NaNoWriMo, Day Seven

While I normally put in a lot of  internal links to previous, related posts here, I won’t be doing that for what I hope will be thirty NaNoWriMo posts. If you have jumped into or stumbled onto this story in mid-adventure, there are plenty of other ways to navigate around the site to find previous installments. Actually doing so is left as an exercise to the student.

Another really interesting thing that I’m finding out while writing this story is the way plot twists and events pop up as I’m typing them. I’m writing this story with a general outline and a target of where I want the plot to end up, but there have been several things that I had no clue were coming until I got there. For example, the fact that Ellen lied through her teeth to Tom and ditched him. I was literally typing, “He pulled up in front of the store about 8:55” when my brain said, “You do know that she’s not going to show up. Right?” Well, now I did!

It’s happened several times, and each time it’s been quite clear in my head that it was the correct way to go. In addition, by the time I finish writing out the modified scene, it’s usually pretty clear what follows next on the altered time line.

That’s pretty neat. I don’t know if I can count on that happening the next time, or the 1,000th time I need it, but for right now it’s kind of an amazing feeling. Not quite “amazing” like finding out that you have the ability to teleport or kill people with your mind, but more like the “amazing” when you suddenly find out that you have a natural talent for juggling or roller skating.

I’ve never been a big fan of “faith”, more of a “cover your ass and your bases” kind of a guy. But if this keeps up, I might have to start having faith in my ability to do this. It feels like jumping off a cliff and having faith that I can learn to fly on the way down. That analogy, in turn, could have profound consequences for many other aspects of my life.

As Alice said, “Curiouser and curiouser.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The miles droned by as Tom drove the long way around the southern end of the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains. He passed into New Mexico before sunset, but soon it was dark and more light snow flurries started. At one point the GPS chirped and asked if he wanted to take a shortcut through Taos, but when Tom checked the elevations on the alternate route he decided that it was better to just stick with the interstate. It wasn’t worth it to possibly be forced to double back for three or four hours just to maybe save an hour.

As the snow continued, Tom was able to keep moving but he was forced to slow down. He kept checking the radio for reports from the highway patrol and the news was always that the road was open but caution was necessary. When he had left Pueblo he hadn’t planned on the weather getting worse. The GPS periodically updated his ETA in Farmington, but it was always basing it on the maximum speeds for the roads. As the reality of the slower speeds and sloppy conditions kept being factored in, the ETA soon slipped into the wee hours of the next morning.

Tom tried to keep an eye out for any late model, white Tahoe SUVs, but there weren’t a lot of other cars out this far in the middle of nowhere in a storm. Most of the traffic was made up of long-distance truckers, who didn’t seem to slow down for anyone or anything. It was almost like they were driving in an alternate reality that didn’t include darkness or snow.

It was seven o’clock by the time he got to the New Mexico version of Las Vegas, where he stopped to get gas and a quick dinner. From there the interstate went back up into some higher elevations, along with their heavier snow. The roads were starting to get icy underneath the snow which just made everything all the more treacherous. Driving his compact car Tom could feel every gust of wind and was pushed around by every truck that blew past him.

When he got to Santa Fe it was nearly ten o’clock and the GPS was telling him that he would get to Farmington by 3:00 AM, but Tom knew that was a lie. Ellen had probably arrived hours ago wherever it was she was going. Getting himself killed in a stupid car accident wasn’t going to solve anything. It was time to hole up for the night.

The freeway sign indicated that the next five exits serviced Santa Fe. The first couple still looked like they were way out on the outskirts of town, but soon Tom could see that he was coming into the main city. Even from a distance he could see several towering signs for gas, motels, and restaurants. He took the exit and then had to choose between a national discount chain motel and a more upscale national all-suites property. Tom went with the suite.

Once in his room he tried to do some more searching online for anything that might be useful, but he was having problems maintaining his concentration. Now that he wasn’t focused on driving in dangerous conditions, all of the adrenaline and tension of the day leaked out of him and left him deflated. He turned on the television to see if there might be something mindless to distract him for an hour while he wound down, preferably without insulting his intelligence.

Flipping through the satellite channels on the motel’s system, his attention was caught by a local access channel promoting a number of the area’s tourist attractions and small businesses. Living up to Santa Fe’s reputation, most of the ads were for art galleries, jewelry stores, historical sites, spas, luxury boutiques, and restaurants.

Tom had never been to the city before, but he couldn’t help but wonder how much of the art in the galleries was actually unique and inspired and how much was simply trendy and expensive. As the ads began to scroll back through their loop for a second time he reached for the TV’s remote control. Just as he changed the channel an image in a gallery ad caught his eye. He flipped back as quickly as he could, but the loop had already moved on.

Getting a pen and notepad from the hotel desk, Tom waited impatiently for the ads to loop through again. He kept scanning the ads for a repeat of the image he had seen, but it never appeared anywhere else. Finally he recognized one of the ads that had just preceded the one he wanted to see and he got on the edge of the bed so that he could clearly see the television.

The ad he had seen came on and he wrote down the name, the Starry Mountaintop Gallery. As he quickly wrote down the phone number given, he clearly saw the piece he had glimpsed the first time. In a collection of large vases, bowls, and various pottery items, there was clearly something like a large cookie jar painted to show two cats staring up into a cloudless, blue sky. In the sky were several black disks and circles, all of them with a row of teeth around the inside rim.

Tom watched the ads for a third time to make sure that he was seeing what he thought he had seen. It went by quickly as the camera panned across the gallery showroom, just one art piece in a room full of them, but it stuck out like a sore thumb to Tom. He quickly checked out the gallery’s web site but didn’t see any sign of it there. He noted the gallery’s hours and address.

As long as he wasn’t going to be getting anywhere before Ellen, this was something he needed to check out first.

In the morning Tom slept in late and took his time getting up and finding a good breakfast. The gallery didn’t open until ten o’clock, so there was no hurry. Tom was glad to see that the skies were clear. Even with the sun up it didn’t look like it was going to get much above freezing any time during the day. The streets and sidewalks were all clear of snow by the time he went out, although there were still plenty of white patches in yards and parks where no one had trampled it yet.

The GPS indicated that the gallery was only a few blocks away and Tom had seen several notices about restrictive parking in the area. It seemed that many streets were primarily for pedestrians only. After checking with the front desk at the hotel, Tom decided to leave his car at the hotel and walk.

The cold air was thin as Tom hustled along at his usual brisk pace. He had seen the signs indicating that Santa Fe was at 7000’ altitude and there were warnings in the hotel room about the dangers of overexertion in the thin air, but it didn’t register until he found himself getting seriously short of breath. Like it or not, he was forced to ease his pace and take it easy.

As Tom entered the Starry Mountaintop Gallery he saw that it was arranged less as an art gallery and more like an upscale furniture store. All of the paintings, sculptures, and other art pieces were displayed as they would be if they were prized possessions to be shown off as ostentatiously as possible. Some of the furniture being used could have been art pieces in their own right, but some appeared to be minimalist set dressings. In what was apparently the theme of the gallery, almost all of the art pieces portrayed some kind of astronomical object or symbol.

There was only one employee in the gallery as Tom entered, and she was engaged in conversation with a young couple. The well dressed, middle aged woman caught Tom’s eye and held up a finger indicating that she would be with him shortly. Tom gestured back with a thumbs up, hopefully indicating that he was fine and in no hurry. He began circling the room slowly, looking carefully at each piece.

There was no sign of the piece that he had seen in the ad last night. Stars, moons, and suns were everywhere. A huge oak headboard on a king-sized bed was intricately carved with something that could have been a distant cousin to van Gogh’s “Starry Night”. A monstrously huge chrome mobile displaying the solar system hung high above a living room setting, the planets each etched with detail and embedded with semi-precious stones. Several stained glass windows showed stylized constellations. A large painting of the sun in full eclipse had amazingly detailed loops, rays, and whorls in the flaming corona.

Some of the pieces included animals, but only one had a cat and it was obviously not the one that Tom was looking for since the cat was shown curled up and sleeping. Other pieces showed various animals looking up at the sun, the moon or the stars, but nothing bizarre or unusual was shown in the skies anywhere. Tom liked a tapestry that showed a mountain lion lounging on a cliff ledge while looking up at Orion rising above a city, which he assumed to be Santa Fe. Curious, he looked for a price tag, but found that nothing in the gallery seemed to have one. He thought that it was a subtle touch that spoke volumes.

He realized that the gallery saleswoman was now standing quietly behind him, apparently done with the couple who had been here earlier. Suddenly deciding to take the initiative, he turned to her, smiled, and stretched out his hand. “Tom Tiernan. And you are?”

The woman graciously shook his hand and then released it. “I’m Karen Anders. Is there something in particular that you’re looking for today?”

“Perhaps I am, I’m not sure yet. I’m out from Los Angeles, just visiting the area for a few days and your gallery seemed interesting. It seems that everything has some astronomical connection, yes?”

“Quite so,” Karen said. “I have always been fascinated by the stars and astronomy, but when I wanted to study it in college I found that I should have studied a lot more math when I was younger. Instead I ended up studying art and business, then starting this gallery to combine it all. So far it seems to be working out. Are you involved with astronomy?”

“In a way, I guess that you could say that I am. I worked for over thirty years as a science and technology reporter, mainly for newspapers out on the west coast. In the course of doing that I’ve covered a fair number of stories relating to astronomy and the space program. It was always special when I got to go to JPL or Florida for a space shuttle launch. But I wouldn’t have guessed that enough people shared that interest to have a gallery that specialized in that sort of thing.”

“It’s a niche market, but there’s not a lot of competition and it fits in well with the culture here in Santa Fe. I couldn’t sell straight astronomical art here, it’s not the right market for that, although I did have Alan Bean do a showing here once. Mainly I look for things that will stand out and be eye catching. That’s what a lot of people in this area are looking for. Did you see anything that you liked?”

“There are several very nice things, but I’m not sure that they would fit in with my current décor. However, I noticed your ad on one of the local access channels in the hotel last night. There was a piece there that caught my eye. I don’t see it here, or anything like it, but maybe you’ll recognize it if I can describe it.”

“I can do even better,” Karen said. “We only have four video ads that we’ve shot, and I have a DVD with copies of all of them. Why don’t we look at them and you can show me which one you’re looking for.”

“Perfect, that would be great,” Tom replied.

It only took a minute for Karen to pull the DVD out of a file cabinet and put it in a player in her office. A very large flat screen display lit up on one wall. Neither of the first two ads were the ones that Tom had seen, but the third one was and Tom froze the playback to show the piece with the two cats and the disks in the sky.

“Can you tell me about this?” he asked.

Karen looked puzzled for a second but then her face smoothed to hide the emotion. “That’s an odd work, part of a series that we get from time to time. I don’t have any in right now and I really can’t say when I’ll get another, but if you like I can take your information and let you know when one becomes available.”

“I noticed it because of the cats,” Tom lied. “I’ve got a British Shorthair just like that and I’ve had others from that breed in the past. I’ve got some other artwork that shows British Shorthairs, so I thought that this would be something that would fit with my collection.”

“I see,” Karen said. “Now I understand. This particular work was here when we shot that video about eighteen months ago, but it went fairly quickly. This artist’s works usually do, but generally it’s someone who’s already familiar with her work or has been introduced to them by someone who is. It’s unusual for someone to ask about these works at random.”

“From the video it’s unclear just how big it is or what the design is. Would you have any still pictures of it or anything else on it?”

“No, I can tell you that it’s a little more than a foot tall and the artwork you see here is repeated on the other side, but I don’t have any other photos I’m afraid. The artist is quite strict about allowing any images to be taken of her work. I think she may be worried that her designs will be copied or stolen.”

“Thank you, that helps a great deal. What’s the astronomical connection to the piece? Do you know what exactly it is that the cats are looking at? I can’t quite see it clearly in the video.”

“I’ve never quite gotten a detailed description of that from the artist, but when I’ve been able to talk to her at all she has spoken of ‘other worlds’ and ‘signs in the sky’. All of her works have cats, and all have some variation of those symbols. If I had to guess I would think that they’re star symbols with the points turned inward instead of out, or possibly some kind of symbol for a solar eclipse. Perhaps they’re of paleographic origin or related to a more recent Native American symbol, but I don’t know enough about that to say for sure.”

“That’s fascinating,” Tom said, his sincere interest being obvious. “It almost looks like it has a lid, or is that a lip or top on it of some sort?”

“You’re correct, there’s a lid. I’m hesitant to say too much for fear of sounding macabre, but in addition to being beautiful, these works are designed to be functional.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to be puzzled. “I’m sorry, but that just makes me even more curious,” he said, giving Karen his biggest smile. “Please, I promise to not be upset or offended.”

“Very well, if you must know. While they might be used for a variety of things, I understand that these works are actually intended as funeral urns, to hold someone’s ashes after they’ve been cremated.”

Tom did his best to hide his surprise. “That’s not macabre, that’s wonderful. Many people keep the ashes of their departed family members for years in their homes. What better way to do that than to have some beautiful piece of artwork to use for the job? I think that it would be fantastic to use something like that instead of something that’s just ordinary marble or pottery.”

“I agree and I’m glad that you’re not bothered by that. I’m just always afraid that it might upset someone or violate their religious convictions.”

“Not at all,” Tom said. “In fact, I’m becoming more fascinated by the minute. I would love to meet this artist. Is she from the area?”

“She’s regional but not local. I believe she lives up beyond Farmington. I’ve only met her a handful of times. Usually I deal with her agent. When they first approached me about carrying her works I had doubts, especially since they’re both so odd. The first pieces I took strictly on consignment, but now I get pieces at irregular times, usually about four or five times a year.”

“If I may ask, how much do her pieces cost?” Tom asked.

“I currently ask $5,000 for each piece,” Karen answered.

“That sounds quite reasonable,” Tom lied again. “I would be very excited if you could let me know when you get more of her works in. What’s her name again?”

“Her name is Dahlia,” Karen said.

It was everything Tom could do to keep a straight face and keep his voice level. “Really? Dahlia? Like the flower?”

“Yes, just like the flower. She’s got a beautiful tattoo of a purple dahlia on her right shoulder. It’s wonderful work as well, but I don’t know if she takes the name from the flower and the tattoo or if she got the tattoo because of it’s her name. I’m sure that you know how eccentric artists can be.”

“I know, their actions can often be inexplicable. Please, let me give you my information,” Tom said, fishing out a business card. “I’m very interested, but I need to ask if you can be extremely discreet about my identity. I have a wide range of financial partners and competitors. In my investment field it’s a very competitive and cutthroat business, so it would not do to give anyone any unnecessary information, even the artist.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Karen assured him. “As I said, I rarely see her. Usually it’s the agent that I talk to, and then only when she comes in. I’ll make sure to let you know as soon as I have another piece available.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. You mentioned the agent that you deal with. What’s her name?”

“Ellen Summers. I used to deal with her mother, Beth Summers, but she passed away two years ago, so her daughter took over for her.”

Tom almost didn’t dare to speak. To buy some time, he held out his hand again for Karen to shake. “Thank you, you’ve been very helpful, very helpful indeed. I’m so happy that I stumbled across this, it had made my whole trip worthwhile. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”