He’s coming to the store? My hair...I need to do my hair...is my hair a mess?”
“ There’s no time. It looks fine. He’s in the parking lot right now and is going to enter the store any second,” Carol said quickly. She turned her attention to the other employees who were all loafing behind the cash register. “Marlon, your shirt…tuck it in. Lindsey, the lighting on that one isn’t quite right,” she said, pointing to Click’s A Night on the Mount : the large centerpiece that was meant to attract passersby. The photo had been taken on the peak of Mount San Antonio at night—the giant monolith that peaked out of the San Gabriel Mountains, and which was the ever-present prop for the city’s greatest magic trick whenever it disappeared behind the brown haze on those hot sweltering days the city was known for. The stars in the night sky were captured with a masterful time exposure, making it seem as if the mountain was showered with meteorites.
Thomas Click’s emergence had come out of nowhere. He had begun his career as a humble photographer for Christian missionaries in Africa and ended up becoming an overnight cottage industry. He’d developed unique lighting techniques that he honed and mastered photographing Victoria Falls throughout the days and seasons. His portfolio eventually attracted the burgeoning bourgeois tastes of suburban wives across the country, and the scorn of those in the art community, who felt that the mass production of his works was both tacky and soulless.
The squeak the backdoor made at the back entrance was unmistakable. It sounded like a cross between a dying mouse and the melodic pangs of a banshee.
Thomas entered with his assistant in tow; he was an impish man with a bulbous nose, and his weight pulled his enormous head down to the iPad he held with his chunky hands.
All eyes alighted on Thomas whenever he’d walk into a room; his smile transmitted confidence and his pencil-thin moustache exuded gentlemanly charm.
His eyebrows arched in enthusiasm when he laid eyes on Carol ’s tight ship. “Carol, your gallery is like finding a peach stand in the middle of a hot, desolate Alabama road.”
Carol stepped forward and gave Thomas a hug. Thomas, without hesitation, returned the pleasant embrace.
Trent, the stout assistant, nudged Thomas on his side.
“ Yes...yes...yes,” said Thomas, reminding himself. He turned to the employees who were lined up against the lone empty wall in the gallery.
As he gazed at each employee one by one, his large black pupils kindled at the sight of Keelen, whose fortuitous symmetry stood in stark contrast to the mundane faces of the other workers. “Who are you?” asked Thomas in his cheeky twang.
“ This is Keelen Grant,” said Carol. “She’s been with us since December.”
“ You should be in commercials,” complimented Thomas, whose breath smelled like a combination of licorice and Dimetapp cough syrup.
Keelen blushed and turned her head downward.
“She’s also an aspiring actress,” informed Carol.
“ Really? Do you have an agent?” asked Thomas.
“ Yes...yes, I do.”
“ You know what? I’m gonna want to talk to you in a bit.”
Keelen stammered at Thomas ’s enthusiasm, “Th...thank you.”
L indsey, who stood next to Keelen, smirked and rolled her eyes.
Carol pulled Thomas to the side and whispered something in his ear. He nodded. Keelen felt self-conscious, as Carol had most likely informed the dapper artist about her constant tardiness. After a few moments, Thomas broke away from Carol and began his speech. “Now,” he said, punching the sky with the snap of his short arm. “For the real reason why I drove all the way from my ranch to come see ya’ll…”
The employees smiled. Keelen eyed Carol, whose face seemed to be stuck in perpetual smugness.
“Not only is this, by far, the highest-grossing store in the entire western region. Out of every store in the country, you’ve sold the most units of A
“ There’s no time. It looks fine. He’s in the parking lot right now and is going to enter the store any second,” Carol said quickly. She turned her attention to the other employees who were all loafing behind the cash register. “Marlon, your shirt…tuck it in. Lindsey, the lighting on that one isn’t quite right,” she said, pointing to Click’s A Night on the Mount : the large centerpiece that was meant to attract passersby. The photo had been taken on the peak of Mount San Antonio at night—the giant monolith that peaked out of the San Gabriel Mountains, and which was the ever-present prop for the city’s greatest magic trick whenever it disappeared behind the brown haze on those hot sweltering days the city was known for. The stars in the night sky were captured with a masterful time exposure, making it seem as if the mountain was showered with meteorites.
Thomas Click’s emergence had come out of nowhere. He had begun his career as a humble photographer for Christian missionaries in Africa and ended up becoming an overnight cottage industry. He’d developed unique lighting techniques that he honed and mastered photographing Victoria Falls throughout the days and seasons. His portfolio eventually attracted the burgeoning bourgeois tastes of suburban wives across the country, and the scorn of those in the art community, who felt that the mass production of his works was both tacky and soulless.
The squeak the backdoor made at the back entrance was unmistakable. It sounded like a cross between a dying mouse and the melodic pangs of a banshee.
Thomas entered with his assistant in tow; he was an impish man with a bulbous nose, and his weight pulled his enormous head down to the iPad he held with his chunky hands.
All eyes alighted on Thomas whenever he’d walk into a room; his smile transmitted confidence and his pencil-thin moustache exuded gentlemanly charm.
His eyebrows arched in enthusiasm when he laid eyes on Carol ’s tight ship. “Carol, your gallery is like finding a peach stand in the middle of a hot, desolate Alabama road.”
Carol stepped forward and gave Thomas a hug. Thomas, without hesitation, returned the pleasant embrace.
Trent, the stout assistant, nudged Thomas on his side.
“ Yes...yes...yes,” said Thomas, reminding himself. He turned to the employees who were lined up against the lone empty wall in the gallery.
As he gazed at each employee one by one, his large black pupils kindled at the sight of Keelen, whose fortuitous symmetry stood in stark contrast to the mundane faces of the other workers. “Who are you?” asked Thomas in his cheeky twang.
“ This is Keelen Grant,” said Carol. “She’s been with us since December.”
“ You should be in commercials,” complimented Thomas, whose breath smelled like a combination of licorice and Dimetapp cough syrup.
Keelen blushed and turned her head downward.
“She’s also an aspiring actress,” informed Carol.
“ Really? Do you have an agent?” asked Thomas.
“ Yes...yes, I do.”
“ You know what? I’m gonna want to talk to you in a bit.”
Keelen stammered at Thomas ’s enthusiasm, “Th...thank you.”
L indsey, who stood next to Keelen, smirked and rolled her eyes.
Carol pulled Thomas to the side and whispered something in his ear. He nodded. Keelen felt self-conscious, as Carol had most likely informed the dapper artist about her constant tardiness. After a few moments, Thomas broke away from Carol and began his speech. “Now,” he said, punching the sky with the snap of his short arm. “For the real reason why I drove all the way from my ranch to come see ya’ll…”
The employees smiled. Keelen eyed Carol, whose face seemed to be stuck in perpetual smugness.
“Not only is this, by far, the highest-grossing store in the entire western region. Out of every store in the country, you’ve sold the most units of A
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