Sunrise Box Set

Chapter 1-2

“Let me think about that. I’ll do some checking around and get back to you. This is your senior year coming up, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You might want to talk with your counselor at the school and with Mr. Blount, but I’ll have some information for you by the time school starts. You’ll need to get together a serious portfolio of your work for when you start the application process.”

He stood, picked up the folder with his photos in it, shook my hand, and started to leave. When he was in the doorway, he turned.

“Whitney?”

“Yeah, Louis?”

“I, uh, I think you’re really hot!”

Having said that, he disappeared quickly down the hall. I heard Jean giggle. Her desk was right outside my door, and she had overheard what Louis said.

I went to the outer office.

“You overheard that, didn’t you?”

She grinned. “Well, he was standing in the doorway, so I really couldn’t help it.”

“Okay, I’m not blaming you. I just hope you won’t tell anyone what you heard.”

She looked hurt. “Of course I won’t. I can’t be any good in this job if you can’t trust me.”

I was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Of course I trust you. I was just worried about Louis.”

She grinned. “I think Louis can take care of himself. He’s a good boy. He’s been hanging around here since he was in grade school. He obviously has a crush on you, boss, so be careful!.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks, Jean.”

I went back into my office and flopped down in the chair.

* * * *

When I got to work a few days after that meeting with Louis in my office, Jean said that Louis had left me a folder and that she’d put it in my inbox. I thanked her, checked for phone messages and email, and then went back to reading through some notes and suggestions that George Henry had left for me. I could tell from the size of Louis’ folder that it contained more of his photographs, and I decided to get some work done first and reward myself later with a look at them.

I’d been so busy learning about my job that I was later getting around to George’s notes than I should have been, and I discovered that he’d really given me lots of suggestions, though always with the reminder that it was my job now, and to feel free to ignore any of them that didn’t seem promising. The first thing I saw that morning as I reopened George’s folder was a note about Jonathan Baker:

I suggested jokingly to Jon right after he became a volunteer that someday he should write a history of the Alliance. I always meant to raise that topic with him again but never got around to it. I’m often asked why we don’t have such a history, and Dr. Baker would seem to be the perfect person to do the job if he’s willing.

I thought so, too, and decided to talk with him about the possibility the next time we had lunch.

Then the phone rang. When I got off the line, Liz Marples, the president of the Board, was waiting to see me. After that it was a meeting with the gallery committee. And so my morning went. It wasn’t until I got back from a Chamber of Commerce luncheon that I was able to take a look at the contents of Louis’ folder.

It contained another dozen photographs, all in black and white, all exceptionally beautiful. He had done some architectural studies, some close-ups of flowers, some pictures of white dogwood along the edge of a wood. The contrast between the dark and light was dramatic in each shot, almost surrealistically so in some.

* * * *

I’d been looking for a house, and I had an appointment with a realtor that evening to look at something that had just come on the market. She’d shown me lots of properties, but nothing I really liked. Turned out I loved this one. It had three bedrooms. I figured I could use one bedroom for a study and still have a guest room. Not that I expected to have many guests. I liked its clean, modern style. On a hilly, wooded lot, with an exterior of redwood, stone, and lots of glass, it sort of crawled over the slope. Best of all, it had a large, detached, heated garage. I could keep the car in part of it and turn the rest into a studio where I could have my kiln.

Susan, the realtor, and I grabbed Chinese take-out and took it to her office, where we could eat while we talked about making an offer on the house. Once that was done and I was ready to leave, she said she thought I was probably lonely, being new in town, single and all. She asked if I’d like to have dinner with her sometime.

“Susan, I’d love to have dinner with you, but if you’re looking for anything more than that, you need to know that I’m gay.”

She laughed. “I know that, Whitney. Everyone in Stafford knows by now the new director of SAA is gay. You’re the talk of the town. I was an art history major in college, and you know how hard it is for us to find jobs. That’s why I’m here, selling real estate. And, I might add, making more money than I’d ever have made teaching in college. But I’d love to have dinner and just talk, if you’re interested.”

I think I must have blushed. At least my face felt like it was on fire. “Susan, I’m sorry. By all means, let’s get together. You’ll call when you hear from the owners about our offer?”

“Sure will!”

“If they accept, let’s go somewhere to celebrate. You choose the restaurant, since you know Stafford inside and out.”

She shook hands with me and said, “We should hear tomorrow or the next day. I’ll be sure to call as soon as I hear from them. I’m confident we’ll be able to have that celebration dinner. And I’ll look forward to it.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

* * * *

Later that evening, back at the apartment, I put on some Ravel, got out of my khakis, and just loafed around in my briefs and T-shirt. I poured some sour mash over a couple of cubes and flopped into my Eames chair.

What a day! I’d made an offer on a house, one that would take a substantial chunk of my trust fund. Susan assured me that it was a good investment. The house was in excellent condition, having been owned by a local builder, so I wouldn’t need to spend lots of money on repairs. I wanted to do some redecorating, but that could be a project I’d spread out over months or a year.

* * * *

The next day I put Louis’ folder in a large manila envelope, wrote his name on the front, and gave it to Jean.

“Louis will probably be around to pick this up. If he asks what I thought, tell him I said he’s got real talent and I’d like to talk with him.”

Back at my desk, I picked up the stack of phone call slips Jean had left on my desk and began returning calls. The day disappeared as I went about my duties. I wondered what it was going to be like when October came and our season began.

* * * *

The next morning when I got to work, the manila envelope was on my desk again. Sealed. But it contained a portfolio of different pictures, ones I hadn’t seen before. This time most of them were in color. Here again, his eye was infallible. Colors, textures, subjects varied, but each work showed a sense of composition and a technical ability that were really rare.

* * * *

I got the house. I took Susan to dinner to celebrate as we had planned. And after that I was busy. I wanted to remove and replace all of the floor covering. I had them tear out all the old carpeting. In some places I had hardwood installed instead. In the kitchen, breakfast and entry areas, I had ceramic tile installed. And in all the bedrooms, I had new carpet put down.

North Carolina is the best place in the country to shop for furniture. Unless your taste runs to Italian, and then it all comes out of a catalog. So I had to order a lot of the furniture from seeing samples or pictures in a book. For the rest, I was able to go to showrooms in Hickory and High Point and feel the goods before I ordered.

* * * *

After Art Camp was over, there were two weeks before the local schools started. Labor Day came in that break, too. In addition to being busy with floor covering and furniture, I had to oversee the getting out of the Alliance’s membership brochures along with the concert and art exhibit schedules. That’s where our volunteers really helped. We sent out five thousand letters along with the brochures and schedules. One member or another of the Alliance wrote a personal note on each letter. I’m sure Jean has a record somewhere of the number of person hours it took to get that task done.

After that, however, we could all take a deep breath and relax. For a few days, anyway.

The last day of Art Camp, Louis had picked up the folder and left another. If he wanted to convince me that he had talent, he had clearly done so. He would have my best energies to get him into a good art program, with a scholarship if he needed one.

Again, there were a dozen prints of variety, taste, and skill.

* * * *

I’ve mentioned that the Thursday after Labor Day we opened a new exhibition. Although the Alliance frequently had works by two or three artists at the same time, this show had only the work of Stanley Klusza. We have a concierge committee who usually pick up visiting artists or musicians at the airport and look after them while they are in town. We put them up at a good hotel, of course, but someone usually has dinner with them, sees if they have any unusual requests. Bob Phillips called me earlier in the week to tell me that Klusza had shipped his paintings but that he would be driving his truck from Ahoskie. Bob told me that he and his wife were attending her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary party that evening. He wanted to know if I’d take Klusza out to dinner after the reception and get him back to his hotel. I told him I’d be happy to, and to enjoy the evening’s festivities.

Since it was now officially after Labor Day, I thought I’d wear my navy blazer over a fresh pair of khakis and a blue Oxford shirt. I chose a lavender floral tie, just to keep from looking too Brooks Brothers.

True to his word, Bob delivered Klusza to my office a few minutes before five, when the reception was to start. The first thing I thought when I saw him was Stanley Kowalski. It may have been in part because of the first name the artist shared with Tennessee Williams’ character. But he also looked a lot like Brando. About six feet and muscular, he had dark, curly hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a chambray shirt, tight fitting Levi’s, and cowboy boots.

I couldn’t help thinking what a contrast there was between his appearance and the delicacy of the work that Jerome, our custodian, and I had spent two days hanging. He did the most amazingly detailed water colors of Carolina shore birds. I loved each picture we hung better than the previous one. Even Jerome, who was pretty blasé from hanging exhibitions for several years, said he liked Klusza’s stuff. I predicted that we’d sell a lot of them during the six weeks they’d be in our main gallery.