Chapter 2
Her forehead pressed against the cool apartment door, Claudia Kishi struggled, laden with shopping bags, to turn the key and let herself inside. She nudged the door open with her foot and stepped inside, dropping the bags and moving past the crinkling mess of thrift shop treasures.
She looked around her tiny, crowded apartment with satisfaction. Half-finished canvases and sculptures lay about, along with her favourite art pieces from her school days-a wind chime made of flattened forks, for example, hung just outside the large window overlooking the late summer Seattle bustle. Slightly captivated by the view, as she always was, Claudia moved closer to it. She nudged against a tiny end table that she had decoupaged with black-and-white pictures of classic movie stars, and the answering machine that lay on top of it wobbled and crashed to the floor.
She let out a little yelp of surprise, sighed, and picked up the little compact machine. It blinked the number 5 furiously. Claudia clicked the 'play' button, and moved to the kitchen as it played.
"Claudia? Are you there? . . .well, I guess you're not. . .this is urgent. . ."
"When is it not?" Claudia muttered, somewhat bitterly, recognizing the voice of her peppy co-worker Carla. When it came to Artistica Monthly, it was always urgent. Claudia searched for her half-empty tin of Nestle Quik as the machine went on.
"Marisa needs you to call her as soon as you hear this. Taj Menshi has taken the 10 o'clock flight out of Vienna, and he will be here tomorrow for the photo shoot, and not Wednesday. . ."
Claudia moved back into the tiny living room, the chocolate milk, her comfort food, in hand, with a slightly wrinkled brow. "What does the Menshi photo shoot have to do with me?" she wondered aloud.
". . .and I have a previous engagement, which means either you have to do the shoot or find someone else to do it. Thanks! 'Bye."
Claudia scoffed sarcastically at the answering machine. "Of course. I'm sure I'm going to be able to find someone else. Why doesn't Marisa find someone?" At the thought of her stuffy, manipulative boss, Claudia kicked July's copy of Artistica Monthly, which lay conveniently at her feet, across the cluttered floor. Though she admired Taj Menshi's work, especially his landscapes, her experiences with past artists in this business were less than desirable. Most were snobby and unpleasant.
Beeeeep. "Claudia? It's Janine."
Claudia rushed to her answering machine, a bright smile plastered on her lips. Janine! It had been so long since she had heard her voice. E-mail was a spectacular thing, but Claudia could only afford it at work, and it was nothing like human contact. Studying abroad in Europe, Janine had been gone for a year or so.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I can't come to Seattle next week . . .I know we were planning on it, but something has come up. Raul's little sister, Pilar, do you remember her? Well, she's having her 15th birthday, and it's a big thing in Spain. . her quinceanera. .I apologize again, and I will make it up to you, I promise. . I'll be down for Thanksgiving. . .love you! Goodbye."
Claudia's heart dropped a little, into her stomach. She sat down in her overstuffed blue easy chair, visually disappointed. She remembered how she used to feel inadequate to her sister, because of her obvious strengths, and just recently, they had begun to appreciate each other. . .right before she had gone to Europe, actually, with her exchange-student boyfriend Raul.
"Ugh." Claudia summed up her feelings in one word as she polished off her chocolate milk. Raul. A steady boyfriend. That was another thing Janine had that she didn't. . .
Beeeeeep. "Claudia? Are you home yet? Claudia?" There was a pause, then a click. Claudia rolled her eyes at Carla's persistence.
Claudia stood to size up an unfinished canvas that stood in the middle of the room. It was a landscape of the picturesque view out her window. The view, after all, was the main reason she paid so much for her apartment. Claudia thought that the view gave her inspiration. For this reason, also, her original Georgia O'Keefe sketch was hung near the window, her other source of inspiration. She smiled, in spite of the way things were going that evening, as she remembered how she had bought it by total mistake. She was proud of her strong will not to sell it, even when she was in dire need of money, as artists sometimes are. But that was before she got a job, though it was stressful and undesirable, at Artistica Monthly.
The next message was a hang-up, and Claudia moved to the answering machine in order to turn it off. But it blinked the number '1' impatiently, and beeped in protest.
"Claud?"
A familiar voice filled the empty, silent apartment. Claudia's heart became fluttery, and all of the bad things were forgotten. Claud. No one had called her that since school . . .
"It's. . .This is Abigail Stevenson. . Abby. ."
A mental picture of a laughing, happy-go-lucky, headstrong girl with a thick mane of chocolate curls painted itself in her mind. Memories began to filter through the block she had put up, unconsciously, in her head.
"This is actually, uh, kind of a funny story," the voice went on, rushed and somewhat nervous. Abby, nervous? Claudia thought, and inwardly smiled. That was something new. . .
"I was looking for craft beads for Jill. . .that's my daughter. . ."
Daughter? Claudia felt a pang of jealousy. ..then curiosity. She conjured up an image of a little girl with matching Abby-esque brown eyes and curls, and smiled.
"And I found the memory glass from my Bat Mitzvah. . in eighth grade. . do you remember?"
Claudia sat down as memories rushed to her like a roaring flood. In her state of happiness and confusion, tears began to prick at her eyelids. She had felt alone for so long. . but here was Abby, thinking of her . . .Abby, her friend from eighth grade. . .
"And the piggy bank. . where we wrote our dreams. .I found that too. I also found one more thing. . I'm missing you guys. . .here is my address and phone number, if you are at all interested. . ."
As Abby talked on, Claudia reached for her tie-dyed stationary and an emerald-green felt tip pen from the beaded coffee mug next to the phone, and she jotted down the information with vigor and urgency, oblivious to her notorious spelling mistakes.
Her forehead pressed against the cool apartment door, Claudia Kishi struggled, laden with shopping bags, to turn the key and let herself inside. She nudged the door open with her foot and stepped inside, dropping the bags and moving past the crinkling mess of thrift shop treasures.
She looked around her tiny, crowded apartment with satisfaction. Half-finished canvases and sculptures lay about, along with her favourite art pieces from her school days-a wind chime made of flattened forks, for example, hung just outside the large window overlooking the late summer Seattle bustle. Slightly captivated by the view, as she always was, Claudia moved closer to it. She nudged against a tiny end table that she had decoupaged with black-and-white pictures of classic movie stars, and the answering machine that lay on top of it wobbled and crashed to the floor.
She let out a little yelp of surprise, sighed, and picked up the little compact machine. It blinked the number 5 furiously. Claudia clicked the 'play' button, and moved to the kitchen as it played.
"Claudia? Are you there? . . .well, I guess you're not. . .this is urgent. . ."
"When is it not?" Claudia muttered, somewhat bitterly, recognizing the voice of her peppy co-worker Carla. When it came to Artistica Monthly, it was always urgent. Claudia searched for her half-empty tin of Nestle Quik as the machine went on.
"Marisa needs you to call her as soon as you hear this. Taj Menshi has taken the 10 o'clock flight out of Vienna, and he will be here tomorrow for the photo shoot, and not Wednesday. . ."
Claudia moved back into the tiny living room, the chocolate milk, her comfort food, in hand, with a slightly wrinkled brow. "What does the Menshi photo shoot have to do with me?" she wondered aloud.
". . .and I have a previous engagement, which means either you have to do the shoot or find someone else to do it. Thanks! 'Bye."
Claudia scoffed sarcastically at the answering machine. "Of course. I'm sure I'm going to be able to find someone else. Why doesn't Marisa find someone?" At the thought of her stuffy, manipulative boss, Claudia kicked July's copy of Artistica Monthly, which lay conveniently at her feet, across the cluttered floor. Though she admired Taj Menshi's work, especially his landscapes, her experiences with past artists in this business were less than desirable. Most were snobby and unpleasant.
Beeeeep. "Claudia? It's Janine."
Claudia rushed to her answering machine, a bright smile plastered on her lips. Janine! It had been so long since she had heard her voice. E-mail was a spectacular thing, but Claudia could only afford it at work, and it was nothing like human contact. Studying abroad in Europe, Janine had been gone for a year or so.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I can't come to Seattle next week . . .I know we were planning on it, but something has come up. Raul's little sister, Pilar, do you remember her? Well, she's having her 15th birthday, and it's a big thing in Spain. . her quinceanera. .I apologize again, and I will make it up to you, I promise. . I'll be down for Thanksgiving. . .love you! Goodbye."
Claudia's heart dropped a little, into her stomach. She sat down in her overstuffed blue easy chair, visually disappointed. She remembered how she used to feel inadequate to her sister, because of her obvious strengths, and just recently, they had begun to appreciate each other. . .right before she had gone to Europe, actually, with her exchange-student boyfriend Raul.
"Ugh." Claudia summed up her feelings in one word as she polished off her chocolate milk. Raul. A steady boyfriend. That was another thing Janine had that she didn't. . .
Beeeeeep. "Claudia? Are you home yet? Claudia?" There was a pause, then a click. Claudia rolled her eyes at Carla's persistence.
Claudia stood to size up an unfinished canvas that stood in the middle of the room. It was a landscape of the picturesque view out her window. The view, after all, was the main reason she paid so much for her apartment. Claudia thought that the view gave her inspiration. For this reason, also, her original Georgia O'Keefe sketch was hung near the window, her other source of inspiration. She smiled, in spite of the way things were going that evening, as she remembered how she had bought it by total mistake. She was proud of her strong will not to sell it, even when she was in dire need of money, as artists sometimes are. But that was before she got a job, though it was stressful and undesirable, at Artistica Monthly.
The next message was a hang-up, and Claudia moved to the answering machine in order to turn it off. But it blinked the number '1' impatiently, and beeped in protest.
"Claud?"
A familiar voice filled the empty, silent apartment. Claudia's heart became fluttery, and all of the bad things were forgotten. Claud. No one had called her that since school . . .
"It's. . .This is Abigail Stevenson. . Abby. ."
A mental picture of a laughing, happy-go-lucky, headstrong girl with a thick mane of chocolate curls painted itself in her mind. Memories began to filter through the block she had put up, unconsciously, in her head.
"This is actually, uh, kind of a funny story," the voice went on, rushed and somewhat nervous. Abby, nervous? Claudia thought, and inwardly smiled. That was something new. . .
"I was looking for craft beads for Jill. . .that's my daughter. . ."
Daughter? Claudia felt a pang of jealousy. ..then curiosity. She conjured up an image of a little girl with matching Abby-esque brown eyes and curls, and smiled.
"And I found the memory glass from my Bat Mitzvah. . in eighth grade. . do you remember?"
Claudia sat down as memories rushed to her like a roaring flood. In her state of happiness and confusion, tears began to prick at her eyelids. She had felt alone for so long. . but here was Abby, thinking of her . . .Abby, her friend from eighth grade. . .
"And the piggy bank. . where we wrote our dreams. .I found that too. I also found one more thing. . I'm missing you guys. . .here is my address and phone number, if you are at all interested. . ."
As Abby talked on, Claudia reached for her tie-dyed stationary and an emerald-green felt tip pen from the beaded coffee mug next to the phone, and she jotted down the information with vigor and urgency, oblivious to her notorious spelling mistakes.