Another prop I noticed in the makeshift room was a beautiful old Gibson Dove that sent a shockwave to my heart. It had been years since I’d taken my guitar out from under the bed, and seeing one without warning was like running into an old, unrequited love.
The canvases up against the wall were in various stages of being built and/or drawn, but not yet painted. They were clearly part of a series and had gigantic sketches of vintage boats on them, with ship-related phrases stenciled on top of the images. The first one I saw read, “I’LL SINK THIS SHIP IF I WANT TO.” Another said, “SAILING ON A SHIP OF FOOLS.” And another, the one that spoke to me with poignant and rather heartbreaking significance, even then, said, “BOY DID YOU MISS THE BOAT.”
October’s back was to us as Rae and I approached. She was sitting on a stool in front of a long steel table, clear safety goggles on her face, using a small blowtorch on a canvas.
The first thing I noticed about October was how small her hands were. Then I noticed everything about her was small. Her wrists, her ears, her shoulders. Coupled with what she was wearing—hickory-striped overalls streaked with dirt, paint, and grease, over a big, threadbare sweatshirt that reminded me of the one Cal wore all summer the year he and I met—she could have passed for a tomboyish teenager and wasn’t at all what I had expected.
Rae tapped October on the back. October looked over her shoulder, and I caught her eye for half a second. She looked down to turn off the torch and then spun back around as if she’d been awakened by a hypnic jerk.
She stood and pulled the goggles off, causing her dark, sun-streaked hair to fall down over her shoulders. Soot and splotches of paint smeared her face, and half-moon indentations marked her cheeks where the goggles had been pressing into her skin. With her head tilted to the side, she pushed her fringy bangs away from her eyes and looked sideways at me.
“This is the guy who called about the job,” Rae told her.
“Joe Harper,” I said, extending my hand.
She took my hand and held it flat between both of hers.
“Joe Harper,” she repeated. Her voice was low and soft. Then “Joe Harper” again, the second time with a more curious inflection. She was still holding my hand, now squinting hard at me, as if I were a spoon she was trying to bend with her mind, and my first thought was This woman is a little odd.
Finally, she let go of my hand. Then she took an elastic band from her wrist, wrapped her hair up in it and said, “Tell me about your relationship to art, Joe Harper.”
That caught me off guard. It didn’t seem like a topic I could address without a lot of thought. “Tell me what it means to you,” she added.
It had been a long time since anyone had asked me what I thought or felt about art. I didn’t live in a world where that was the norm. Cal and I used to talk about art all the time, but that was back when he had me convinced I was an artist.
I stood in silence, reflecting on what to say. Rae stepped impatiently from one foot to the other, snacking on her nuts and raisins, while October remained still, and seemed as though she could have waited all day for my response.
Bear in mind, I didn’t yet know anything more than what I’d just seen about the kind of art October made, and that meant I had to think about the kind of art I knew—music—and offer her an honest reply.
I tried to remember how playing guitar used to make me feel and said, “I guess, for me, art is how to tell, not the truth, but my truth. It’s a way to communicate who you are and what you feel. Some people think art is pretending, but to me it’s the opposite. It’s the one place where you can’t pretend.”
October was watching me closely as I spoke, her eyes soft but curious.
“The job is yours,” she said. “If you want it.”
Rae jumped to attention. “Wait. You want to ask him more questions, yeah?”
October was still studying me. “Rae said you used to work in construction?”
“I did. For years.”
“On a scale from 1 to 10, how tech savvy are you?”
“About an 8,” I said. I was probably closer to a 5, but, like I’d told Rae, I’m a quick learner.
October looked at Rae and nodded, and Rae said, “All right, then. How soon can you start?”
I figured I had to give FarmHouse some notice and said, “Two weeks?”
It was a Thursday. October’s eyes widened and she said, “Monday would be better.”
I nodded. I wanted the job. Or, more specifically, I wanted the apartment. I still didn’t know what the job was. “I can probably make that work.”
The three of us stood inside a lingering silence that was awkward for me and ostensibly for Rae, who was picking bits of almond skin from her teeth. But October seemed relaxed and content, her eyes moving back and forth across my face as if it were a page in a book she was reading.
“If you need a place to live, it makes sense to live on the property. My days start early.”
Rae said, “Maybe wait and see if you like the job before you decide.”
“No,” I said quickly. The apartment was the main reason I’d come. I already had my heart set on living in it. “I’ll take it.”
“Great,” October said. “Follow me.”
I went with her to the back of the studio, to a tiny office with a desk, a computer, and an old futon. She picked up a bowl of keys, pilfered through them, found a keychain shaped like the Golden Gate Bridge, and gave it to me. “The blue key unlocks your apartment. The white one is to this building.” She grabbed a Post-it note, wrote a series of numbers down on it, and handed that to me too.
I looked at it, chuckled, and said, “My birthday.”
She looked taken aback. “That’s the gate code.”
I laughed and said, “Your gate code is my birthday.” I gave the Post-it note back to her. “I probably don’t need that.”
“No, I guess you don’t.”
She walked me to the front door of the studio and told Rae to show me the apartment, discuss the salary with me, and, if everything was acceptable, have me fill out some paperwork.
“You can start moving in over the weekend. We’ll hit the ground running on Monday.”
As I followed Rae across the driveway, I glanced back toward the studio. October was standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with her arms crossed and her giant, mastodon dog beside her. They were both watching me.
FOUR.
My landlord said if I moved out on such short notice I would lose my deposit, but I left anyway. I was convinced this job was a sign of good things to come. A fresh start. I was going to show up on day one as a new and improved Joe Harper. Leaving my miserable years in Berkeley behind. Leaving the Mill Valley of my past behind. The Mill Valley of Bob, Sam, and even Cal behind.