Becca's Roots

At least that’s what the rental agent had told her, and Becca was so greedy for chic that she’d spent way too much for the cramped efficiency with a stunning view of the parking lot. The agent had called that concrete shel f outside the glass slider a balcony, but you couldn’t really close the door behind you if you stepped out .  Still, she could stand with one foot in and one foot out as she smoked a cigarette (damn that trashy habit) and avoid smelling up the place.

One foot in and one foot out - that was Becca, all right.  Smart, but goofy was the way her sister put it, but what did Kendra know? She’d done everything right, from marrying the over-educated guy with the only slightly-thinning hair, to balancing a tidy, part-time job in an art gallery against the job of raising two kids.  Even when Kendra made mistakes, she managed to put a high gloss on them.

Becca? She never felt glossy.

from KimC

Except when she put too much Biosilk on her hair. But maybe that’s greasy, not glossy.

The not-so-aptly named gallery where Kendra works, Sublime, was featuring a new painter this week. Nice camera, no film as Kendra described him, looks good on the outside, nothing on the inside. The female patrons snapped up his work like Chanel suits.

Becca took a last drag on a cigarette. Stomped it out and threw it into the pot containing a scrawny rhododendron at the end of the balcony. Dressing for tonight’s opening at Sublime, Becca thought

from ruphass

about where she was going in this town.  She always thought about her future, and never about her past.  She had been working at Sublime with Kendra recently, but it wasn't bringing in the opportunities she had hoped for. The clients it attracted were mostly young lost souls searching for an identity, as if you could purchase character at an art gallery.

Becca didn't blame them, she worked there for the same reason.  She didn't regret the time she spent there, it was an enormous step up from home, and it afforded her a chance to shed her southern birth skin and step into an urban techno brat persona.  The clothes were easy to lose, the accent took hard work.  And now, reborn as she was, the job had little more to offer her.  She needed to step up.She checked her face one last time before leaving the apartment.  There was no trace of the old Becca in the mirror.  She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and mentally tucked away old Becca into the small wooden box where she kept all the old family photos.

She opened her eyes and smiled at what she saw.  It was time, and she was ready.  She needed to find that one opening that would take her from wannabe to arrived.

She grabbed her clutch and headed to the gallery.

from Ivory

As Becca entered Sublime, she quickly scanned the gallery, taking in the clientele and categorizing them mentally.  The chick standing to her left was definitely into herself, and not the art-not a serious buyer, she'd come to show  off her new Jimmy Choos in hopes of snagging a dinner invite from one of the men milling about the room.  Too bad for her, Becca thought, as she noticed that most of the men were already paired off-with each other.  Story of my life, too, Becca grinned inwardly.

Grabbing a flute of champagne from one of the servers circling through the crowd, she turned quickly and unfortunately right into a solid wall of blue denim.  Her first thought, as she watched her champagne soaking into the shirt, was "who wears denim to a gallery showing?" followed quickly by embarrassment at having been so clumsy.

"Oh, my, I'm sooo sorry!  Totally my fault,"  Becca stammered as she dabbed ineffectually at the spreading stain with her paper napkin.

"No harm done, ma'am," drawled a deep, sexy voice.  "It'll come right out in the wash."

Becca eyes drew upward, until they landed on a face that had eyes the exact color of the denim shirt he was wearing.

"Becca Riley", she said, by way of introduction.  "I work here, and I assure you the gallery will pick up the cleaning billl for you."

"Josh Prellop," he replied.  "You must be Kendra's sister.  I'm the-uh...," Becca was astonished to see that the man was actually blushing, "...the uh-what you call artist-in-residence?"

from TexasWordsmith

 

“You? You're Hamilton P.?” Becca practically choked on her words. “You're that Hamilton P.?”
“Yes ma'am, that's me alright.”
“I never would have guessed. Your work is so raw and Urban, and you, you're so...”
“I know, I know. I look more like I should be welding scrap metal sculptures, not painting these sissy pictures.”
“I thought you said your name was Josh?”
“Yes ma'am. Hamilton is my middle name. My daddy never took much stock in me painting so I don't use my full name.”
“You don't sound like you believe in your work.”
“Well it does pay the bills.”
“So, you're just in it for the money?”
“No, ma'am, I genuinely like painting. It's these shows I'm not too crazy about.”
“But you could make a lot more money if you were picked up by one of the big galleries.”
“Yes, ma'am I suppose I could, but I do alright.”
“You don't want to be a big celebrity in New York? You could be driven everywhere in big Limousines and you would instantly be admitted into any club in town. You could eat at the best restaurants and they would always make a table available for you.”
“That sounds great, but I'm just a country boy from Amarillo.”
“You keep telling yourself that, and that's all you'll ever be. If you want to catch the big galleries, you have to treat them like you're fishing. You've already got some pretty good bait, now we just need to work on your presentation.”
“My presentation?”
Becca sipped the remnants of her champagne and looked him up and down critically. “They don't want to buy their art from the stable boy. They want to buy it from a modern James Dean.”
She lead him into one of the private rooms in back and fussed with his hair. “The jeans and boots are ok, but the jacket is just too much denim, and the hat has to go.”
He tossed the jacket and Stetson onto a nearby chair, and held his hands out to the side, unsure what to do with them.
Becca shook her head and said, “Unbutton the shirt down a couple buttons.”
He did and she nodded her head. “Not bad, you have potential. Now let's go see if any of our Manhattan guests have arrived yet.”
“You mean you're serious?”
Becca was puzzled by his reply. “Well yes, what did you think I was doing?”
Josh blushed again. “I, uh, that is...” He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “I thought you were trying to get me out of my clothes.”

from Ivory

Becca matched Josh blush for blush.  Not that she would mind tryiing to get the handsome hunk from Amarillo out of his clothes, it just hadn't occurred to her yet.  Now that he'd brought the topic up, she found it very difficult to steer her mind and her hormones back to the situation at hand.
"Well, now," Becca stammered, "That's certainly one of the more intriquing propositions I've had lately, but no, I'm seriously trying to get you ready to meet and greet the folks that are ready and waiting to drop some heavy dimes for your work."
"Oh, gosh ma'am,"  Josh blushed even more deeply, "I certainly didn't mean any disrespect.  I mean, anyone can see, you're not that kind of girl...uh-I mean you're awfully pretty and all, but..uh-maybe I'd just better shut up now before I dig myself a hole I can't get out of."  Josh squirmed in his boots as Becca adjusted his collar.
Damn, Becca thought.  I'm not sure if I've just been complimented or insulted.  Either way, she mused, it'd be best to keep this light and businesslike.
"Okay, Hamilton P.  I think you're just about ready to meet your clients."  Becca ran her fingers lightly through Josh's hair, lifting it off his forehead so that his piercing green eyes were the first thing that grabbed you.  She tried to ignore the tingle she was feeling.  She hooked her arm lightly through Josh's and as she pulled him towards the crowd she whispered, "Smile, but not too sincerely-now you're on!  Get out there and show 'em what you've got, cowboy!"

from TexasWordsmith

    Josh stepped timidly out into the gallery. He wasn't a shy man, but he was way out of his comfort zone. Becca recognized his hesitation and took him by the hand and threaded him through the gallery patrons. She pulled to a stop in front of a short stocky man with jet black hair and a moderately dark complexion.
    "Mr. Fizel, how nice to see you. May I introduce you to our featured artist Hamilton P? Mr. Fizel owns a Manhattan gallery, Fizel & Potts."
    Fizel looked Josh up and down and said, "You're not quite what I expected. I was just remarking on the range of subject matter you are showing tonight. It is very refreshing to find a young artist who has not yet settled on his own unique style."
    "My own unique style? I think you..."
    Becca interrupted him saying, "Mr. Fizel, Hamilton is indeed an exceptional young find, but his range and variety are what separate him from so many other artists today. I'm sure you've seen plenty of painters lock themselves into a single style. They probably claim they are perfecting their craft, but the truth is they are stuck in a rut."
    "Perhaps," Fizel turned and pointed to a near painting and said, "take this piece for example. It's a very nice landscape, very soft, very peaceful, but it's not much different from any other landscape."
    "Now, just a minute ..."
    Becca interrupted Josh again, "It is very peaceful. I think that's exactly what Hamilton was trying to portray. Peace and serenity. He could have painted it differently, but it would have lost the warm fuzzy feeling."
    Fizel crossed over to another aisle of paintings. "Over here, the portraits are strikingly different. Very edgy. Strong bold colors and sharp angular lines. It's hard to believe they are from the same artist."
    "I assure you I ..."
    Becca stepped between Josh and Fizel saying, "I'm glad you like them. This one over here is my personal favorite."
    Fizel walked around the row to another section. "These over here are all automobiles and machinery. The use of flat colors, instead of glossy, gives them a unique poster art quality."
    "Poster art?"
    "I'm glad you noticed that Mr. Fizel. I think they have that same quaint quality as say, Norman Rockwell, yet they are so technical and detailed."
    Josh shot Becca an annoyed look and asked, "Can I speak with you a minute?"
    She took him aside and said, "Keep it cool Josh. Don't blow this."
    "Blow what? He obviously doesn't like my work. He thinks it's uninspired and unoriginal. I gotta get out of here."
    "Just hold on. Wait here while I go talk to him."
    She left him standing with his hands in his pockets. "So, Mr. Fizel. Can I interest you in any of these paintings?"
    "No, I don't think so."
    "Are you sure? I thought some of the portraits and the machinery might look very nice hanging in your gallery."
    "No, well maybe, no, I don't think so. Not these."
    Becca's hopes of making it in the big city were dashed. Now she'd have to tell Josh that all her building him up was just talk. She turned and started a slow walk back to him, trying to think of the best way to put it.
    "Just a minute. Do you think he would be willing to come to New York and paint some cityscapes that combine these styles onto a single canvas? I'd like to commission him."
    "I don't know..."
    "Three large canvases, let's say thirty five hundred each, if they are good, plus expenses. Then, maybe, if they sell, we can talk about some of these other works."

from Ivory

     "Well, Mr. Fizel," Becca began, "I'll certainly discuss your offer with our artist"  She hoped she came across as calm, cool, and collected, though nothing could be further from the truth.  Hot damn!   Becca could hardly contain herself as she hurriedly clicked across the gallery floor in search of Kendra and Josh.  She saw her sister across the room and made a beeline for her.
     "You'll never believe what just happened," Becca said as she slipped her arm through her sister's and began pulling her away, towards the back room.  "I just snagged an offer from Charles Fizel for Josh to go and do a commission in New York City!  That would be Mr. Fizel of Fizel and Potts?  The gallery of note, according to  the review in last month's New Yorker? "   Becca could hardly contain her excitement, as she stood back and waited for her sister's reaction.
     "Well now, sounds like you've been doing a little agent's work out there," drawled a low voice behind her.  "I didn't know your finger was in that pie, too."
      Judging from the look of embarrassment, consternation-and was that even a look of annoyance?- on Kendra's face, Becca knew as she blushed from her toes to her roots that Josh was standing behind her.
     She spun around to face him.
     "Oh, Josh, hi," she stammered, "You're not going to believe the offer I just got for you!  I realize I may be crossing some lines here, but just wait until you hear what I have to tell you."
     "Oh, I'm listening," Josh said as he pushed off the door frame he was leaning against and walked towards her, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in a little smile. 
    

from TexasWordsmith

Morning came, and for Becca, it was like waking into a dream.  She floated through the kitchen and fixed herself some jam and toast, but the world was out of focus for her, maybe she was still sleeping.
The phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Miss Riley?"
"Speaking."
"Hi, I just wanted to confirm your tickets to JFK airport for this afternoon, leaving at 3pm.  We just need your address, and we'll have them couriered to you at once."
She gave them the particulars and moved on to the bedroom to start packing.  Becca had dreamed of moving up to the big city since she was a little girl.  She had rehearsed her trip to New York so many times in her head, she thought she could make this trip blindfolded.  Now she wished she were blindfolded.  Her head swooned as she stared at her closet and her empty luggage.  She had tried so hard to look the part, with the fancy dresses and expensive bags, but the truth was, her Jimmy Choos were knock offs, just like her Dolce dress and Gucci purse.  She can't take this, everything in her closet screams hick chick and wannabe.
She didn't know how long she stood staring at the closet, or how many times she put something in the bag, then took it out again.  The doorbell rang.  It was the courier with airline tickets for that afternoon.  It was really happening.  With the tickets, she found an itinerary with the hotel name, and twelve hundred dollars in travellers checks.
She packed only a few essentials, that is, she included the best of her designer imitations.  She can look for some new clothes when she gets there.
She closed her bag and called Josh on the phone.  "Hey Josh, I got the tickets already.  You better get packed, we're flying to New York City!"
"I can't wait.  Do you think you can arrange a small advance from Mr. Fizel?  It would be a lot easier if I could pick up some new supplies instead of packing my paints with me."
Becca bit her lip and said, "I think that, with the airline tickets and hotel already paid for, an advance might be a bit pushy.  You better just pack your paints with you.  Our flight is at 3pm.  I'll ask Kendra to give us a ride.  I'll meet you at the gallery at noon."
from Ivory

Becca got off the plane sporting a smart tailored suit with big sunglasses and a scarf around her head.  She pictured herself somewhere between Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O.  She breezed down the jetway and into the terminal where she sucked in a deep breath of New York.  "Smell all that success."

Josh gave her a strange look and said, "Maybe you shouldn't be snorting that air so deeply."

"What am I going to do with you?"

He never heard her.  He was already scanning the scene with his artist's eye.  He had never seen so many men in suits all in one place.  Even his church back home doesn't pack in so many neck ties.  Most of them were gray, the color of machinery.  He began to see them as gears meshing together.

"Look at them all," she said, "kinda makes you wish you dressed up a bit, doesn't it?"

"No," he said flatly, "makes me wish I didn't have to check my paints in or we could get the hell out of here."

She hooked her arm through his and said, "Come on Romeo, let's go find the luggage carrousels."

"Romeo?"

"I thought artists were supposed to be romantically moody, not depressingly crabby."

"What?  Are you calling me crabby?"

"If the claw fits..."

"I'll have you know, I'm very romantic."

"You could have fooled me."

"Well I can be, when it counts.  What's all this about anyway?  I thought this was strictly business."

"It is business, but I look around me and I see the beauty of the big city, and you don't."

"Maybe I do, but I see it differently."

"Well, saying you can't wait to get the hell out of here sure doesn't express much appreciation for the moment."

"So I express myself better in my paintings."

"Well I sure hope so, because my brother's pet tortoise expresses more feelings than you do."

"I can't help it.  I get all tongue tied around pretty girls."

"Look around Josh!  They're almost all men!"

"You know, sometimes you ain't always so bright."Josh grabbed his easel as it came around the carrousel.

Becca's phone rang.  "Hello?  Oh, hi Mr. Fizel.  Yeah, the trip was fine.  We're just waiting for the rest of the luggage.  Tonight?  Sure, we'd love to.  Don't worry about him, I'll have him there."

"What was that?" Josh's tone was icy.

"That was our benefactor."

"I didn't ask who it was, it sounded like you were making plans for me."

"He's having a small get together at his gallery to welcome you.  No big deal."

"You know I don't like those."

"Look, we each have our jobs to do.  You paint the pretty pictures, and I make them want you even more."

"Good, then you go."

She stepped in close and put her hands on either side of his face, holding his cheeks.  "Look, this is how it's done in the big city.  Don't worry, if there are any pretty girls there making you nervous, I'll chase them away."

"You can't chase all of them away."

"Just watch me."Josh stared into her eyes.  

She was so focused on her plans, she couldn't see what was right in front of her face."Josh?"Of course he'll go to the gallery with her.  He'd go anywhere with her.  Heck, he came to New York for her."Josh?"Now if only he could get her to go with him."JOSH!"

"What?  I'm sorry, did you say something?" She pointed to the carrousel and asked, "Isn't that your bag?"

from Ivory

"I believe it is." He hefted the duffel over his shoulder as those it were weightless then lifted one brow her direction. "Well?"

"Well then, follow me." She led a double-time march to the sidewalk and whistled through two fingers. A cab screeched to a stop at her side, and the truck popped open.

Josh threw in his bag and climbed into the back seat after Becca who was giving the cabby their destination address. When she finally settled back into the seat, he played at her hand with his little finger, getting closer and closer to touching it. "So, what do I get for going tonight and being a good little artist?"

She did her best to ignore the dancing digit and looked out her window at humanity on the move. "Hopefully, a well paying gig that leads to a few excellent sales."

"But what if I told you flat out that is not why I came to New York?" His pinky swiped the side of her hand and she jerked around. He stared into her eyes. Her left one started twitching. "What if the only reason I came was to be alone with you?"

She swallowed hard. Was he serious? She had enjoyed their earlier banter, but this sounded way too for real. Her belly suddenly flip flopped with the million butterflies on the swarm down there. Maybe she'd taken him wrong. She replayed his words in her mind and determined there was no mistaking his question. Her mouth felt like cotten, and where was her water bottle anyway? She needed a drink, a stall. Her inner-self called a quick debate to decide exactly what the deal was here.

From the moment she turned back toward him, his eyes still held hers. "Umm, well, I guess I'd say, your objective is realized, and if that's why you came, then -"

His kiss interrupted the thought, and she found herself lost in its genetleness, its sincerity, its wrenching of those pesky flying insects down below. She leaned into it, into him, and kissed him back. "Then what?" He barely whispered the request for the completion of her remark.

  

from Grami