Page 80 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“The donut shop’s open,” Bernie suggested. “Twenty-four hours. Very glamorous celebration venue.”
They all turned toward Bernie and smiled. “Knew you’d turn up,” Margo said.
Joey laughed. “Perfect. I want to sit somewhere with fluorescent lighting and terrible coffee and tell you everything about what it felt like to be a painting.”
They walked through the quiet streets together, Joey describing every moment of the tableaux from his perspective on stage.
“You can see the audience, but they look like shadows,” he explained. “And the lights are so bright that everything feels like a dream. But you can hear people breathing, and moving, and whispering, and you realize that all these people are watching you not move.”
“That sounds terrifying,” Bea said.
“It was. But also amazing. Like meditation, but with an audience.”
The donut shop was indeed open, fluorescent-bright and nearly empty except for a tired-looking clerk and two teenagers sharing a box of glazed donuts. They took over the corner booth, Joey still talking.
“The hardest part was the coffee cup,” he said. “It was heavier than I expected, and my arm started shaking about two minutes in. But then I thought about how Margo holds her spatula at the grill—like it’s part of her hand—and I pretended the cup was part of me.”
Margo smiled. “Smart thinking.”
“What’s next?” Luke asked. “Are you going to audition again next year?”
“Definitely. Maybe for a bigger role.” Joey grinned. “Harold said I was a natural.”
“Bigger role?” Tyler asked with mock seriousness. “You mean like... someone who gets to hold two props?”
“Or maybe a painting where you get to stand up,” Bea suggested.
“I’m thinking really big,” Joey said. “Maybe next year I’ll be in a scene where someone gets to lean against something.”
“Very ambitious,” Margo said solemnly. “What if they only do paintings with running people?”
“Then I’ll master the art of looking like I’m about to run while not actually moving,” Joey declared.
“The almost-action poses are very probably very hard to get,” Stella said seriously. “Much more complex than peaceful sitting.”
“You know what?” Joey said, turning to Stella. “You should audition too. You’ve got the patience for it - I’ve seen you wait for the perfect shot.”
“Nah, mate,” Stella said with a grin. “I’d rather be the one taking pictures of you lot standing around trying not to move.”
“Fair dinkum,” Joey said, attempting an Australian accent that made everyone cringe.
“Please never do that again,” Stella laughed.
“You know what’s funny?” Stella said. “This morning I was so nervous about the Festival results. But sitting here, watching you talk about being a painting... I think I forgot that art is supposed to be fun.”
“It is fun,” Anna agreed. “When you’re not competing.”
“When you’re just making something because you want to,” Bea added.
“When you’re part of a community,” Margo said quietly.
They finished their donuts and terrible coffee as the night grew later and quieter around them.
“Thank you,” Joey said suddenly. “For coming tonight. For supporting me. For...” He gestured vaguely. “For being my family.”
“Always,” Meg said, and she spoke for all of them.
They separated slowly—Meg and Luke heading toward her car, Anna and Bea toward theirs, Margo toward hers. Bernie had already disappeared into the night, probably to update his betting records.
