Page 63 of Close Up

“How long will that take? I would very much like to have them for my show next week.”

Vivian’s euphoria died in an instant. It would take time to put a new darkroom together. She could not ask to use theHerald’s facilities again, not for the purpose of printing pictures intended for a gallery show. She would find a way to print the pictures. She had to find a way.

“I’ve, uh, lost the cottage I was renting in Adelina Beach,” she said. “But I expect to find new lodgings soon. I will get another darkroom set up right away.”

“You’re welcome to use mine while you’re here in town,” Joan said. “It’s in the back of the shop.”

Vivian nearly collapsed with relief. “Are you a photographer?”

“I was a hobbyist for a few years. I don’t do much photography these days, but I’m still a member of the Burning Cove Photography Club, hence the darkroom. I don’t have much use for it myself, but I make it available to other members of the club. It’s fully equipped with a commercial enlarger and an extra-large easel.”

“That sounds perfect. What time would be convenient for me to use it?”

“Would tomorrow work for you? I’d like to get a couple of your pictures on the wall as soon as possible.”

“Absolutely,” Vivian said. “I really appreciate this.” She slipped the prints back into the portfolio and turned to leave. But two steps toward the front door she stopped and turned back. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“What is it?”

“You looked surprised to see me when I walked through your front door a few minutes ago.”

“Well, yes, I admit I was rather startled. It was the portfolio, you see.”

“What about it?”

“I had heard that you had given up trying to make it as a serious photographer.”

Vivian’s mouth went dry. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was under the impression that you were pursuing a career in, well, to put it politely, photojournalism. Crime scenes. Fires. Famous actors caught in scandalous situations. That sort of thing.”

Vivian clutched her portfolio very tightly. “Where did you hear that?”

“You know how it is in the art world. There are always wild rumors circulating. I believe that an associate of mine, the proprietor of the Kempton Gallery in Adelina Beach, mentioned that none of the more exclusive galleries there were hanging your work these days because of your association with the press.”

Vivian recalled her last depressing encounter with the owner of the Kempton Gallery. He had treated her latest photographs as if they were beneath contempt.

“Richard Kempton told you that?” she said.

“Yes. He said it was all over town that you were no longer serious about your art.”

A wave of fury swept through Vivian. She took a deep breath. “That explains a few things.”

“I’m sorry,” Joan said. “But everyone knows the art world can bevery cruel to an artist who is believed to have dipped her toe into commercial photography.”

“Given the rumors, why are you willing to hang my pictures?”

Joan winked. “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to try to balance on the very fine line between the commercial world and the art world. Before I opened this gallery I sold hats at Bullocks Wilshire in L.A.”

“Really?”

“Nobody pays much attention to a woman who sells hats, even very expensive hats. But things are different now that I sell art. People who move in the most exclusive circles are terrified of being accused of having acquired bad art. Here in Burning Cove my wealthy clients will buy whatever I tell them to buy.”

“What’s the difference between selling hats and selling art?”

“As far as the business end of things goes, there is no difference. It’s all just smoke and mirrors.”

“What about artistic vision? Doesn’t that matter?”

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