
and insisted on a one-on-one.
So would she. She pulled out her
little notebook and forged ahead. "When are gourds in season? And what
happens if there's a gourd shortage?"
"Shortage?"
"Like if a plague takes out the
gourd crop for a year. Who gets the remaining gourds?"
"If the gourd crop was destroyed,
wouldn't that mean no one would get any?"
"I guess so." Camille
glanced at her next question. "Have you ever considered what you'd do if
you lost a hand? Or if you went blind?"
Ms. Pierce gaped at her, for some
reason. " That's what you're
curious about?"
"They're the sorts of questions
people really want to have answers to." Her mother always said the hard
questions were the ones that needed to be asked.
"You don't think people want to
know what inspires me? Or where I get my ideas?"
Camille made a face. "Those seem
boring."
The artist shook her head. "Why
don't I just say that I'm honored to be part of the exhibit and leave it at
that? I'm sure that's all you need."
"I have more questions,
though." She closed her notebook, frustrated. Why was this interview such
a big deal? "Fine. I can come back. When's a good time?"
Ms. Pierce looked like she wanted to
say never.
Just then the door tinkled open and a
woman walked in. She was tall with long blond hair, wearing skin-tight yoga
pants that hugged her lanky curves.
Gwendolyn turned to the woman and
smiled. If Camille wasn't mistaken, there was a measure of relief to the smile.
"Welcome to Outta My Gourd. Can I help you find
really hers either.
Sometimes, late at night when she was
alone, she wanted him to be.
But that wasn't going to happen.
Sure, there'd been a split-second when they'd met that she'd had a crush on
him, but she'd gotten over it quickly.
For the most part.
Lost in thought, she almost passed
the storefront, but the colorful sign caught her attention. She stopped
abruptly and peeked in the window.
Black velvet draped the whole case,
and a short screen provided the background. The gourds had intricate Asian
designs carved and painted on them—koi, dragons, nature—in vivid
colors. The effect was rich and exotic.
It shocked her.
Inside Outta My Gourd, there was more
art, similar to what was in the window and also completely different. All of it
was amazing. She'd expected gourd art to be kitschy and ludicrous.
Craftsy—on par with a velvet Elvis.
She picked up a clever gourd that was
actually an earring keeper. The finish was satiny smooth, and the peacock
detailing on the surface was intricate. She held it up to get a closer look.
"That's one of my
favorites," a chipper voice said from behind her.
Camille turned around, startled.
A woman bounced out from behind. She
was a blaze of color—streaky long red curls, pink tunic, orange leggings,
and red kitten heels. She dressed like a bohemian artist, but the vague, dreamy
look most of the artists had—at least the ones she'd met through her
mother—was absent. This woman looked alert. And happy, like she was pleased
with her place in the world.
Camille felt a niggle of jealousy at
that.
The woman walked toward her, a warm
impish smile on her lips. "I was afraid of peacocks when I was a child.
It's funny that I'd be so fascinated with them now. Go figure."
"Yes." She set the jewelry
box down. "Are you Gwendolyn Pierce?"
The woman went from happy to wary.
"Yes. I own this shop."
"My name is Camille
Bernard." She took out a business card and held it out. "I'm with the San Francisco Daily . I left a message
for you. I'm covering the new art exhibit at the de Young, and Jennifer Brady,
the curator at the museum, told me you were part of the show. I wanted to ask
you a couple questions for an article I'm writing."
Ms. Pierce stared at the card and
then looked Camille in the eye. All of her previous welcome was replaced by
cool politeness. "This isn't a good time."
Camille looked around. No one was
there. What better time could there be? Elizabeth would have pointed that out
and insisted on a one-on-one.
So would she. She pulled out her
little notebook and forged ahead. "When are gourds in season? And what
happens if there's a gourd shortage?"
"Shortage?"
"Like if a plague takes out the
gourd crop for a year. Who gets the remaining gourds?"
"If the gourd crop was destroyed,
wouldn't that mean no one would get any?"
"I guess so." Camille
glanced at her next question. "Have you ever considered what you'd do if
you lost a hand? Or if you went blind?"
Ms. Pierce gaped at her, for some
reason. " That's what you're
curious about?"
"They're the sorts of questions
people really want to have answers to." Her mother always said the hard
questions were the ones that needed to be asked.
"You don't think people want to
know what inspires me? Or where I get my ideas?"
Camille made a face. "Those seem
boring."
The artist shook her head. "Why
don't I just say that I'm honored to be part of the exhibit and leave it at
that? I'm sure that's all you need."
"I have more questions,
though." She closed her notebook, frustrated. Why was this interview such
a big deal? "Fine. I can come back. When's a good time?"
Ms. Pierce looked like she wanted to
say never.
Just then the door tinkled open and a
woman walked in. She was tall with long blond hair, wearing skin-tight yoga
pants that hugged her lanky curves.
Gwendolyn turned to the woman and
smiled. If Camille wasn't mistaken, there was a measure of relief to the smile.
"Welcome to Outta My Gourd. Can I help you find
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