Chapter Two
After Bender leaves for his math class, Jeanette, her teacher, has some surprising news for Allison. She's finagled an interview with a gallery owner. Allison has to bring her portfolio and she blesses her teacher for making professional slides of her self portrait in blue, and another one in blue, the vase of lilies. It means a half hour trip on the commuter train into the city and then more trains and buses to the gallery. She'll have to go tomorrow and wishes she could tell Bender.
She skips her painting class to get to the gallery. It takes over an hour altogether and she has a hard time maneuvering her large portfolio through the transit system, but she makes it. The gallery owner turns out to be an unintimidating, mild man named Stuart Johns, sporting a goatee and an argyle cardigan. He puts his chin in his hand as he pages through her sketches, watercolors and pastels. He softly says "Hmm," to himself several times. She has no idea what this means. Then he dims the lights to view her two slides. She sits bolt upright on the edge of the chair he'd offered her in his office. Her heart sinks as he clicks the slide carousel to display her painting of the lilies. She can see every flaw of conception and execution and cringes to think she might have presumed to imagine she might be good enough. But a strange feeling overtakes her when he clicks forward to her self portrait. It takes her a while, but she finally identifies the feeling as pride, pride and confidence.
He rises and turns the lights back on, removes her slides and returns them to her.
"Jeanette always has a good eye for promising students. Your self portrait is remarkable for a student so young. Indeed, for any student. Several of your pastels are intriguing. Well executed and original. I would be happy to show your work in my gallery. We should start hanging next week and open next weekend. Do you have prices in mind for the two paintings?"
"The self portrait is not for sale." She says this quickly.
"I thought as much. Consider the pricing of the lilies and the other items. Jeanette can help you. Allow me to explain the gallery's function on the monetary side."
He goes over a lot of details, but Allison barely takes in what he is saying. A showing. Not a student show. A showing in a Chicago gallery. Together they select four pastels and make arrangements for her to deliver the paintings next week.
Thursday at twelve Allison watches the door to the caf eagerly, waiting for Bender to enter. He does not fail her. In a few minutes he joins her.
"Hey, Al. You cut class yesterday?" He says this as if he approves of such an activity.
"No. I mean, yes. My teacher, she said to. I went to Chicago. He, the man, he said..." She is talking so fast she is making no sense. Eventually she conveys her news. She doesn't know how she feels. Sort of sick to her stomach but light and floaty.
"In Chicago? They want to sell your paintings in the city?"
"Yes."
Bender whoops loudly enough to attract attention from neighboring tables. Wallet chain jingling, he reaches over to clap her on the shoulder. He seems almost happier than she is. After he calms down a little, he interrogates her about the specifics. She gladly relates every detail of her meeting with the owner.
When she gets home, her mother is out shopping and her father is still at his law office. She orders pizza but can only eat one slice, her stomach alternately flip-flopping and tightening up. She rarely asks for help from her parents, she's figured out how to get by on her own. But she'll need a ride to Chicago to deliver her paintings. There's no way she could manage two paintings on the bus.
When her father finally gets home, she is in the living room looking at the Picasso book again, reading the text this time. She hurries to catch him in the foyer.
"Father." He doesn't hear her so she tries again. "Father, I need to talk to you."
He turns from hanging his suit jacket and regards her with a bare minimum of interest. He has delegated all care of Allison to her mother so she rarely approaches him.
"I need help transporting some paintings. I have a show in Chicago. Could you give me a ride?"
He has gone from looking bored to looking angry.
"No, I certainly will not. I thought your mother explained our feelings about your artistic dabblings. It is an appropriate pastime, in moderation, for a young woman from a good family, but no daughter of mine will peddle her wares like a fishmonger in some tatty gallery downtown."
She begins to open her mouth, but he says "No. I forbid it. That is that. Now go to your room, you are up past your bedtime." She hasn't had a bedtime in years, but she mechanically goes upstairs anyway.
Once her father has spoken, it is no use appealing to her mother. She can feel her soul crumpling up inside, as if it is having all the air inside extracted so that it buckles inward. She can't catch her breath, then finds herself sobbing. Late, after two in the morning, she falls into a troubled sleep.
She is up early, her misery having woken her. She can't stand the house so she throws on some clothes and grabs her purse. The morning is cool and the dew is still thick on the grass. The eastern sky is faintly glowing pink. She wanders out onto Maple Street, randomly turns north and continues trudging her way blindly along the cracked side walk. She walks father than she ever has, right through the northern heights and starts down into Milltown. Finally the smell of the paper mill penetrates her fog of misery. She looks up to see the mill smoke stacks far in the distance, white clouds billowing into the blue sky. The strong graceful lines of the smoke stacks rising from blocky buildings penetrate to her artist's brain. She sees a bus stop bench not far away and sits. Her sketch book is in her purse and she finds one pencil with an unbroken tip. Even in her utter misery, she feels herself opening up, her soul demanding expression, her eyes and fingers compelled to trace the strong straight lines of the mill and the soft billows of smoke.
That is how Bender finds her.
"C'mon, Al, we'll figure something out."
She has finally stopped crying.
"You don't understand, he said I couldn't do it. He forbid it." She's wringing her hands.
"That never stopped me before."
"But you're- you're Bender. You're not me."
"I could give you lessons, lessons on how to not give a rat's ass about what other people think or say."
She chokes out a sound between a sob and a laugh.
"Al, there is always a way to do things. Get your paintings in there and then worry about what your father will do later. He doesn't even need to know."
She wipes her face and looks at him with red rimmed eyes and pink nose.
"But how? I can't take them on the bus." Her flicker of hope subsides.
"Leave that to me. I think I can get a car. Next Thursday, you said?"
"Yes. I'm supposed to be there Thursday morning."
"We can do it. You just worry about keeping your dad in the dark."
She gives a cynical laugh. "I don't need to worry about that, he never pays attention to me."
"Your parents are assholes. Screw them. You're not going to feel guilty are you? Because they don't deserve the energy."
Bender walks her to Ledgewood, then continues on his way to Shermer Tech.
Wednesday, the eve of their smuggling operation, Bender walks Allison home, giving her a pep talk.
"I'll pick you up at Ledgewood and Maple, we'll grab your painting from the art department and then we'll be on our way. We'll get there in plenty of time."
"Where did you get this car?"
"A friend of a friend. Don't worry Al, it'll be smooth as silk, no problem."
She barely sleeps, dreaming uncomfortable things about cars and the lake. She wakes alert and edgy. But under Bender's tutelage a part of her has learned to relish this act of disobedience. Her mother won't wake until eleven or twelve and her father has already left for work. There is no one to see her setting off with the painting of the lilies securely in her grasp.
Bender's car is obvious, a rusting blue Impala from the seventies. Her painting fits in the back seat with plenty of room to spare. She slides into the front seat, returning Bender's smile with a tentative one of her own.
"Buckle up baby, we're about to take off."
The retrieval of the self portrait is swiftly taken care of, then they are on the interstate, heading for Chicago. It turns out parking is the real problem. Bender drives around the block a couple of times before double parking in front of the gallery so Allison can unload the paintings. Stuart greets her amid drop cloths and ladders, half the gallery ready for the show. Her own pastels, properly mounted, are already up. Bender comes in as Stuart is explaining where and how he will hang Allison's two paintings. Allison vaguely notices Bender drift away, looking at a couple of paintings. As they talk, she realizes Stuart is looking at Bender, who is now talking to a woman with asymmetrical pink hair. He's in his pentagram t-shirt again, with dark pants and his motorcycle boots. She wonders what Stuart makes of him. He looks like a hood.
Finally they are done and Allison collects Bender. He's stuffing a slip of paper into his pocket as they leave.
"Man, you art people are a trip. That lady in there wants to draw me with no clothes on." Allison steals a sideways glance at his firm biceps and defined collarbone. Her artist's eye sees he has the perfect physique for modeling. Then she is embarrassed to be thinking of Bender in the nude.
"And you should have seen what she had up there. A two headed naked woman with snake tongues." Bender holds the car door open for her. "What do you people have against clothes?"
"I like clothes," she says distractedly.
"And she wanted fifty bucks for the snake lady."
"I'm asking thirty for my flowers."
"No kidding? You can make that much?"
"Well, the gallery gets a percentage."
"Think of all the paint you can get with that!"
Bender drives her right up to her doorstep. They both forget maybe showing up in a 1972 Impala might not be the wisest thing to do. And indeed, it is not. When she enters the house, her mother pounces on her. Who was that man, where has she been, didn't she know her mother was worried? Allison scoffs (internally) about her mother being worried. She never worried about anything but how Allison's behavior and appearance might reflect on their family.
Allison ad-libs, saying Bender is a friend from school and they just went to the Art Institute as a class assignment.
"Allison Reynolds, I will not have you seen with a man like that. And you did not have my permission to go into Chicago." Then revealing her true concern, she blurts out, "And what will the neighbors think, seeing a car like that in front of our house?"
Allison plays the role of a contrite daughter who sees reason. She apologizes and swears it will never happen again. Somewhat mollified, her mother decides to not punish Allison.
"But if I see you in that car again, if I see you with that man one more time, your father will hear about it."
That's a pretty serious threat. Her father is not a lenient man, nor very understanding. The few times her mother brought things to his attention, it did not go well for Allison. He knew how to punish her effectively. Take away her art. She remembers one awful week without sketch books, charcoal, pastels, pencils, watercolors. Another time he threatened to destroy her sketch books. So she tip-toes around her father and tries to keep on her mother's good side.
Not that Allison has been in the habit of breaking rules and disobeying her parents. Well, except for the shoplifting. That had induced the art-free week. But other than that and the clothes, she is the essence of the dutiful daughter.
She has come to think of Bender as almost magical in his ability to solve problems. Now she has a big problem. The opening is Saturday night, at eight. How on earth can she get permission to go there?
Friday at lunch, Bender does not let her down. When he hears the problem, he is ready with a solution. Masquerade. He will masquerade as a nice young man. He will borrow some clothes and shoes, leave the Impala at the corner and pretend to walk her to the movies downtown. She'll be late getting home, but she will have achieved her goal and can face the music later.
Allison gapes at him. Could Bender possibly look like a nice young man?
"Sure, no problem. I'll take out my earring and slick back my hair. I got a friend who can lend me clothes. But mainly I need shoes. Can't wear my boots to meet the folks."
After class he walks her down Maple to Ledgewood, finalizing their plans and bolstering her courage.
"Okay, I'll see you at 6:30 tomorrow night," he says, and in parting he squeezes her shoulder.
Her mother, contrary to her fears, is delighted at the idea of Allison going on her first date. She fusses about her hair and tries to get Allison to borrow a dress.
"No, mom, we'll all be casual. It's just a movie and some pizza. I don't want to stick out."
This appeal works as her mother has a horror of being inappropriate and fully approves of Allison being just like the other girls. But that does start the idea in Allison's head. What does an artist wear to an opening? Her usual black frumpy clothes seem wrong. She has some Japanese combs she could use in her hair. Maybe she could get something a little nicer at the thrift store.
What she finds is a real score, a handkerchief hem skirt in black to go with a long sleeveless black sweater. When she is dressed, she discovers she has no idea how to use the Japanese combs. They keep falling out. For once she and her mother have a common goal and her mother has the expertise needed. Allison sits very still in front of her mother's vanity while her mother fusses and tuts, strategically placing bobby pins and weaving the combs in properly. The result, Allison has to admit, is wonderful. Her mother agrees. They both admire her elegantly upswept hair and the black lacquered combs. Back in her room, Allison considers her makeup, then decides to skip the black eyeliner and go for a more natural look. It seems to go with the combs better.
She finds she is quite nervous about the opening. What do you do at an opening? What if people want to talk to her? Isn't that the point? She's grateful Bender will be there with her. She seems able to borrow courage from him.
Her mother interprets Allison's nerves as anxiety about her date, which is all the better. Both women sit in the living room waiting Bender's arrival. He's exactly on time, dressed in a pair of dark trousers, a white dress shirt and well shined black shoes, with his long hair artfully slicked back to appear short and trim. No earring. He doesn't look like Bender until he gives her a lopsided smile and winks. It's suddenly a game, pretending to be a respectable couple. She introduces Bender as John (which seems strange) and her mother allows him to press her hand.
As he makes small talk, Allison bites her lip, hoping he won't go overboard in deferential respect, but he doesn't. Eventually he gets around to telling her mother where he intends to take Allison and promises to have her back by midnight. Once they are well away from the house, Allison can contain herself no longer and starts snorting with laughter.
"Hey, what's so funny? A guy can't dress up now and then?" He's putting his earring back in as they walk, then rolls up his sleeves.
"By the way, Miss Reynolds, you look lovely tonight." Allison finds this even funnier, the basket case and the criminal looking almost normal. He opens the car door for her, then rummages in the back seat and comes up with a black leather vest which makes him look more Bender-esque. He snaps his wallet chain on and dons his gloves. Much better.
"We got time to grab something to eat. You want to go to this Greek place I know?"
The Greek place turns out to be a tiny hole in the wall. The white stucco walls are hung with travel posters of the Greek islands. She gets calamari, Bender sticks with a burger and fries. Allison's nerves turn into hilarity over their masquerade.
"You must have said 'Yes ma'am' twelve times."
"Fat lot of help you were, sitting there with your mouth shut."
"I could see her saying to herself 'nice young man.' "
"I can be a nice young man!"
"Nice young man my foot, you devil. This was all your idea."
"And a good idea. Besides, it's nice to see you so fancy. You look good."
"You think so?" Now she is seriously nervous again. What if she is dressed all wrong?
"Definitely." He says this with great conviction.
They are early, which suits Allison, she won't have to make an entrance. It had seemed so important to be here tonight, but now she is quaking with anxiety. Stuart is cordial and directs them to the wine and cheese. Bender sets off around the room, looking at the different works. Allison sticks to him like a limpet. His presence is all that is keeping her from running away entirely.
The pink haired woman enters as they are looking at her snake woman. She has another nude woman with an elephant head, and a tiger-striped woman. She greets Bender enthusiastically and seems a bit disappointed when Allison is introduced. But she admires Allison's self portrait in a most flattering way. Bender has wandered off and the woman (her name is Patrice) asks "How can you not paint him? A live-in model like that would have me painting day and night."
"He's not-"
"Look, here's Clive. Clive, this is Allison Reynolds. Clive makes all the rounds but never buys anything." He's a scholarly sort, tweed and a pipe.
Alison does her best to smile and nod and look like she knows what they are talking about. When Clive moves along Patrice whispers "Clive is from The Back Beat. He'll be writing up the show."
Patrice seems to have adopted Allison after she learns this is her first show. When Patrice is not with her, Bender is, and when Bender is not, Stuart is. She is introduced to too many people to remember, and so many people have nice things to say. She is glad Jeanette had her read up on Picasso; she understands all the references they make.
Bender is irrepressible. He keeps muttering the most outrageous comments about the different paintings and people.
"Check that guy out, his toupee looks like it's going to crawl away."
The champagne Stuart poured for her seems to have relaxed her and she forgets her strong urge to run away. When the crowd thins and Patrice comes to say goodbye, they decide it is time to go. It is only ten o'clock, they have plenty of time to get home.
"Let's stop at the lake. I know a good spot on the way back."
Allison agrees. She's still buzzing from the second glass of champagne, and is enthusiastically detailing all of her encounters.
"So you had a good time?"
"Yes!"
They park and walk down an overgrown trail to a small fire ring made of stones and a huge log to sit upon.
"Patrice thinks you live with me," Allison says.
"And boy am I glad she does. It's the only thing that stopped her from dragging me off to model in the back room."
"You knew she thought that?"
"I sort of implied that was the case."
"You're awful!"
"Hey, a guy needs some kind of self defense. She had already thought up a jungle scene for me, giving me an eagle head or something."
Allison finally runs out of talk.
"We better go if you want to be back by midnight."
Bender gives her a hand when she stumbles a few times on the path. She's exhausted, but happier than she's been in her life. When they get to the corner of Maple and Ledgewood, Bender reverts to nice young man appearance, taking off his earring, vest, wallet and gloves. The porch light is on. He walks her right up to her doorstep.
"Thank you, Bender. You don't know what this means. This was the best night of my life."
"It was my pleasure." He looks like he means it. He gives her shoulder a squeeze and she unlocks the door and goes inside.
