ChapterOne
An excerptfrom the article “Exploring Lyssa: The Story of Josephine Wyeth,” written by Elise Sasini and featured in The San Francisco Light May 17th, 2048—
Vanessa Beornson is a woman not to be missed.
Even if you tried, you would be hard-pressed to ignore someone who holds herself with so much self-assurance. When Vanessa strides into the glossy dining room of the Palace Hotel, every eye turns toward her like the slow drag of heavy metal to a magnet. Even those who resist inevitably change their course.
She’s striking not only because she stands at a full six feet in height, and not because she has icy blonde hair shorn into a trendy cut over confident shoulders.
It is the way she looks at you that arrests attention: chin up, lips pursed, and eyes fixed on yours with unflinching bravado. Those eyes are something else all on their own. One is a blue so pale, it borders on white. The other is a deep green with a starburst of yellow around the pupil.
When she comes over to our table, I stand up to shake her hand. Her grip is firm, her skin soft, and when she cracks a smile, I notice that her nose is dusted with dark freckles. Up close, she appears disarmingly youthful.
I introduce myself, and in doing so, get the feeling that she is examining me as closely as I am examining her. We settle into our seats and, after ordering our drinks, I thank her for taking the time to meet with me.
Vanessa waves my gratitude away with one manicured hand. “Don’t worry about it. I always make time to talk about my parents.”
It’s understandable, considering their fame and the recent surge of interest in their story, but still, I argue, she must be enormously busy. Newly appointed to Head Curator of the Fairmont Museum of Art, San Francisco’s premier institution, Vanessa instantly made a name for herself by announcing the summer’s newest exhibit:Exploring Lyssa.
She waves her hand again. “Busy-shmisy. This sort of thing is half the job, and even if it wasn’t, getting the word out about Were issues is more important than my schedule. Paperwork can wait.”
(Editor’s note: The term Were derives from an archaic German word for “man” and was originally written as “wer”. Traditionally, it is a term that has not been capitalized, and many names for the Were community have been used all over the world, causing no small amount of confusion. Examples include wyr, wyrm, werwulf, and so on. Ms. Beornson requested that we capitalize Were, to solidify the identity of those discussed in the article, though her preferred term is the less commonly used “lyssian”.)
It isn’t a stretch to understand why those issues are personal for Vanessa. Not only is she a Were herself — the first to hold any position at the FMA, let alone Head Curator — but the exhibit she’s come to discuss with me is all about her mother, Josephine Wyeth.
Interviews are always unique. One approach does not apply to all people. However, I do normally try to ease into things, no matter my subject’s temperament. Usually there’s smalltalk. Sips of coffee. Maybe some light discussion about my work, their family, the weather, why the city hasn’t filled that pothole yet. No one likes an interrogation. An interview should be a directed conversation, one in which the subject should feel a level of trust that lends itself to vulnerability and the truths it exposes.
With Vanessa Beornson, however, I immediately sense that frankness is key.
She’s steely-eyed and harbors no apparent need for the easy comfort of smalltalk. When the words stop flowing, she is content to sit in silence, those striking eyes fixed on my face.
She is not a woman who suffers fools, nor flatterers. I like her immediately.
Instead of easing into the hard subjects, I only wait for our drinks to hit the table before I ask, “So, are those issues the reason you decided on theLyssaexhibit as your first?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she answers. The look she gives me is all eyebrows. “Everyone told me not to do it, you know. There’s a real stink aroundkicked puppyprojects, and people think it’s a bad look to make my first big exhibit something so personal, but I say fuck that. This is a story that belongs to everyone. This is my chance to tell it. If it’s the only one I’meverallowed to tell, then okay. No regrets.”
“Was this prompted by the news that Angelique Batacan filed for representation in Congress?”
“It has certainly proven to be good timing,” she answers, shrugging. “But no. I would have done it anyway. I’ve had the plans for this exhibit for twenty years. They didn’t want it in the Orclind because they don’t like facing their own ugly history. The EVP doesn’t seem to have that problem. The fact that the Merced pack made history the same week we announced it was— I mean, I’m not religious, but you could make an argument for fate there.”
“And how does your family feel about the exhibit?”
Vanessa takes a moment to sip from her martini. “My brother’s pissed. He doesn’t like being in the spotlight, you know, but I do think he understands why I feel like it has to be done. And so what if we’re in the spotlight, anyway?” She rolls her eyes. “He’s a mountain man. The only person who might recognize him out in the wild is a lost hiker or two. He’ll live.”
“And your parents? What did it take to convince them to put their story in front of the public eye like this? Up until recently, no one even knew your mother’s name.”
“My dad’s super protective of her, so he’s not— he’s not exactlypleasedabout it, but he’s also proud of her. He wants her to get the recognition and empathy she deserves. My mom’s spent her entire life more or less in hiding,” she answers. Her expression is suddenly fierce. “She shouldn’t have to anymore. She should be able to put her name on her paintings and feel proud of who she is,whatshe is.”
“And what is that?” I prompt.
Vanessa leans forward to tap one manicured nail on the table. “The very first Were.”
ChapterTwo
An excerptfrom the diaries of Josephine Wyeth generously provided by the Wyeth-Beornson family to the Fairmont Museum of Art:
October 10th, 1867-
