Chapter Thirty
Thirty
Five Months Later
San Francisco, California
Mary poured herself another glass of wine and took a seat on the leather sofa that faced the large floor-to-ceiling window in her living room.
The view wasn’t exactly great. All that she could really see was the residential building directly across the road from hers, but the two-bedroom apartment that she had rented was cozy, comfortable and very stylishly decorated…
and she absolutely loved the neighborhood that she lived in.
Once she got to San Francisco, Mary decided to stick to the same thought process that had worked so well for her back in Nashville – look for a place in or around the city’s art district.
The most that artists would ask anyone about their past would be – ‘so where are you from?’ – and that was it.
No FBI-style interrogation about their history, or how a person came to be there.
Mary liked that, and the apartment that she had managed to rent was located right at the edge of the Dogpatch – the most artistic neighborhood in San Francisco – just a block away from the famous San Francisco Bay.
Mary checked her watch – 7:42 p.m. on a Thursday evening. She walked back into her kitchen and was just about ready to pour herself another glass of wine, when the voice inside her head interrupted her.
Umm… are we not getting ready?
‘What?’
It took Mary just a split second to see it… right there, pinned to the fridge door by a pineapple-shaped magnet.
‘Oh shit!’ She put down her wine glass and checked the time again – 7:43 p.m. ‘I completely forgot all about this.’ She reached for the flyer that she had pinned to the fridge just over two weeks ago.
Indie art exhibition.
Over twenty emerging artists exhibiting their work for the very first time.
Free entry (donations welcome).
Please come and support your local Dogpatch artists.
One night only.
The gallery address followed.
The Dogpatch neighborhood had once been a very busy shipbuilding hub and signs of its heyday could still be seen just about everywhere.
No ships were built around the Dogpatch anymore, but its dockside area had retained its old industrial vibe, with large warehouses and hangers, most of which had been transformed into art galleries, alternative shops, nightlife hangouts and very affordable residential lofts.
The apartment that Mary lived in was in one of those lofts, and the art gallery that was putting up the indie exhibition was at the opposite end of the dockside – at least a twenty-five minute walk from her place… twenty if she pushed it.
Mary checked her watch for the third time – 7:47 p.m.
She had promised Betsy that she’d be there.
Since arriving in San Francisco, Mary had barely deviated from her plans – no splashing out on anything and keeping herself to herself – just as she’d done in Nashville, and the Golden Gate City had proved to be a paradise in disguise for those who wanted to keep themselves to themselves.
The city was like a clash of parallel universes, capable of being hectic and relaxing at the same time.
It could be A-list elite and tremendously expensive at one end, or mega alternative and dirt-cheap at the other.
There was so much to see and do that if Mary wanted to, she could go out every night for a couple of years and never visit the same place twice.
The choices seemed to be almost infinite because San Francisco truly was a city that catered to everyone, no matter the style, no matter the taste, no matter the budget.
Compared to the Deep South, San Francisco was a culture shock.
Despite all the choices, there was a place that Mary had been to more than once – Jolt N Bolt – a bakery and coffee shop that had the most amazing tarts in all of Dogpatch… maybe even in all of San Francisco… and it was just around the corner from her apartment.
Betsy was a very sweet, Goth-looking, twenty-four-year-old girl, who worked at Jolt N Bolt, usually at the till.
Mary had never really spoken to her before, other than to place an order, until about a month ago.
That afternoon, Mary had ordered a slice of her favorite tart – chocolate raspberry marquise – together with a regular cappuccino, but instead of having it all to go, as she usually did, Mary took a table by the window and simply sat there, people-watching for a while.
She finished her tart and ordered a second cappuccino.
Betsy was the one who brought it over to her table.
‘Hi,’ the Goth-looking girl said in a shy voice. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I… drew you.’ She placed the cappuccino down on the table in front of Mary, who looked up at her a little confused.
‘You drew me?’ She shook her head. ‘What do you m—’ Her eyes moved to the cappuccino cup on the table and she paused, her mouth dropping half open.
Using just milk, poured from a beaked jug, and chocolate dust, the girl had drawn Mary’s face onto the cappuccino’s surface, and it looked uncanny.
‘Oh my god!’ Mary’s eyes bounced between the girl and the cappuccino. ‘This is… incredible.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ The girl gave Mary a timid smile. ‘I’m so glad you like it.’ She turned to walk back to the counter, but Mary paused her.
‘Seriously. I’ve seen a lot of cappuccino art all over the place. I guess it’s a thing nowadays, but nothing like this… with this much detail. You’re very talented.’
‘Aww, thank you so much,’ the girl said again, averting Mary’s eyes. It was clear that she wasn’t used to dealing with compliments. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘Are you an artist?’ Mary pushed. ‘I mean… do you also draw on paper… paint on canvas… anything? Please tell me that cappuccino drawing isn’t all that you use your talent for.’
The girl finally met Mary’s eyes. ‘Well… I’m trying… to be an artist, I mean. I’ve been drawing since I was a young girl, and yeah, I do both – draw on paper and I also paint on canvas – I love it. It’s… what makes me happy.’
‘And we’ve got to do what makes us happy, right?’
The girl nodded, her stare, once again, running away from Mary’s. ‘I guess so… like I said… I’m trying.’
This time, Mary picked up a terribly sad undertone to the Goth girl’s words and movements. ‘I’d love to see your work,’ she said. ‘Do you have any of it here… or any photos or anything?’
The girl’s smile was coy, but genuine. ‘I do have a few photos on my phone. Would you really like to see them?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Betsy, we’ve got customers, girl,’ someone called from behind the counter in a tone that sounded a lot angrier than the moment warranted.
Betsy’s eyes blinked nervously a couple of times. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to Mary.
Mary’s gaze scooted over to the counter. Standing behind it was a bald man of average height, with a really unflattering nose. His stare could’ve burned a hole at the back of Betsy’s head.
‘It’s alright,’ Mary replied. ‘I’ll be sitting here for a while. I’m Mary, by the way.’ She offered her hand.
‘Betsy.’ She shook it. ‘It’s really nice to meet you.’
In the days and weeks that followed, Mary and Betsy struck up a somewhat cordial friendship. Every time Mary went back to Jolt N Bolt, they would talk for a while.
About two weeks ago, as Mary walked into the coffee shop to grab a cappuccino to go, Betsy gave her the widest smile Mary had ever seen grace the Goth girl’s lips.
‘I got a place at an exhibition,’ she said, offering Mary a flyer, almost bouncing from one foot to the other out of excitement.
‘I’m allowed to display up to five pieces. ’
‘Oh my god. That’s amazing.’ Mary took the flyer and gave Betsy a hug. ‘Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.’
‘Will you come?’ Betsy asked with puppy eyes. ‘Please… it would mean a lot if you did.’
‘Of course I will.’ Mary’s smile was almost as happy as Betsy’s. ‘It will be an absolute pleasure.’
Mary rushed into her bedroom and swung open the wardrobe doors.
Just like she’d done back in Nashville, Mary had kept her private belongings down to a bare minimum.
The apartment that she had rented came fully furnished, and though she’d been itching to add her own personal touches to the décor, she’d somehow managed to restrain herself from doing so.
Her wardrobe was pitiful. It looked more like a disused cupboard than anything else, but there was a flipside – at least she never ended up spending an hour trying different outfits before going out.
Mary caught a glimpse of her reflection on the wardrobe door mirror. She was wearing black jeans and a blue-and-white striped, long-sleeved shirt.
‘Yeah, this will do,’ she said to herself, as her eyes darted to the window for an instant.
There was no sign of rain, but the temperature outside was around 52°F – not exactly cold – but if she was to walk for twenty minutes by the Bay, she’d need more than just a jacket, and in her limited wardrobe, there was only one option – a knitted white sweater that she had bought a week or so after arriving in San Francisco.
She reached for it, put it on, and rushed into the bathroom.
Her makeup also wasn’t that bad. All she needed was to reapply some lipstick, maybe a new coat of eyeliner, and put her contact lenses back in.
Her hair had already grown long enough for her to not need her wig anymore…
and she kept the style pretty much identical.
Makeup reapplied and look restored, Mary was ready to go. At the front door, she slipped into her black ankle boots, grabbed her leather jacket from one of the hooks on the wall, and checked the time one last time – 8:02 p.m.
The flyer said that the exhibition closed at 9:00 p.m.
Mary reached for her handbag and quickly checked its contents – the same as always – including her go-bag.
She locked the door behind her and hurried towards the stairs, completely oblivious that that night would give George Oakfield’s old clichéd sentence – ‘this is the first day of the rest of your life’ – a brand-new meaning.