The Prodigal
Twelve
KATE AND I FLEW FIRST CLASS, non-stop from Seattle to Atlanta at Clarice’s insistence. We were treated like royalty and I even had a glass of wine. Kate declined. I don’t think they would have carded her. Clarice had told us we had an anonymous investor in our project. He was paying all expenses, first class everything, and for having the printing done. In return, he would receive print number one of each of our works. Clarice handed us a VISA cash card each and told us that we were to cover all our expenses with the card, including getting cash for tips and incidentals and taking Gerhardt to dinner. There was $5000 on each card and there was no restriction on how it was to be used. Clarice had arranged for a car and driver to be on call for us whenever we wanted it and had booked the Honeymoon Suite at the Doubletree—Yeah, maybe not the Four Seasons, but it was close to the airport and convenient to Gerhardt’s studio.
When we got off the plane in Columbus, there was a chauffeur holding a sign with our names on it. This was just flat-out cool. Our room was awesome and it included breakfast. When the bellhop brought our bags to the room, he paused to open a bottle of champagne and pour two glasses before collecting his tip.
This time, Kate did indulge, sipping her champagne while we giggled and kissed. It was only seven, so we decided to have a decent dinner and then crash. We’d been traveling since six our time and were tired. I caught Kate eying the bed, the same as I was.
The restaurant was great. Kate had a wild mushroom enchilada, but when I saw barbecued baby back ribs on the menu, I was sold. We finished our meals and just signed the check to our room with a generous tip. Once in the room, time stopped. It was just Kate and me.
Our clothes had been unpacked for us and our toiletries were neatly arranged on the bathroom counter. We showered, lovingly washing each other and taking every opportunity to rub our bodies together. Rather than finish in the shower, we headed for bed.
I’ve never felt anything so comfortable in my life. Kate and I rolled together, my cock simply sliding into her with no apparent effort.
Then we went to sleep.
We awoke reluctantly with our phone ringing its six o’clock wake-up call. We were no longer connected, but were nestled together in the luxurious bed.
“We are so getting a new bed when we get home,” I said.
“Do we dare? We’ll never get up to go to school and if last night was any example, we’ll never have sex, either.”
“School might suffer, but I think we can figure out how to make love without falling asleep in the middle,” I yawned. “Eventually.”
Kate shifted and I pressed against her stomach. Her lips tickled mine with a feather-soft caress. I touched them with the tip of my tongue and they parted. We met tentatively, not thrusting. The tongue is a miracle of taste and touch. We touched each other’s lips and front teeth—playing for a minute before pulling back so we could look at each other. Such a beautiful smile to greet me.
“I have you right on the tip of my tongue,” Kate whispered as she rolled and pulled me on top of her.
“I’ll never hear that expression the same way again,” I laughed. I felt her hand on my erection as she guided it back into her warmth.
“Weren’t we someplace around here when we were so rudely interrupted by sleep?” she asked. “This is your chance to show that a bed like this won’t always interrupt making love.”
As it turned out, it was the knock on the door that interrupted us, not sleep. Our breakfast arrived right when we’d requested it the night before. I grabbed one of the hotel’s luxurious robes and a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and went to let room service into the outer room of our suite. There was something strange about the young woman who set up the service and I puzzled over it while I watched her.
“I’ll leave the table leaves down,” she said. “That way if you want to wheel the service into the bedroom, you can easily do so. If you decide to eat in the sitting room, just pull these levers up.” She demonstrated. “If you are leaving for the day, just leave the service wherever you eat and we’ll pick it up during housekeeping.” Her voice dropped and she gave me a little wink. “If you plan to stay in all day, you might want to put the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the door.”
I gave her the tip and she left with a whispered a southern accented, “Enjoy,” that left me wondering exactly what she was referring to. I wheeled the cart into the bedroom and poured coffee for Kate, adding a little of the thick cream provided. She sipped tentatively.
“It’s not quite a latte, is it?” she giggled. I sipped my coffee.
“Well, it is hot, strong, and black,” I answered. “That’s it!”
“What’s what?”
“I was trying to figure out what was so strange about the woman who brought us breakfast. Do you realize that almost everyone we’ve interacted with in Georgia was black?”
“Kind of hard to miss when a girl had never seen a black person until she moved to Seattle. But there were lots of black people in the Dominican Republic. Nothing bothered you there.”
“And how many people of any color do we know in Seattle?”
“Well, there are a lot of Asians at school. Both schools. Tonya is black. Whitney is darker skinned than the rest of us lily-white people. But that’s about it. What’s the point? You aren’t prejudiced, are you?”
“It’s not that,” I said. I didn’t think I was prejudiced. I hadn’t even noticed until this morning. “Our driver, the desk clerk, the bellman, our concierge, and our waiter were all black. What hit me was that the room service person was white. She looked out of place, and I realized that I must look out of place, too. I have to do some painting while I’m here.”
“That could be interesting, but… let’s… try not to be offensive, okay? What is this we’re eating?”
“Eggs and bacon and… let me get the menu. What did you order?”
“The Georgia Breakfast.”
“Okay. Two eggs, sunny-side up. Thick-cut country bacon. Georgia peaches. And… grits.”
“How do you eat them? They’re kind of tasteless.” I grabbed my computer and was able to get on the hotel wireless system immediately.
“How to eat grits,” I read.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Melt lots of butter on them. The color should be the same as a ripe banana. Add salt—about ten grains of grits to one of salt. Wow! Eat with a fork and eggs, sunny-side up.”
“Seriously?” Kate asked while stirring butter and salt into her grits.
“It’s an article right here on how to eat grits. Hey, they aren’t bad. Like eating eggs with corn chips. Yum. Oh, it says to drink a glass of whole milk with them. That must be why the pitcher of milk. Glad you didn’t try to pour it on the grits.”
By the time we’d finished eating our breakfast—and the Georgia peaches were like starting the day with dessert!—we barely had time to dress and head for Gerhardt’s studio. We were warned not to be late for our eight o’clock start. It was still not five in the morning back home and I stifled a yawn as we walked up to his door.
“’Allo! Wilkommen,” Gerhardt said as he opened the door. “You are right on time. Welcome.”
“Guten morgen, Herr Strauss,” Kate said. I looked at her in wonder. “Ich bin Katarina und hier ist Tony.” That mere phrase, most of which I didn’t understand but took to be our official greeting, set Gerhardt off on a string of German that I didn’t comprehend at all. When he wound down a little, Kate interrupted. “I’m sorry, Herr Strauss. I don’t actually speak any more German than our introduction. Clarice made me practice it about fifty times.”
“Ahh! Clarice. How ist meine rassige Powerfrau?”
“Um… your what?”
“Sorry, Fraulein. In English that is… well. Maybe I shouldn’t say. You won’t tell her, ja? It is a strong, foxy lady. Oh, if I were thirty years younger…”
“We won’t say a word, Herr Strauss,” I said, finally speaking for the first time. Gerhardt held out his hand for me to shake.
“We use first names. Welcome, Tony. I am Gerhardt,” he said. “You are probably too caught up in this lovely young lady to notice how beautiful Clarice is. She told me much about you two, but when I saw your paintings I knew as much as I needed. You both look young, but these paintings are not the work of children. Let us go to the studio.”
Gerhardt led us through the house and out his kitchen door into what I assumed must have once been a garage. Now it was a perfect gray box with diffused lighting. I thought at once about how Doc had advised us to paint and light our studio. I couldn’t see a shadow cast in the room. The entire space was spotless. Gerhardt proceeded to explain how he was creating our prints, first photographing them with various filters, then developing film, and making plates for the press.
The press was a gem. When Gerhardt retired from an art printing house, he was able to acquire the forty-year-old monster and set up his own printing shop. The press could handle offset or letterpress, though Gerhardt had little in the way of lead type to do the latter. His focus was on fine art offset lithography. By ten, we’d been indoctrinated. His accent was a mix of German and Southeastern U.S. He often dropped in German words or phrases, especially when explaining the printing process, but he spoke them with a kind of drawl that kept us paying attention so we’d understand everything.
Finally, he led us back into the kitchen and suggested coffee before we started looking at the artwork. We sat at his kitchen table while he made espresso drinks. He even steamed milk for Kate, but he served both his own and mine as straight shots in little demitasse cups. Wow!
“Okay,” he said as we sipped. “Doctor Henredon asked me to educate you on the process so you can come back to his class and teach it. I have shown you only the equipment so far. But your task here is to approve and select each print that will be released. This is an exercise for your eyes. That is why the coffee. They need to be open.”
“Sorry,” I said. “We should have come out on Saturday instead of yesterday so we’d be better adjusted to the time zone.”
“Today will be lessons. You will not start approving actual prints until tomorrow. You should be fine by then. You have a lot of work to do in the remaining five days. The number of prints you need to approve often takes two or three weeks, but I understand you must finish school and your shows are coming up soon. If we do not finish them all, it is all right. You will return in the spring to complete the task. We do not rush. Clarice said you need ten prints each ready by the openings in December. That is probably all you will be able to do this week. There are still a dozen that have not been photographed yet. Now, let us learn how to inspect a print.”
I saw hickeys, pick-outs, coating lumps, wood vessel segments, fibers, pits, dust, and piling. He showed us half a dozen kinds of ghosts, moirés, and rosettes. By half-past noon, my eyes were blurring and I hadn’t even seen one of my own prints yet. This would take a lot longer than a week if we had to inspect several hundred prints each. Gerhardt explained each flaw, and gave us sample prints to practice on.
“This afternoon we will work on ink coverage and blending,” Gerhardt insisted. My stomach growled. In answer I heard a shout from inside the house.
“Opa! Mittagssnack!”
“Ach! My granddaughter is here. She has brought us some sandwiches so we can get back to work.” Any break was a good break. Kate breathed a sigh of relief as we headed back toward the kitchen. I froze just inside the door when I saw the blonde putting sandwiches on the table. She looked up at me and took an involuntary step backward.
“Jayzus H Krust on a red rubber ra-aft! Ah had no idea!”
Kate looked at me as Gerhardt chided his granddaughter.
“Erika! Language. I have guests.”
“Yeah, Ah know. Ah met that one,” she said pointing at me. I was staring at the server who had brought us breakfast. I realized Kate hadn’t seen her and hastened to explain.
“You remember our breakfast conversation? She was the subject.”
“Oh, Ah hope it was good.” Erika said the words, but then blushed as they sank in. “Ah mean…”
“Tony, Katarina, this is my granddaughter Erika. Erika, please try to be polite to our guests.”
“I’m so sorry,” Erika said walking forward to shake Kate’s hand. “I never expect to see hotel guests materialize in the kitchen at home. You startled me.” When she had control of herself, her strong southern accent settled into something a little less comical and far more Southern Belle. It was still there, but a lot more elegant. “Opa, Tony and Katarina are staying at the hotel in the honeymoon suite. I served them breakfast this morning. I see y’all figured out how to eat grits.”
“Was she as rude then?” Gerhardt asked as he pulled out a chair.
“Not at all,” I said. “We were just all surprised.”
“Please, come to the table. I had to guess what to bring for lunch. You can tell me what you like and tomorrow I’ll bring whatever you want. It’s just po’boys for today.” She also produced cans of Coke and chips. We settled into the meal.
“Erika works with me in the afternoon when I have a job. I can’t handle the press by myself anymore. She’s my printer’s devil.”
“Mostly, I just run errands, but I’m getting him to teach me how to make art. There’s so much to learn. Oh! Don’t tell me you two are the ones who painted all those oils and pastels we’ve been working on. Opa! You didn’t tell me.”
“You knew the artists would be coming to look at the work,” Gerhardt said. “I just didn’t tell you that they are younger than you.”
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