Local Lit

She transferred the flowers — a bouquet of orange gladiolas, bright yellow daffodils and purple irises — from the plain glass vase to a large blue ceramic vase with splotches of color painted on that looked like flowers blowing in the wind. The flowers improved the appearance of the vase, like putting furniture into a room improves the appearance of a room. Objects looked their best when used for their proper purposes, she mused.

The flowers brightened Rita Jane’s mood, especially the bouquet from her parents. Always in the back of her mind was the little voice that told her that her parents would have preferred her to be a lawyer, a diplomat or something more respectable and dependable than a painter.

Paul had gone all out for the big event, buying several cases of wine and preparing dozens of dishes with fancy finger foods like: Swedish meatballs in mushroom sauce and artichoke tofu spread. A crystal bowl filled with bright red strawberries stood next to a fondue pot bubbling with melting chocolate along with green and red grapes adorning a tray of assorted cheeses.

Esme had solicited donations for the auction from all of her many artist friends. Two long tables covered with a white lace tablecloth, a bequest from Grandma Jane, held various donations from other artists who had contributed to the cause of Emad’s defense. A potter had donated a set of earthenware dishes, bowls, and mugs brightly painted with abstract floral patterns. A bead artist had created several sets of necklaces and matching earrings. A photographer contributed a dozen shots of Washington at various times of the year, including several of the Capitol Building surrounded by magnificent pink cherry blossoms. Another sculptor had donated two small statues of heads — a man and a woman — with African features.

Rita Jane turned her attention to a last-minute inspection of her paintings. She walked around the room, taking in the images as if she were an observer and not the creator. She moved the corners of the frames up or down, trying to line them up evenly. She stopped in front of her favorite: a mottled gray background in which you could see a faint outline of the Capitol. Two squares were imposed on the foreground. One contained a barren tree branch and the other was empty.

At 5 o’clock, there was nothing left to do but wait. Rita Jane took a brisk walk around the block without her coat on, letting the cold air wake her. By the time she returned to Paul’s Place, Dan was there, holding a bunch of mixed flowers, the kind you could buy at the Metro stops for $3 a bunch. “I didn’t have time to go to a proper flower shop,” he said apologetically.

“They’re lovely,” Rita Jane said, adding them to her collection.

“Are you nervous?” Dan asked.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“It’ll be great. You’re stuff looks great,” Dan said reassuringly.

“Not about the show. About Claudia and my parents being in the same room together.”

“Oh, that. They’re both well mannered. It will be fine. Nobody’s going to cause a scene.”

“What gave you the idea that my father is well mannered?” she said. “Here, help me pick out some items to put into the silent auction.”

Rita Jane busied herself arranging the silent auction items and practiced her deep breathing exercises. As people began to arrive, her anxiety increased, and with each arrival she turned to see who it was. Punctual as always, her parents arrived just before 6. Her father wore the standard Washington outfit — a blue suit, white shirt and red tie — and her mother wore a blue linen pants suit with a white silk blouse. Rita Jane hugged them both. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course we’d come,” her mother said with a trace of irritation.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” her father agreed.

Soon after, Claudia arrived. Rita Jane prayed Claudia wouldn’t kiss her in front of her parents, and was relieved when she gave her a quick hug, the kind you’d give a good friend, instead of their usual slurpy kiss.

“Mom, Dad, this is Claudia. The one I’ve told you about,” Rita Jane said.

“Nice to meet you,” Leigh said politely, but not warmly. Before they had a chance to continue, Paul interrupted the crowd by clanging a glass with a knife.

“Thank you all for coming this evening. All the proceeds from this evening will go toward Emad Khadorny’s defense. Emad was charged back in October with providing material support to a terrorist group. Claudia Connors from the federal defender’s office was representing him until the government charged her with the same crime. Both of these charges are unfounded. They are an indication of the ridiculous lengths our government will go to make it look like it is doing something about terrorism.

“Because of the charge against her, Claudia was forced off the case. Presson and Dunn, who have taken the case pro bono, are now representing Emad but they need help paying expenses. So please, be generous. Bid early and often.”

Rita Jane anxiously awaited her turn to speak. Esme had insisted that she say something to the crowd since she had donated so many of her paintings to the cause. While she normally enjoyed speaking to a crowd, anxiety about her parents interacting with Claudia was distracting her. She decided to keep it simple. Short and sweet. People liked that.

“Thank you all for coming. The paintings on the walls are a series I am calling ‘The Color of Fear.’ I am trying to put into color and shape the mood in our country since September 11. I am donating all of the proceeds from tonight’s event to a public campaign to raise awareness about Emad’s case.”

Claudia clapped loudly, and the crowd joined in.

When she finished, Esme came and stood next to Rita Jane and lifted her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast to Rita Jane. She’s been working on these pieces for several months, and as you’ll see, they are quite exceptional. I’d also like to toast all the other artists who have donated work for tonight’s event.”

The din of the crowd made small talk impossible, which was just as well, as it would mean there was less chance that her parents and Claudia would actually speak to each other. Rita Jane walked around the room, craning to hear remarks about her work. No matter how many shows she had, each one felt like she was opening her soul, waiting for people to accept or reject it. She fought the urge to hide under a table or go outside and wait until it was over. She overheard snatches of conversation, “Nice,” and “Interesting,” which she always interpreted to mean the person couldn’t find anything truly complimentary to say about her work.

Dan handed her a plastic cup of red wine. After two sips she felt lightheaded and remembered that she hadn’t eaten all day. Emad’s wife Sarah, wearing a black veil and plain black dress, embraced her warmly and said, “Thank you so much for organizing this party. Your work is brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Rita Jane said. Brilliant was a word she liked.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, “Very nice, sweetheart,” Leigh said.

“Yes, congratulations,” her father said, making an effort to be warm.

“I’m Sarah Khadonry,” Sarah said warmly, extending her hand to first Leigh, then Dr. Spencer. “You must be so proud of your daughter. She’s so talented.”

“We think so,” Leigh agreed.

Rita Jane worried that her dad would make some comment about the case, but thankfully he did not. She was dying to know what Claudia thought, so she excused herself and walked over to where Claudia was looking intensely at a picture of a woman sitting on a porch swing. In the background was the image of a prison and a disembodied face staring out at the viewer. Rita Jane wondered if Claudia realized it was a picture of her.

Rita Jane stood like a statue holding her breath, waiting for Claudia’s reaction. Finally she couldn’t wait any longer and she said anxiously, “What do you think?”

Claudia turned around, “I’m overwhelmed. There are so many of them and they are all so different.”
Rita Jane smiled. “Do you recognize this one?”

“Is it me?” Claudia asked tentatively.

“Yes.”

“I like it. How much are you asking for it?”

“Eight hundred, but you don’t have to buy it. I’ll give it to you, or paint you another one.”

“Are you kidding? It’s a bargain,” Claudia said. “Plus it’s a good cause.”

Rita Jane walked Claudia over to the cashier. She was gratified to see that several of her paintings had already sold. The hard part was over. Even one sale was enough to reassure her. Selling several so soon was unusual. She attributed it to the fact that it was a fundraiser, but still, her work was selling.

Rita Jane watched her parents and Sarah walk over to where she and Claudia were standing together. As the various pieces of her life joined together, she hoped they would fit, although more likely her father would not want to be part of this puzzle.

Sarah grabbed Claudia and Rita Jane’s hands. “We are eternally grateful to these two women,” she said proudly. “The lawyer and the artist. What a team.”

“Indeed,” Leigh said looking suspiciously at Rita Jane. She knows, Rita Jane thought.

“Sarah’s been telling us about her husband’s case,” Martin said. “I didn’t realize how weak the charges were.”
“I told you, Daddy,” Rita Jane admonished him.

“I’d like to make a donation. How much is the sculpture over there?” He pointed to one of Esme’s sculptures, a birdbath in the form of a tree, its thick trunk and lush branches formed the basin.
“For you, a mere $10,000,” Esme joked.

“I’ll take it,” Dr. Martin said. Sarah burst into tears and threw her arms around the doctor’s neck. He flushed with embarrassment and quickly pulled away from the embrace. Claudia squeezed Rita Jane’s hand, furtively, but Rita Jane saw that her mother noticed.