The Gallery (2 page)

LaDonna glanced around, then peeked into one box that had been slit open. She pulled out a sketch and laid it on the table. It was of the misty, softly-rounded mountains that marked the western boundary of the city. Glen Walker studied it with her.

“People have always been fascinated by Bellponte, the river, the hills, the old architecture. This isn't bad, but I'd guess it's a study for a painting,” Walker said as she started to reach back into the box. “So you think you can work in this space?” He stopped her. “You won't be afraid down here alone, will you?”

“Of course not. Roddy said I could set my own hours. Can I work at night?”

Walker stared at her before he spoke, his dark eyes serious. “I'll give you a key. You can work anytime you like. But you won't stay too late, will you? I'll worry.”

“I like the night, Mr. Walker. The darkness will soften this old building.”

He kept looking at her for a few seconds. “Okay. I'm glad. I don't have time to sort these paintings myself. And the job needs to be done. We got a small grant for your pay. When that runs out, I'll find more.” He started back across the basement, expecting her to follow.

She did. But not until she'd stood still for a moment longer. A cloud of air swirled around her. She lifted her hand, palm up, as if testing for moisture from a cloudy sky. Something brushed her fingers, velvet-soft, kitten-warm, alive.

“What is it?” Walker asked softly.

“Oh, nothing,” LaDonna said quickly. “I was just curious. It's nothing.” She followed him, pulling off the light in the room, letting her fingers linger on the beaded metal chain and the dirty string.

There was a presence in the empty room. She couldn't explain it. But she knew it was there. And she knew it welcomed her. For one moment, she was startled, but she didn't feel the least bit frightened. She didn't think she ever would.

This was the perfect job for her. It was as if—as if he—as if the job—had been waiting for her to come along.

two

L
A
D
ONNA WAITED UNTIL
the next morning to tell her dad. “Yesterday I got an after school job. Mr. Rodriguez helped me get it. I'll work at the art gallery on campus.”

Her father looked at LaDonna as if surprised someone had spoken at breakfast. He was on a day shift this week and had probably stayed up too late watching television. He struggled to wake up. On weekends or when he worked nights, he slept late, went to football games, basketball games, or baseball games—whatever sport was in season. LaDonna seldom saw him, but that suited her fine.

She usually came in after school, took a plate of food and a glass of milk to her room to study or paint and sketch. She found most of television programming dumb. If she read, the book was for a class. She and Johnny sometimes went to a movie on the weekend. Otherwise her life was pretty much solitary and one sided.

“Do you think we're normal?” she had once said to Johnny. “Of course not,” was his reply. “Who wants to be normal?”

“How much are you getting paid?” Mr. Martindale asked, laying down his newspaper for a few seconds.

“I—I forgot to ask.” LaDonna realized she didn't care. “Minimum wage, I guess.”

“You won't be coming home at night, will you, LaDonna?” Her father sipped his coffee. “That campus isn't safe after dark.”

“I can set my own hours. I might work some at night. I'm not afraid.”

“Sometimes it's smart to be afraid.”

“I'm careful, Dad. I'll be fine. You don't need to worry.” It surprised LaDonna that her father even cared. He was in his mellow mood today.

“I know you can take care of yourself, honey,” he said. “I'm glad you got a job.” He went back to studying the newspaper.

End of conversation.

LaDonna had taken care of herself since she was ten. She didn't mind being on her own.

Nothing mattered to LaDonna except painting. When her work was going well, she was happy. When work was going wrong, nothing seemed right. Her last three paintings were amateurish, disappointing. She couldn't transfer what she had in her mind onto the canvas. She had dumped them into the trash bin at school. LaDonna would do anything to get back on track.

“How was breakfast at LaDonna's?” Johnny asked, grinning.

It was great to see that lopsided smile every morning. LaDonna realized how she depended on it. What would she do without Johnny?

“Scintillating.” LaDonna grimaced and set a leisurely pace for walking up the hill to school.

“Oh, big word. Someone must have spoken today.”

“I had to speak first.” She had told Johnny about her home life a long time ago. The explanation had taken about three minutes. “I told Dad I got a job.”

“So you took it. You work. I'll practice. We can walk home together. The campus—”

LaDonna put out her hand like a traffic cop. “If one more person worries about me this week, I'm going to feel special, Johnny, like Roddy keeps telling me. Just want to warn you.” LaDonna felt warm inside to think Johnny cared.

In an unexpected move, Johnny spun her around and hugged her. “You are special, Miss Nightingale.”

Johnny hadn't called her that since they were in grade school. She thought he'd forgotten. When they first met in third grade he'd said, “Nightingale?” LaDonna remembered giggling and saying, “No, Martindale, silly.” But for a long time he'd called her Lady LaDonna Nightingale. And sometimes he played the Beatles's song called “Lady Madonna”—only he misquoted saying Lady LaDonna—for her on his piano, making his living room sound like a honky-tonk. The first couple of times his mother came into the room, wondering at the noise and giggling. Then she got used to it being them, acting silly.

The hug felt good. Neither said anything for a couple of blocks. LaDonna wondered if they were getting to be more than friends. A part of her wished they would. A part said, no, friends is best. A part of her said, you're silly to even think about it. Johnny is your best friend—your only friend.

Luis Rodriquez was her friend, she realized. As much as a teacher can be a friend. This was her third year in one of his art classes.

Whoopee-do, she thought. The girl with two friends. She felt her mouth stretch into a big grin.

“Penny?” Johnny offered.

“I'm glad you're my friend, Johnny Blair. Thanks.”

“No problem, ma'am.” He lifted an imaginary hat. “Glad to be of service.”

“Are we weird, Johnny? Should I give it all up and go out for the cheerleading squad?”

“Think you'd make it?” Johnny fingered the piece of tissue on his chin. Zit or razor cut? she wondered. Shaving was making his skin clear up. When had he started to be cute?

“No. But I don't think I'm going to make Miss-Likely-to-Succeed, either.”

“You've been in a slump before. I think it's nothing that a double chocolate mocha almond fudge at Josh and John's after school wouldn't cure.”

“You think it's that simple?” LaDonna laughed. At least Johnny was cheering her up. “I'm willing to try anything.”

“Yes. Deal?” Johnny put out the palm of his hand.

LaDonna slapped it. “Deal. On our way to the campus after art class.”

By the time art class was over, LaDonna needed chocolate. A student teacher showed up in their art class. Roddy had accepted student teachers before, but never one as nerdy as Eric Hunter. He was a hunter all right—a predator. He had his arm around every female in class before the hour was over—when Roddy wasn't looking. And LaDonna could see that Marilee Morris, of course, was already in love with Eric by the end of the period. Marilee fell in and out of love so fast, you'd get dizzy trying to keep up with her social life.

LaDonna spun around to face Eric before he could touch her.

Eric grinned at her, probably because she had anticipated his move. “Rodriquez says you're the most promising artist in the class. Got a portfolio I can look at?” He made the word sound suggestive.

“No. I've thrown out my last three attempts.”

“Oh, a perfectionist.”

“A realist.”

A small smile flitted across Eric's lips and his dark eyes undressed her. His eyes were nearly black and could have been beautiful. He was clearly a weight lifter, looking more like an artist's model than an artist. More like a jock than a painter. Tall, compact, Eric held himself loosely, draping one arm around the class skeleton to talk to her. A square jaw brought to mind a picture of a halfway civilized cave man. Put him in a leopard skin and maybe he'd be successful at painting cave walls.

“Smile at him and he'll drag you away by your braid,” Johnny whispered behind her as Eric gave up and sauntered away, looking for easier prey.

“Doesn't he wish?” LaDonna didn't even bother to whisper. But she laughed inside to know how much she and Johnny thought alike.

“I'm glad you still have good taste in men.” Johnny wiped his paint brush on a muddy rag. “Ready for a taste adventure in chocolate?”

“Please.” She tossed her brush into a mayonnaise jar of water and wiped her hands on her smock. Catching Roddy's eye, she waved, grabbed her notebook and geometry text, and headed for the back door. “Ah, fresh air.”

“It's going to be a long semester,” Johnny agreed, knowing she meant their enduring Eric Hunter.

“Why us? I lived for sixth period.”

“Maybe he'll cool off. Or maybe Merilee Morris will take the bait. He'd be an improvement over Leo the Linebacker.”

“Why, Johnny Blair. You do keep up with the Bellponte High soaps.”

“Gives me something to do in chemistry class.”

They climbed Seventeenth Street hill, then cut across the college campus to The Hill shops. Josh and John's was half way up Thirteenth Street and packed with hungry students. An outside table freed up just as they got there.

“Grab that table, LaDonna,” Johnny said. “I'll treat.”

LaDonna was glad to sit there and watch the ant hill of students coming and going. She resolved to speak to Roddy before she'd let Eric spoil art class. Then she put him aside to think about her first day on her new job and the sinful ice cream cone Johnny was bringing her.

“I'll be sick,” she joked.

“But think how sensuous it'll be going down.” Johnny groaned with pleasure, licking chocolate drips from his fingers.

“Sensuous? Are you going through puberty again, Blair?”

“God, I hope not. I'd break my fingers first.”

LaDonna looked at the long, strong fingers wrapped around the cone. Brown milky rivers oozed over the side of the double dip and down his knuckles. She shivered, and not from the cold ice cream.

Talk about puberty, I am going nuts, she thought. What's wrong with me? When did I stop thinking of Johnny Blair as more than a brother?

“What time are you going home?” Johnny asked when they headed back towards the campus.

“Oh, don't make me say, Johnny. I need to lose myself for a few hours.”

“Ditto. I'll see you if I see you.”

“Thanks, Johnny. For the ice cream
and
for understanding.”

LaDonna practically ran to the art building, tugged open the heavy door, and stepped into the hall.

She found the small door at the end of the hall that looked like a closet, pulled it closed behind her after flipping on the dim light over the stairs.

She took a deep breath before she stepped down. The word “cave” flashed back into her mind. How silly.

She bounced lightly down the steps, hearing them creak underfoot, snapped off the two-way light at the bottom, then went from string to string lighting the way to the room where she'd work.

The air seemed thick with a century's collection of dust. Her feet padded in slow motion across wine-painted cement which had faded and mottled to several shades of pink and purple as well as the deep shade of vintage brew. The arm that reached for the next string felt heavy, rose slowly.

When she reached her workroom, she felt guilty not turning off the lights behind her, although she would have liked to keep them all on, so she went back. As she started at the bottom of the stairs again, pulling the lights off, darkness followed her. But the lighted room pulled her along, like sun sliding out from clouds after a rain. Something inside her yearned for the light. She moved faster and faster until when she stepped back into the lighted room, she was out of breath.

“You're being silly,” she whispered. “You'll talk yourself out of this job like the last girl to try it.”

She leaned on the table in the middle of the floor and looked around. There was a closed door at the far end. One chair. Otherwise the room was bare. As empty as a room could get. The longer she stood and looked around, though, the better she felt.

The hall had frightened her. Not the room. She relaxed. Breathed normally. The room was safe. She closed the door to the hall. Closed herself in.

She piled her books on the only chair, wooden, hard, straight backed. Quickly she lifted a painting from its box. Placed it on the table. Studied it.

Greens and blues blurred. A brown cottage wavered as if under water. She blinked her eyes. Blinked again. Looked behind her. Looked at both closed doors.

She concentrated on the painting again. Sun slid out from under clouds like the room, when it was lighted. Warm. The sun warmed the painting. The room was warm, not too warm. Comfortable. She would have expected it to be cool. The air in the room surrounded her like—like Johnny's arms. His hug this morning. The room was a warm presence.

No. Not the room. Something. Someone. The same someone she had sensed the first time she was here.

She—she was not alone.

three

“W
HO'S THERE?” HER
voice echoed in the hollow room, resonated in her mind.