“Coffee table, matching side ones, and possibly a vase. Just debating on if I want to mix in some copper or manganese.”
“You can’t go wrong with either. Both will give it a pop of reddish brown, and, depending on other minerals present in the obsidian, we could end up with other hues. I take it you understand we can't always promise a perfectly even black surface?” Extracting elements from the melted glass proved more work than it was worth. Personally, I liked my obsidian to have swirls of color.
“That’s part of what will make them unique. I’ll be browsing your gallery of past work to see what I prefer.”
“Can’t wait to get started,” I stated with the fake brightness clients expected—but I didn’t feel. As if I cared what he liked. I should also add, I hated doing small talk.
“I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing. Have a good day.”
I rolled my eyes as Jameson left. I swear, when I had to fully take over, I’d hire someone to deal with the client aspect.
A beaming Tutu approached; it could only mean one thing.
“How much did you overcharge?” The richer the patron, the higher the bill.
“Enough to get the water cistern replaced.” Tutu rubbed his hands. “We’re going to need more obsidian than what you collected today, though. I’m going to put a call in to Kai and see if he’s in the mood to scavenge. In the meantime, get the kiln going and melt down what you grabbed today.”
“All of it? I thought the big piece might make an interesting sculpture.” I attempted to save it and failed.
“Throw it in, too. Sculptures take you too long, and they’re harder to sell.”
I bit my tongue rather than point out his hefty price tags caused the delay. In Tutu’s defense, while the sale might not happen quick, my grandfather did get what he wanted eventually. “You sure you want me melting it already? Akamu won’t have the furniture ready that quick.”
“Actually, he’s sitting on the perfect pieces. He had a client die after having already paid the commission. It’s been six months and it doesn’t look like any of the heirs are coming to collect.”
Meaning Tutu got the pieces at a discount and Akamu ended up increasing his profit.
“I’ll get the kiln going and toss in the pieces. Should be ready to start pouring sometime tomorrow.” Obsidian could be finicky in how quickly it melted. Sometimes it happened quick; other times, it could take a day or more. It depended on the type of volcanic glass and size of the pieces. Not to mention, specific special additives, a secret family recipe that was the key to our being able to melt, pour, and shape the natural rock.
“I’m going to grab us some loco moco and manapua from Mahi’s Bar to celebrate.”
While Tutu waddled off to fetch us his favorite dinner—mine too, actually, I did love manapua—I fired up the kiln and tossed in the obsidian chips I’d collected. I did find myself hesitating before throwing in the big football-sized rock, though. I could have totally made it into something unique, but Tutu was the boss, and I didn’t want to fight. Besides, there’d be other nice pieces to carve. New caches of obsidian were constantly being uncovered. Maybe I’d hit Kaimu Beach again sooner than later to see if I could find more.
While the kiln did its thing, the chimney, which didn’t extend fully through the ceiling because Tutu was too cheap to extend it, began heating up. The hangar would be stupidly hot by tomorrow, but I’d long ago gotten used to the elevated temperatures. I washed up, and by the time I finished, Tutu returned with our dinner. We enjoyed our meal in front of the television, watching a nature documentary. At ten, off to bed I went.
In the morning, after a quick breakfast of fruit and coffee, I headed into the hangar to check on the melting progress. The quartz viewing glass in the kiln let me see that while the little bits had turned to liquid, the big hunk remained mostly intact. Not surprising. Larger pieces always took longer. I should have broken it up to make it melt faster, but I’d hoped to get away with skipping it.
I left the kiln running, but before I could tackle anything else, the furniture arrived, delivered by Akamu himself. One hundred percent Tutu’s doing, and he used the opportunity to try and sell me on the carpenter.
“Not many men who can run a successful business,” grandfather murmured as Akamu strained to lift the first table from his truck.
“I agree. It’s surprising given all the varnish he sniffed over the years.”
Tutu’s lips pressed into a thin line. “A woman should have a strong man to care for her.”
“I’d add she probably should choose one who doesn’t look like he’ll drop dead of a heart attack,” I murmured as a huffing and sweating Akamu dropped his load and treaded back outside to get the next piece.
“You aren’t getting any younger.”
“Agreed. Maybe if you didn’t work me so hard I’d have time to date,” was my tart retort.
“All the more reason to find a man in the same industry. You can spend time together at work.”
Kill me now.
“I’m going to get started on Jameson’s stuff,” I muttered, stalking off.
Since I had enough liquid obsidian for one of the tops for the side tables, I turned on the torch that would keep the glass liquid and released the drain cover, allowing the molten glass to empty out. The bubbling fluid spread across the metal surface I’d prepared—one with the same dimensions as the table—and I had to quickly spread and smooth before it cooled too much. Then I rolled the cart holding it into our large cooling kiln that received heat from the furnace and allowed our bigger pieces to cool slowly so as to avoid thermal shock.
