Tony must have sensed it, God bless him, because he rode to the rescue with a full intro of Mostar. “We’re so lucky,” he said, “to have a world-famous artist in residence.” Glass is her medium and she’s been sculpting in it for years. That was where he’d met her, at an exhibition at the Chihuly Garden and Glass in Seattle. Yvette added that she had been on her way to lead a “crystal yoga” session when they just happened to see her exhibition. Seamlessly, Tony wrapped up the story by explaining that he’d proposed an “epic collaboration” between the two of them: a full-scale model of her hometown, wherever that is, that would be completely 3-D printed.
That’s a big thing for Cygnus, perfecting a 3-D glass technology that is “leaps ahead of Karlsruhe.”* I thought I’d be bored by this conversation. Dan’s college phase taught me more than enough about 3-D printing. But Tony’s enthusiasm was hard to resist, the way he talked about Mostar’s project being a “game-changing win for everybody.” Cygnus displays their new breakthrough, Mostar gets to live in paradise rent free, and the world will eventually get to see a resurrected piece of history.
“Which is the subject of my new book,” Reinhardt cut in, “resource conflicts of the 1990s.”
Resource conflicts?
I wasn’t sure how that subject fit into what we were discussing, and why Mostar’s hometown needed to be “resurrected.” I also wasn’t sure if probing too deep was appropriate for the dinner table. I didn’t want to trigger Palomino. While I was wrestling with the choice, Mostar took it away by waving her hand at Reinhardt. “Oh, these nice young people don’t want to hear about all that.”
Then she turned to me and asked, “So how did you get here?”
I got a little nervous at that, my jaw muscles stiffened slightly. I thought maybe if I could distract her with just my story, she wouldn’t ask about Dan. I tried to talk about my job but it was just so boring. No, I’m not putting myself down again. I like what I do and I know I’m good at it, but who wants to hear about a CPA at a wealth management firm in Century City? I tried to focus more on my connection to this place. Everyone knew and loved Frank, and Mr. Boothe (who used to work with him) told me that he’d been the one to encourage Frank and Gary to move up here when the place was being built. Bobbi shook her head sadly when she said, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with them.” But then Yvette added happily, “But we got you in the conscious uncoupling.”
That lightened the mood again, until Mostar ruined it. I guess I can’t blame her. I mean, why wouldn’t you ask? She didn’t know. No one did. It’s just small talk, getting-to-know-you stuff. It’s the standard question. “And what do you do?”
My gut tightened when she turned to Dan. The words seemed to roll out in slow motion.
“And-what-do-you-do?”
Dan just looked up from his plate, got that squinty, lemon lick look. He talked about how he’s an “entrepreneur in the digital space.” That usually saved us in L.A., probably because nobody really cared about anyone else but themselves. Even here, everyone just nodded and seemed ready to move on. But Mostar…
“So, you don’t have a job.”
The whole room got silent. I could feel the skin of my face. What do you say? How do you reply?
Bless you, Tony Durant.
“Dan’s an artist, Mosty, just like you and me.” He smiled, tapping his temple. “How much of our process takes place up here, unseen, untimed, and definitely unpaid!”
Carmen jumped in with, “Did you get paid for all your sculptures before they were done?” which garnered a nod and meek “yeah” from her wife.
“There’s paycheck work and there’s project work.” Vincent shrugged, which prompted Reinhardt to talk about how Europeans have a much more balanced sense of identity than Americans. “Across the pond, who you are isn’t just what you do.” It was a little confusing given that he was actually saying this to a European (I think) but I really didn’t care. I was so grateful to everyone for coming in and saving the moment. Maybe a little too much, because Tony now swerved back to a more neutral stance. “Mosty’s just trying to understand Dan’s journey, albeit in her own unique way.”
And when he added, “And she is quite unique,” the room’s chuckles became laughter. Even Mostar seemed in it now, smiling with raised hands in this “you got me” gesture. It didn’t appear to bother her at all. Not an ally in the room and she looked totally okay with that. I would’ve died.
Not that I feel bad for her, though, especially when we said good night, and she gave Dan a sidelong glance. More like a smirk, like “I’m totally onto you.” I’m sure that’s why I couldn’t sleep last night. I tried to convince myself to read instead of re-watching The Princess Bride. I’ve loved that movie my whole life. It’s worth the melatonin-reducing light from the screen. I needed the familiarity, the comfort.
I feel…
I wish…
I can’t wait for our Skype session next week. Maybe I’ll call you and see if we can move it up. I really need it. Especially after today.
Dan and I didn’t talk about what happened at dinner. Why would we? When was the last time we really talked about anything? I could tell he was upset. You can always tell by the couch time. If he comes to bed an hour or so after me, he’s miffed. If it’s the middle of the night, something’s really under his skin. If I find him asleep in the morning, iPad on his stomach…
He’s there now. Awake, but not helping me. I think he can hear me unpacking upstairs. I’ve just been reassembling the shelves. Three of them, two large and one waist high, with long steel support poles. They’re heavy, and loud. He must have heard me banging them together. Maybe not with his music. Did I mention that you can sync different rooms for different devices? I guess it’s supposed to give everyone their own personal space, but since Dan’s claimed the living room and those are the biggest speakers…
I can hear it through the door. His early ’90s loop.
Goddamn “Black Hole Sun.”
Wow, I am really angry. I’m not used to feeling this way. I don’t like it. Maybe a walk later, hike the trail, clear my head.
I need it. The knot is back.
From my interview with Frank McCray, Jr.
Kate Holland’s brother has aged considerably from the social media photos taken barely a year before. His cherubic features have narrowed, his hair thinned and grayed. The former Cygnus attorney is intense, impatient, with an undertone of muted anger behind each word. As he reaches his right hand out to shake, I notice the other resting on a holstered Smith & Wesson 500 revolver.