Chapter 2: black jackets and business cards

At first, you are only concerned with recollecting your dignity after your failed attempt to be professional, but when the trucks pull up, sirens blaring, and firemen quickly file into the house one by one in full gear, you start thinking about your pictures. You wonder about the consequences of all those carefully developed and framed photographs going up in smoke. Your tendency not to use digital technology suddenly seems a little...irresponsible?
One of the other artists featured tonight stands near you with her fiancé. She looks monumentally concerned and is craning her neck to see what is going on in the house. Her fiancé rubs her back and keeps a consistent string of encouraging words flowing her way--he is speaking too low for you to hear what he is saying, but it seems to be calming her nerves. You wonder at yourself when you realize that the only thing you feel is a mild curiosity at what will unfold next. No panic, no worry, only the faint hint of...what was that? Relief...?

After about 10 minutes of brooding and cowering behind a tree, Hal finds you and snaps you back into the moment.
"Well, it looks like the fire station was notified because of gas, not smoke." He says in a way meant to be reassuring.
"So as long as no one goes in and lights a cigarette, we should be okay, huh?" Hal chuckles,
"What are you doing way back here?" You don't have time to weigh your choices, so you opt for the truth, which stumbles out of your mouth like dribble, as per usual.
"I guess I feel more comfortable by myself than surrounded by...well, I mean not that I don't like your kind of...what I mean is I appreciate your company--" Graciously, he rescues you.
"I think I get the gist of it. What you mean is, you're brown corduroy, and we're black satin." He tugs on the sleeve of your jacket briefly.
"Exactly!" You are simultaneously appreciative and perplexed by the way this man continues to baffle your expectations.
"Well, I'll tell you, son: success in this field is unfortunately a combination of talent and good P.R. I wish I could tell you that you could be a recluse that shows up to his exhibits in tattered jeans and flip flops and leaves impressed buyers in his wake, but those artists are actually few and far between…and tend to have an ungodly amount of charisma."
"Which I don't have."
"Well," Hal's eyes get thoughtful, but he never looks away from you, "I wouldn't discount yourself so quickly. But I would suggest that you ease into the scene, perhaps starting by meeting some social expectations."
"Oh dear. I was afraid that was a requirement," this from a throaty voice behind you, gaining volume as the individual approaches. The voice is unmistakable, but still you turn to unexpectedly be faced by KC, toting something carefully over her arm in the dark. "That is one thing that he lives to try not to do." She is stocky and strong; her short dark hair is in natural disarray and piercings crawl up one ear and down the other. Her voice has a smoky, low tone not characteristic of women, but KC has spent most of her years settling comfortably into herself, and she has a distinct and undeniable femininity about her. She is also incapable of being intimidated. She thrusts her free hand towards Hal when she reaches your side. "I'm Cadence." They shake firmly, Hal clearly intrigued.
"Then I believe we spoke on the phone." He says good-naturedly. "You said you weren't able to make it tonight, but I'm certainly glad you did. An artist could always use their agent nearby." They both turn to you and you wonder if Hal feels played by this kind-of…charade. KC doesn’t wait for you to foul everything up.
"Yeah, well, I’m actually working tonight, but I'm on break. I was pretty sure this would be needed," she unfolds the cloth across her arm and holds it up before you: a smooth, black dinner jacket that probably belongs to her father. "Looks like I got here just in time for the real excitement!" she adds, nodding in the direction of the fire trucks on the curb. KC grabs at the collar of your jacket and you let her pull it off your back without too much awkward hassle, then turn and slip your arms into new sleeves, one by one. Already you start to feel constricted, like the air in your personal bubble just got uncomfortably warmer.
"Just a gas scare." Hal turns around as the last of the firemen retreat from the building and the one speaking to Trenton, who owns the building, finishes up his briefing on the situation. “Someone in the kitchen must have pulled the alarm to evacuate us.” All three of you watch Trenton motion those around him inside, and the whole crowd starts to slowly surge forward like a wave. “Well then,” Hal turns halfway around, “shall we?” He offers his arm. “Cadence, are you going to join us inside?”
“I’m afraid I left my ‘agent’ hat at home; tonight, I’m dressed the part of ‘bar tender.’”
“Well, I hate that our meeting in person has been so brief, but I’m sure we’ll talk again soon. I am looking forward to sitting down with you two over lunch to discuss tonight’s success and tomorrow’s opportunities!” Spoken like a true businessman; nonetheless, you have been getting a genuine vibe from this man all night—something you did not expect—so you take him seriously when he says this.
“Oh, have you set up a lunch meeting already?” KC’s eyebrows rise.
“Not quite,” Hal winks at her, “but I do not accept ‘no’ as an answer when I want something, so I anticipate seeing you again.” With that, he shakes her hand once more and strides off purposefully in his waiting wife’s direction.

“Well? You’ve got five minutes to update me before I go back to work.”
“Went inside, met Glitter and Glamour, fire alarm sounded, broke a vase, stood under this tree, current conversation.”
“Four minutes left to put something of substance in there. Money? Doting fans? ‘Tomorrow’s opportunities’?”
“Apparently two doting fans: Hal and his mysterious niece, who really got me the gig, if you trace it to the source. But honestly, I just got here in time to make a fool out of myself in as many ways as possible and then stand under this tree, which I think is shedding right now on your dad’s jacket.” You brush some fallen seeds off your jacket and they leave a powdery residue behind. You brush harder, and when you look up, you are met by the intense, perplexed gaze of your friend.
“2 minutes left to tell me why you took so long to get here. I told you when it started, didn’t I?”
“Now look, KC, I barely came at all. You pushed me into this even after I told you I had no desire to prostitute my hobby—“her eye roll interrupts your train of thought. “They wanted me to ‘explain my work’ to them! You have no idea what a disaster that was.”
“I don’t know; I’ve heard you try to explain to someone how to play Uno before.”
“Seriously, though,” you look up at the house, glowing like a radioactive stone across the empty lawn, “I don’t have a clue what to say. I just take them because…I don’t know…because I’m bored! Because I don’t know what else to do?” You roll your shoulders uncomfortably under the jacket, a little too large for your frame. “You talked to Hal, you chose the pictures…you should be the one to talk about them!”
“Hey!” Cadence’s resolute expression and resolved tone have always been able to command your attention. “I have negative one minute to tell you this before you get your butt back into that house and make me proud: We’ve been friends a long time and I’m tired of watching you saunter through your life like you have nothing to offer anyone. You got into college on an art scholarship and aren’t doing a blasted thing with what you’re accomplishing in that program. There is more to you than this stupid nonchalance you wear like a badge, and there is more to your photographs than an aimless point and click. You are going to explore this one opportunity that has all but jumped up and bitten your face off, and you’re going to do it if I have to be kicking you the whole way.”
“Tell me what to say.”
“Find the pictures you like the best. Tell the story behind when and where you took them. Start there. Maybe the ‘why’ will come later. They are begging to hear you say something—just…talk! I’m pretty sure it’s not going to hurt your work either way.”
“I wish you were coming inside.”
“Yeah, well, you gotta walk without your crutches sometime, buddy.” You reach for your jacket on her arm and she jerks back. “Un-uh. I don’t trust you. Not after finding dad’s jacket left in your backseat. By the way: you forgot to lock it again.” You sigh and she sighs back. Without anything left to say (and KC now at negative five minutes, at least), you start to make your way back towards the front door. She calls after you:
“Good luck! Come grab a drink afterwards! But you have to stay for at least another hour!” You playfully start to limp across the yard and she waves you off with another roll of her eyes.

Back inside, you down a glass of champagne, holding your breath against the taste, and notice with relief that the fragments of vase are gone. Mustering up your courage, you find Hal and Emily who are, thankfully, standing in a corner nearly alone. They allow your presence to interrupt their conversation and you say: “Where were we?” You follow KC’s advice, talking first to just Hal and Emily about some of your favorite photos—although you can’t really express why they are your favorites, you talk about how you came upon that shot, or why it caught your attention. She was right—it got easier and easier.

By the time your throat is getting dry from talking so much, you have once more gathered your high society crowd and are awkwardly trying to field questions in as ambiguous a way as possible (you don’t really want these people to know the details of your existence, although you do kind of want their money). Hal stands by approvingly, but he looks tired. You look at your watch to realize that it’s been several hours, and the exhibit is about to close. Trenton, as if he was waiting for your signal, suddenly gets behind the microphone on a small stage in the center room.
“Ladies and Gentlemen: my friend and associate Halbert Neil would like to close this evening with a few words. We invite you to gather near the stage in the next few minutes.” Those who are still left finish the last of their drinks and start to place empty glasses and h'ordeuvre plates on the trays in the corners of each room. You stay as far away from the stage as possible so that Hal doesn’t get any bright ideas. Several minutes later, he takes his place behind the mic.
“Please accept our gratitude for attending this exhibit. We especially thank you for enduring our brief interruption with the fire department.” Everyone chuckles politely and tiredly. “As you know, 80% of your ticket purchase will be donated to the Michael C. Bryant Foundation, promoting music and arts in our city’s youth. Join me in giving a round of applause to our local artists who graciously agreed to loan their work for this exhibit.” You can hardly believe that this applause is for you, but most definitely some people are looking at you, and this older gentleman on your left is slamming your back with an overeager hand. You hope Mr. Freeman’s coat will survive the impact. “We are going to let our faithful wait staff go home, so enjoy the last of your refreshments as you start to make your way out. Don’t forget to drop your business card in the receptacles provided by each artist’s biography if you are interested in connecting with that artist again. Thank you so very much, and have a safe trip home!”

You stay until the last guests are filing out, partly because you see the other artists still milling about making last bits of polite conversation, and partly because of the tag end of Hal’s speech—something to do with business cards. Is it pressure from KC that makes you interested in these 2X3 printed treasures, or the faint potential of cash they represent that keeps you eyeing your “receptacle” (which at some point was a beautifully hand-blown vase, now replaced by a much smaller crystal bowl that once held cashews) from across the room? That ever-present need for money: you loathe its faithful presence. Despite your attempts to drown out the truth, blaming KC, or Hal, or chance itself, you know it is the reason you are here.

Waiting for some sign from your host that it is an appropriate time to leave, you get caught up perusing the oil paintings and charcoal drawings of some of your fellow artists. Finally, Hal touches your arm and you turn to be greeted by a smile and a fat envelope in his hands, being extended to you. “These are yours, friend.” He yawns. “And don’t pretend you don’t see mine taped securely to the front of your envelope. I want lunch next week and no excuse. I know you don’t have midterms until next month.” You both start to make your way to the door and once you reach the cobblestone walkway in the night air, you shake his hand.
“Thank you, sir, for this opportunity. Please thank Mr. Gallagher and Ms. Snow for me as well. I—well, I guess I’ll just see you next week.” You tuck the envelope in the inner pocket of the dinner jacket. Hal smiles and tips his head in your direction with another yawn.

You find yourself much too tired to start over-thinking tonight’s events right away. In fact, you’d rather leave that to KC later. You know that at this hour, her shift is over and she’s already at home, so you have little else to do but drive home yourself and fall into bed. Thankfully, tomorrow is Sunday. When you reach the curb where you had parked, all you see is the typical oil spot that your ’94 Escort creates wherever it rests. Scratching your head, you look up and down the street, certain that you’ve made a mistake. Your heart begins to pound as you pace up and down the street, trying to remember if you had parked it somewhere else, trying to think—think—think. You call KC, but she doesn’t answer. Asleep, you’re sure. You have no one else to call.

Certain that there’s no other explanation, you sit on a nearby bench under a street lamp and finger the keys of your phone. Yup—your car has been stolen.

What happens next?

A. You walk to the police station a few blocks away to report your stolen car.
B. You catch Hal and Emily before they leave to explain your situation.