Erles hammered the table with his fist, causing his expensive smoked salmon to scatter its covering of capers all over the white table cloth, leaving small green stains in the fabric.

'Will need to soak that' thought Charlie, then, 'screw it. It's his table cloth.'

Erles waited until they settled down. 'Friends, charge your glasses please.' He waited patiently until everyone had at least a slug of fruit juice in their cups and resumed his toast.

'I've been representing local artists for many years now. 'The Spectator' has called me the doyenne of the cornfields.'

The guests let out a groan.

Erles was not to be put off. 'I don't get many chances to have my impeccable taste so thunderously confirmed. Charlie.' He said, raising his glass. Charlie tried to sink down away into the chair, but Phil was having none of it. He straightened her up. Charlie looked out across the small gathering of friends. Phil was beside her, still inadvertently crushing her with each loving grasp or hug. Mary Anne was sitting across the fold up tables, red faced from too much of her own concoction. She could have been toasting the Bismarck for all she could tell. Russell, Aubrey and Ruth, all from the co op store. Kelly would still be back at the store, minding it until midnight. Everyone was there. Almost.

'Charlie, I have always greatly admired your work. Now I am admiring your sale price, which, and trust me on this, is an even bigger compliment.'

Someone threw a bread roll at him. Erles shrugged it off. 'To Charlie.' he said, raising his glass. They raised their glasses and toasted. 'Charlie.'

Charlie rose at Phil's prompting and raised her glass as well. 'Ah. Thanks.' She said and tried to sit down. Phil had his hand on the seat and she shot back up amidst boos and catcalls from her friends. Charlie stuck out her tongue. 'Ok, fine.'

She turned to Erles. 'Erles, despite being the very picture of narcissus…' Erles hooted with mock horror. 'You strike a good bargain on behalf of local artists and we're all grateful.' Erles made a seated bow.

Charlie turned back to look out over the faces of her friends and other locals artists. 'And for the rest of you, remember, Erles is picking up the bill so start drinking.'

The crowd applauded and Erles registered a more honest look of concern as they broke away and headed for the table with the drinks on it. He frowned at Charlie and excused himself to try and save his scotch.

Charlie collapsed in a heap beside Phil.

'Aren't you excited?' Phil chided.

Charlie let out a sigh. 'It's more like relief than excitement.' Finally. Finally she had something of her own. Phil kissed her brow.

Charlie looked around the room. The white gallery walls had neat framed pictures and cards set at strategic viewing heights interspersed with sculptures on white plinths. Gaggles of local artists were admiring their own works on the walls and arguing between mouthfuls of free food. Almost unnoticeable in the shadow of the doorway sat a girl. Charlie's heart gave a start. She broke free from Phil and stepped out and around the table. Already, she could see Vicki trying to slip away unnoticed. Erles however, was faster than Charlie thought capable. He slipped an arm around Vicki and shepherded inside in a constant stream of talk and praise. 'Darling, you are just so gorgeous!' Erles led Vicki over to a group clustered around a painting. Charlie shot Erles a glare, but he flicked his head, gesturing to a hole in the circle of people. Charlie gratefully steered for the hole and came up beside them.

Donald, a local glass painter was waxing lyrical about his latest composition. Vicki peered out from under Erles' arm, looking for an escape. When Charlie extended a hand, Vicki grasped her lifeline and was evacuated from the discussion. Erles winked at Charlie.

Charlie hugged Vicki. 'I'm so glad you came.'

Vicki looked back at the artists. 'Thanks for rescuing me.'

Charlie led her over to the table. Phil came running out from behind the table and grabbed Vicki up into the air. Vicki squealed her displeasure. Phil ignored her. 'Here's my other favourite girl.' He said, swinging her back down to her feet. Vicki landed, a little rumpled and adjusted herself while Phil rummaged around for a clean plastic cup.

'Come on, tell me all about It.' said Phil.

'All about what?' replied Vicki

'The show, the whole big producer thing.'

'Phil…' Charlie interrupted. Vicki shot her a strange look and took a seat. 'It's going well.' She said, looking at Charlie. 'We're really reaching people.'

'That's great' enthused Phil. 'got any quiz shows? 'Know your seven deadly sins or something?'

Charlie tensed, but Vicki laughed. 'It's not like that.'

Phil made a sad face. 'No 'what is the fourth horseman'? You could call it 'soul's in jeopardy'' he finished.

Vicki smiled at him, indulgently. 'Ha ha Dad. Very funny.'

Phil thought so and expected everyone to share the joke. Charlie was sure he had been Goofy in a previous life. She sat down at the table with them.

From across the room, Erles watched the fractured family try to talk. He felt a pang of regret on Charlie's behalf. He had never been able to fathom their curious relationship. Then again, he had never been able to fathom people that much in general. On the whole, they were quite strange creatures, himself among them. Charlie must have had her young. She never spoke of Vicki's father. Erles didn't ask. His artists ranged from the quiet women of antique religions whose only joyous expressions were to be found on quilts hanging in the gallery, to the profoundly pathetic local drunk who passed as a watercolorist and yet was capable of such exquisite renderings that despite his distaste for the man, Erles found himself paying to have the idiot dried out. Charlie was moody, sullen, quiet, intensely private and unwilling to reveal anything that wasn't pried out of her with a packing crowbar; but her work! There was a mysticism locked in the flat plains of America, drifting down the rivers like alluvial gold. If you knew where to pan, the pickings were both profitable and satisfying to the soul. Around the gallery, the specimens of a rich lode were displayed on his walls and stands. Even this gathering was a slightly skewed Norman Rockwell rendition of 'Artists in Gallery'. Erles prayed for their continuing stability and happiness, that it may produce yet more commercially accessible outpourings.

Donald's fishing for approval brought him out of his reverie and he mustered his best encouraging smile. 'Fantastic work' he said whilst thinking 'If they don't sell soon, I am going to use this wall space for something else'.

---

Charlie made it through the whole night without a conflict with Vicki. It was a glorious reprieve. Even Phil commented as they drove away from her apartment, after watching Vicki get safely inside.

'You two are getting on well.' Phil said, turning the truck around.

'Mm hmm.' murmured Charlie.

Phil waited. 'Come on. Spill it.' He said, eventually.

Charlie looked at him protesting 'What?'

'All the stuff you didn't say tonight.'

Charlie remained silent.

'You can't carry this 'I ruined my child' thing around forever you know' Phil said, 'She's made her own choices, even if you don't agree with them.'

Charlie ignored him.

Phil sighed and turned on the radio. This irritated Charlie. 'Why did you do that?'

'You're just gonna sit there and brood all the way home, so I figgered the radio would make better company.'

Charlie relented. 'I'm sorry.'

'Can the apologies, makes you sound all Girly'

Charlie laughed. 'You are the biggest, most goofiest man ever. You know that Mr. Rachmann?'

Phil made a 'hyuk hyuk' noise and turned the radio up.

---

Vicki unlocked her apartment door and turned the hall light on, placing her bag on the table by the door and plugging in her mobile phone in its cradle. The apartment was sparsely decorated in a style that Erles would have disparagingly observed was reminiscent of a monastery. A small wooden cross commanded the main wall of the living room. The only break with the Spartan features was the large screen television and bank of recorders.

Vicki tapped the mouse beside a small terminal. The screen popped to life and she checked the recording streams. She sat back on the small two seat sofa and turned the main screen on. The reverends face burst forth onto the screen and the credits began rolling backwards. She skipped to the start of the show and checked it for quality. The cable broadcast with a little flakey her and there. She would have to call the cable guys and complain. The broadcast version was clean and strong; tick one for the propellerheads at the station. Checking her online account, Vicki opened the link to the ratings system. The number for broadcast weren't in, but the cable figures were. Still down. She sighed, closed the browser and switched the television off. Vicki turned the remaining lights off and prepared for bed.

In her nightdress, she knelt beside the bed and prayed. When her prayers were complete, she tucked herself between the sheets and lay on her back, looking towards the ceiling, waiting for sleep.

When the dreams came, they were like the rolling of an ocean, lifting her up and dropping her with a feeling of butterflies in her stomach, only to catch her and pitch her up into the air once more. She was flying, falling, leaping upwards again. In the sky, a beautiful face waited for her, looking down upon her, his glory radiating outwards. She could feel the burn of his touch, the warmth of a hidden sun. His eyes lingered over her and she shivered, writhing in her sleep.

In the morning, the bed clothes would be scattered to and across the bed, held on by the thinnest edges tucked into the bottom. Vicki would wake nervously with the fear that she had inadvertently committed some mortal sin and feel the need to pray.