Works and Days

Eleven

The Works of Our Hands

1

"Russell!” Patti called up the stairs. “Are you almost ready?”

Russell stood in the mirror pushing his shoulders back and admiring himself in the black suit. He knew that other people would say he looked a lot more handsome now, his dark red hair short, but he missed it shoulder length. Everyday he looked in the mirror for progress, for the hope of hair returning. When it had first been cut it was shaved at his sides. Now, at least it formed wings over his ears.

“Yeah,” Russell shouted back.

All the McLarchlahns were present downstairs for Frank’s exhibition. John was a week away from moving to Fort Atkins and Denise had never left Geschichte Falls, having made home in Father Ford’s rectory, regardless if he liked it or not. Jaclyn was there, looking odd beside John, unsure of her new status, and Kathleen was present, minus Chase.

“This is my first art exhibition ever,” Frank told them.

“Not ever,” Sara reminded him. “Remember back at Saint Rita’s?”

“That wasn’t a real one.” Frank said.

“It was art, and it was an exhibition and it was you, so it was real.”

Frank turned red, and smiled at his wife

The Geschichte Falls Arts Council had once been the original high school in town. Later it had been the public library, which was now up the block on Bunting Street. Under its current incarnation, the two story brick building with its honey colored, and heavily shellacked hardwood floors was filling up with men in loafers, and women in high heels, while servers set down wine and cheese.

`    “I think we came underdressed,” Chayne told Jewell, he in jeans and an open plaid shirt, Jewell in a paisley colored maternity dress.

“This is great! This is great!” cried Abby Develara. “Father and daughter in the same museum!”

Abby threw her arms about Jaclyn, and then gestured to one of Jackie’s paintings beside the veiled one in the large gallery.

“Well, Abby, Frank’s not really my father.”

“He’s your sister-in-law’s father?”

“Yeah.”

“So he’s your father-in-law.”

“N—” Jaclyn started, and then squinted her eyes at the black haired Abby. “Are you drunk?”

Abby smiled, tipped her hand and said, “A little bit. Rosy!” the tall woman bellowed, “Rosy!”

A round red headed woman in gold lamé came toward them, and Abby said, “You know Jaclyn Lewis?”

“I love her work.”

“This is the bitch,” Abby thumped Jackie on the back.

“Oh, my God!” the round woman clasped her hands to her mouth. “I love your Red Sessions!”

“Thank you,” Jaclyn held out her hand and smiled pleasantly.

“She never knows what to say in the face of her admirers,” Abby confided.

“I’m never in the face of my admirers,” said Jaclyn.

Abby, in her platform shoes, waltzed off crookedly to throw her arms around someone else, and then a grey haired man threw his arms around her.

“Yes, Dad?” Abby waited for the older man to speak.

“Who is that woman?” Mason Devalara demanded.

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Did you just say fuck to your father?”

“I’m afraid I did. I’m a little drunk.”

“Who is that woman?”

“Must I repeat myself—?” Abby started, but then she said, “She’s been here before—”

“I know.”

“It’s Jackie’s mom.”

“Introduce me.”

“Dad!”

“Well,” Mason drew himself up and took a hand through his steel colored hair. “I’ll introduce myself.”

“You do that, Dad. I’ll be by the wine and cheese.”

“I know you will.”

While Kathleen and Sara and Frank were chatting loudly, Mason stepped into their circle, and the two women stopped to look at him. Mason gallantly took Kathleen’s small bird hand and bowed.

“Madam.”

“Call me Kathleen.”

“Let him call you madam,” Sara interjected.

“I was captivated by your beauty,” Mason told her. “Might I stand beside you for the unveiling?”

“Well,” Kathleen Lewis lost her British accent for once, “well, yes.”

“Wait just a moment,” said Mason. “Let me bring you a glass of champagne. Cheese?”

“Oh no,” Kathleen blushed and twitched her waist, “It goes to my hips.”

When Mason had come back to Kathleen with their glasses, his daughter in her black slacks was before them all speaking.

“The Geschichte Falls Arts Council is proud to present the newest piece of work from—while not a local—the father of one of our locals, Patricia Lewis.”

Abby clapped her hands, managing her wine glass, and signaled them all to clap too.

“Mr. Francis Mc.Larchlahn has been an artist for over fifty years. Most of his career, he has been a full time worker in the packing industry, and only with his retirement and the rich love of his wife, Sara, and his three children, Denise, Patricia and John has he been able to turn wholeheartedly to his artwork. This new colossal painting will be hanging here, and later in the town hall, and is inspired by his son-in-law, our very own Thomas Lewis.

Here, Abby gestured to Thom who smiled and nodded. Jackie clapped and roared, “Yay, Thom!”

“Frank, how ‘bout you come up here and do the unveiling for us?” Abby urged.

Frank nodded, and stepped up.

`    “I would like to thank my family,” said Frank. “Both born to me and by marriage, and you, Abigail, and your father as well for displaying my work. Long life to the Geschichte Falls Art Council.”

They all clapped again.

“I call this piece,” said Frank, “Adonis!”

And with that, he unveiled the life size painting of Thom Lewis.

Everyone in the museum gasped. Chayne and Jewell tried to stop themselves from laughing, but failed, putting down their wine classes and clasping each other with high schoolers’ delight. Thom’s eyes fell out of his head and Abby downed, in one sustained swallow, her entire glass of wine.

There, before them in oils, Thom Lewis was giving a salute in a camouflage helmet and bearing a rifle.

And the helmet and rifle were the only things he was wearing.

    

Chayne Kandzierski left fairly quickly. Many people were coming up to Thom, who was keeping his back to his image.

“No I never—No I—no!” Russell could hear his father telling everyone who came up to him. 

“Tommy, I never knew you had it in you!”

“I didn’t pose for it!”

“Of course you did!” Frank differed.

“No—no—not like that!” Thom stammered.

“I took liberties.”

“Really, Thomas,” Kathleen drawled. “It’s a masterful portrait.”

“And just imagine, now it’ll be hanging in City Hall for everyone to see,” Jackie’s voice was neutral, but the look on her face was priceless.

 

“Hey, Lewis!” Ralph Balusik snarled at Russell in the hallways of Our Lady of Mercy, “your dad’s got a nice ass. We got a look at it in City Hall the other day.”

“Yeah,” Jason Lorry added. “Does it run in the family?”

He caressed Russell’s ass and laughed. Russell felt violated and weird.

“Ooh, yeah, honey it does,” Jason said, and Russell was sure that the pretty, dusky skinned half Indian boy who was always calling him a faggot was gay himself, even if he was unwilling to admit it.

“Um, the Lewis ass!” Ralph leered at him. “So, are you and your dad going to be posing for any other municipal artwork?”

“I’m surprised you can pronounce municipal,” Russell said coolly, closing his locker.

Ralph stuck a finger up his nose and was about to wipe a booger on Russell’s lapel when he stopped and said, “Woah!” for his hand was held back by a long brown one.

“Gilead, what’s up!” Ralph pleaded.

“Nicky, whaddo we do with this one?” Gilead Story, impeccably dressed, was speaking in a monotone to his friend as if to say he’d forgotten he was holding onto Ralph Balusik.

“Now, let him go,” started Jason Lorry.

“You back off, little man,” warned Nick Ballantine. Russell remembered him. The other boy was a senior, not much taller than Jason. He was a writer and popped up at Chayne’s house a lot, and Gilead was one of Chayne’s cousins.

“I remember you,” Nicky said to Russell, smiling. “I think, Gilead, that you should let him go and make sure he washes his hands.”

“Good idea,” said Gilead, then, turning pleasantly toward Ralph, “Can you do that, Balusik?”

Ralph nodded.

“I don’t know how many of you it takes to screw in a light bulb,” Gilead went on placidly, “but it surely only takes one of you to wash your hands? Eh?”

Gilead released Ralph, and shoved him in the direction of the washroom while Nicky headed down the hall, saying, “See you around, Lewis!”

A few seconds later Mark Young snuck up and said, “That was cool, Russell!”

“Huh?” Russell said, closing his locker and screwed shut his combination.

Like Gilead and Nick, Mark Young was a junior. He was a track runner with dark wavy hair and rolled cuffs whom Russell had believed, until this very moment, never knew he existed.

“Gilead’s really cool,” Mark said.

He added, “You are too, Lewis. Stay upright!”

The upper classman gave Russell a thumbs up and hooked smile, and then headed down the hall.

“Wow,” Jeremy looked at him in amazement.

“Yes?” Russell said, still surprised by the turn of the day.

“You’ve got friends in high places!”