Audra found herself at one such building, comprised of renovated high-end lofts. At the entrance, an elderly male resident informed her that nobody lived there by the name of Sean but that a Judith Malloy did and, who knows, they just might be related. He kindly directed her to a nearby art gallery where at noon on a Wednesday the woman would be working.
Following his instructions, Audra turned left by the yoga club. Several blocks later she discovered a wide black awning sandwiched between a Zen store and gelato shop. An arc of white letters on the window read: The Attic.
She paused at the door, debating on how to present her mission. What if Judith wasn’t a relative but a bitter ex-wife? Any mention of the guy might earn Audra an earful of choice words.
A series of beeps blared from half a block down. A delivery truck was reversing direction. Audra fought an urge to follow suit. Jack’s school bus would drop him off at two forty. No time for delay.
She strode inside, where a waft of mint tea greeted her from an entry table. The recordings of an airy flute floated into the rafters. Burgundy carpet ran beneath moveable and permanent walls, all exhibiting original artwork.
“Now, remember,” said the lady at the counter, “when you go to unpack it, just slide the piece out from this side.” She handed the man a large rectangular box. “I hope your wife enjoys it.”
“I guarantee she’ll be thrilled.”
“You two have a great anniversary.”
“Thanks a lot, Judith.”
Sure enough, the elderly tenant had steered Audra right.
Thankfully, Judith appeared a little old to be Sean’s ex. Well into her sixties, she possessed an elegance befitting her classic look: fair skin, soft angles, and a short hairdo that few women, outside Audrey Hepburn, could pull off as well. Her sole modern touches were dangly copper earrings and a matching necklace, all with an African flair.
As the customer turned to leave, a FedEx gal rolled a hand trolley over to the counter. She requested a signature on an electronic device before discussing a delivery issue.
Judith glanced over at Audra. “I’ll be right with you.”
Audra smiled. Not wanting to hover, she busied herself by exploring the nearest collection. The multi-media creations were grouped on a wall. Iridescent jewels, dyed ribbons, and metallic paints composed surreal worlds of fays and fairies. Not childlike versions often printed on calendars and in picture books. These were sophisticated. Mysterious. Dark.
“I apologize for the wait.” Judith approached from the side. “My manager had a dental emergency this morning, leaving me a bit scrambled.”
“No problem,” Audra said, a split second before the initials on the art—JM—sank in. “You created these.” Spoken aloud, her tardy realization felt idiotic and, in front of the artist, partially insulting. Even more so when you were planning to request a favor. “What I meant was, these are really beautiful.”
“Well, thank you. I’m glad you like them.”
“I especially love how you ... made the wings.”
Judith groaned. “The bane of my existence. Half the time, those darn things make me want to quit altogether, switch to a more sane career. Like lion taming or alligator wrestling.”
Audra smiled as she surveyed the moonlit swarms. Their three-dimensional wings, delicate and veined, appeared crafted from rice paper.
“Besides, there’d be no point,” Judith sighed. “Eventually, I’d stumble across something that inspires me, and that obsession would pull me right back to my studio.” She flicked her paint-stained fingers behind her.
Audra’s gaze followed to the referenced spot, a room set back in the corner. In doing so, she scanned more works on display, easily viewed without the obstruction of patrons. Featured in various pieces were hummingbirds and dragonflies, lightning bugs and dandelion seeds, all of them objects of . . . flight.
The correlation was unnerving.
She swallowed before asking, “Have you always focused on flying?”
“Flying? Oh, as a theme,” Judith said. “For the most part, I have. I suppose I’ve been fascinated about it ever since I was little. But then, what child isn’t, right?”
Fascinated wasn’t the word that Audra would have chosen, but she nodded as Judith continued.
“I used to wonder about that, actually—why kids love it so much. I spent years trying to figure out why we’re drawn to things like kites and butterflies and rockets. Then there’s unicorns and dragons. Paper planes and balloons.”
Audra had never considered reasons for the universal attraction. She had to admit it was an interesting observation. “And? Why do you think that is?”