Though Gustavo does not dare compare himself to Pablo Picasso, he often privately thinks of the great master and wonders how he would be influenced and inspired in Los Angeles in the twenty-first century. Would he become an expert with digital art and technical advances? Or would he perfect traditional skills and be impacted by the greed, income disparities, or modern lifestyles in southern California?
With Gustavo's hunched shoulders and hands in his pockets, any perceptive passer-by would notice that this man, this artist, is struggling and in pain.
If Picasso was fascinated by gender, power, war, and the boldest experimentation, Gustavo ponders how he would characterize his own career at twenty-six years of age. He understands it does not seem to resemble Picasso's at all. Gustavo's journey began with the glory of nature-finding and capturing magical imagery in the waves, waterfalls, mountains, and rivers of the Hawaiian Islands. Though not unique or trailblazing, his oil and acrylic paintings possessed a lyrical quality that garnered him attention, sales, and a fan base.
If the majesty of Hawaii was Gustavo's first period, or developmental phase, then his second period was the transition into mixed media portraits concentrating on the shapes and candid expressions of the human face. He personalized the portraiture with objects, broken or in original form, giving each piece depth with symbolism and a three dimensional quality. His artworks were a minor success, though many previous fans felt betrayed by his new direction. Private commissions and gallery sales afforded and enticed him with the opportunity to leave the islands and establish himself on the West Coast of mainland North America.
But now, after three years of creating and selling these portraits, Gustavo is aware he must advance his talents and expand his client base. The reasons extend beyond artistic clout and prestige. His dreams of using Los Angeles to springboard his career internationally have stalled. Sales are so poor he won't admit them to anyone. Not only is he tired of creating the portraiture, the art collectors, dealers, and benefactors are bored with his output too. Though he lives modestly, and privately, believing that an aura of mystery about an artist's life is especially beneficial, Gustavo is running out of money and his mettle is waning.
He reaches the studio, unlocks the entry, turns on the lights, and sighs, knowing soon he will no longer be able to afford it. Though nothing fancy and infused with a smoky scent, Gustavo was once convinced it would help propel him to fame and riches. The studio was originally a carport behind a Victorian residence just south of Hollywood Boulevard in the 1920s. In the decades that followed it adapted into an unattached, two car garage and then transitioned to a guest home, surviving the main residence that was demolished in the 1950s and replaced with a bungalow-style structure with stucco walls and a large porch. It also survived a fire in 2010 that ended its usage as a guest house. The owners, a couple who live in Long Beach, decided against having it torn down and replaced, perhaps for sentimental reasons, and have since rented it out for storage.
The only items Gustavo stores are his lights, equipment, art supplies, and dozens of canvases in various stages of completion. He tucks all of this away behind a faux wall, opting for a barren and large open space to embark on his creations.
Gustavo moves a plain wooden chair to the center of the space and stares at the empty walls.
"I need a miracle," he says aloud. "Please. Is a miracle lurking around in here? Why do you hide from me? Reveal yourself. Today. There is little time left."
Gustavo's eyes slip to the floor and his thoughts tumble into worries about bills, deadlines, and humiliation. Realizing he is astray, he perks up, arches his back, and returns his gaze to the walls. Throughout his career, Gustavo has imposed a strict discipline for his daily time in the studio. Every moment must be devoted to artistic creation, even if it means just sitting in the void and musing about ideas. If he fails to lift a paintbrush today, it will be the fourth consecutive day of complete futility.
"I am steering toward the edge of a cliff and doing nothing to save myself," he complains, cringing his face and hitting his fist against his thigh. "Nothing!"
5
Ferry
On the top deck of the ferry boat, the icy winds rumble against their bodies and faces. Aleksey and Zachary zip their jackets up to their necks and joke about how it could possibly be so chilly when there are no clouds or fog to hamper the sun rays.
"My head is freezing," Aleksey says.
"I bet it is," Zachary replies, reaching up and feeling the buzzed scalp of his bodyguard. "Your helmet of hair is gone."
"I was wondering when you would comment about it."
"Well, I was just waiting for you to bring it up."
"You hate it?" Aleksey asks.
"Wrong," Zachary answers. "It's a hot look for you. If I were you I would always keep it clipped close to your head like that."
Aleksey smiles and nods, grateful for Zachary's opinion, and changes the subject.
"Did those rusted old poles look any better at Nate's place?" Aleksey asks.
"Sure, they were tucked inside a bed of trees around a garden," Zachary chuckles. "He has a little nature preserve up there."
"That artist looked so smug. She never said a word to us. She did not try to explain it or anything."
"You might wear airs like that too if you just banked ten grand for selling a sculpture that may have-shall we say-a limited audience."
"Ten grand!" Aleksey stamps his foot and his eyes are wide. "For that heap of metal?"
"She is likely laughing so hard she is crying right now-banging her fists onto her floor and whatnot."
"Nate needs an intervention."
"Whoa! Who would dare attempt that? He is a big boy. He knows where his money is going."
"But ten thousand dollars?" Aleksey repeats. "That boggles the mind."
"I never asked Nate the cost," Zachary responds, "but think about it. It cost him a few grand just to line up the helicopter for us and the transport across the bay. For all I know the sculpture could have cost him twenty grand. Half that is the bare minimum I would expect."
At the end of the half hour ferry ride, they exit at Fisherman's Wharf, walk a few blocks west, then turn right and southward on Hyde Street. Aleksey follows Zachary as he ascends Russian Hill, passing Russian Hill Park and weaving around the apex on Chestnut and Larkin Streets. They return to Hyde Street and Zachary observes the long line of cars waiting to plummet down the world-famous zigzagging Lombard Street.
"What is your concern?" Zachary asks, noticing that Aleksey is preoccupied by something behind them.
"Two bike riders," Aleksey answers. "They were on the ferry with us and now they are roaming around this hill too."
"How far back?"
"A block."
"I don't see them."
"They keep popping up and disappearing, Zach."
"Are they watching us? Filming us?"
"They don't appear to be," Aleksey answers. "But that means nothing. I suggest we catch a shared ride and get out of here."
"Not yet," Zachary decides. "I want to circle these blocks again."
Zachary, with Aleksey a few paces behind him, roves south to Greenwich Street, studying the residential high-rise buildings surrounding George Sterling Park. Confident with Aleksey's skills and conscientiousness, Zachary never looks back and charges down a narrow flight of steps back onto Larkin Street.
"Do you know someone up here?" Aleksey asks.
"I really like this neighborhood," Zachary answers. "I have no intention of moving to northern California, but if I did, I may choose to live in one of these towers."
Aleksey spots the two bikers again back on Lombard Street. They are slight of build and wearing helmets and casual clothes. Aleksey sees no sign of weapons or secrecy about them, but he is a suspicious man and expects first-rate disguises. One of the men, who appears to be no older than twenty years of age, seems transfixed with Zachary. Aleksey's boss, with intense dark eyes, protruding ears, and a slightly crooked nose, is sexually desirable to strangers for reasons apart from classically handsome features. Zachary's appeal is based mostly on his ruggedness, confidence, and exceptional physique. Zachary has thick dark hair and a goatee, and his shirt does not cover the tattoos on his hands and hairy forearms.
The young biker, now gawking as they approach, smiles and alerts the biker beside him. Aleksey forces Zachary off the sidewalk, up the slope onto the park, and uses his phone to line up a shared ride. By the time they return to the base of the steps on Greenwich Street, the car is waiting for them. To ensure they are not followed, Aleksey has the driver take them east and through numerous small streets. Eventually, they scale Nob Hill, exit the car at the concrete steps in front of Grace Cathedral, and then disappear into the Gothic landmark. Aleksey is ready to take him to the hotel, but Zachary is captivated by the colorful stained glass windows, particularly the one visualizing the 1906 earthquake fires, and the serenity of the vault-like atmosphere.
People are coming in off the streets to pray, read about the cathedral's history, and walk in a trance-like state through the medieval labyrinth. All of the noise and bustle from the city streets has vanished. A frail, elderly woman bursts into joyous tears as she accompanies her adult children into the palatial Nave under 90-foot arched ceilings. A beaming young couple is getting married in an intimate side chapel named The Chapel of Grace. A woman holds the hands of her two daughters and guides them to a front row pew.