CHAPTER6
It had all started simply enough.
Several years back, Rafi introduced her to a Santa Monica arts group. There were over a dozen such collectives in her hometown. Hundreds more scattered through greater Los Angeles. But this one was a rarity.
These artists were also successful in some aspect of the film world—graphic arts, storyboarding, CGI formatting, PR design, photography. The reason they gravitated here was the group’s rules, which were both strict and rigidly enforced. All conversation was limited to painting. Any mention of the outside world, any pitching of a story, any discussion of a project, any photograph, anything of the sort, and they were barred from the group for life.
The members soon grew accustomed to Kari’s reserve. She wasn’t the only one who preferred silence to casual conversation. The group contained a number of stars, top directors, senior film executives, and producers. Such people craved time away from the constant chatter and pressure. Successful film people were constantly inundated with tasks and requests—scripts to be read, projects to review, financial packages that needed a name to reach completion, photographs to consider, stories to mull over. The barrage was as constant as rain. Having a place where they could remove themselves from the spotlight, dress down in a floppy hat and oversized glasses, shield themselves behind easels, become part of a group who respected privacy, who shared their passion for interpreting the world with colors and brushes, was priceless.
Monthly dues were steep, and almost everything was spent on travel and teachers. Rafi probably had a word with the art group’s director, for any time they brought in a member of the dark-edged artistic elite, Kari was alerted and granted a chance to retreat. Either she did not attend at all or she attached a sheet to the top of her easel, which she would flip over her canvas every time the visiting instructor came within range.
Some in the group knew of her success. They treated her with the same delicate respect they showed the stars. Kari made a few cautious friends, attended a few parties, even went out on dates. She had always enjoyed the company of men, so long as there was no connection to what she called the film world’s snatch-and-grab attitude. But her more intimate relationships ended badly. Her first journey to Miramar came after one such breakup. She was astonished at how intense the pain was, how physically ill she felt over a lost love. She signed on to the overnight trip to Miramar in an act of desperation, hoping to flee her misery, at least for a weekend.
Instead, she found a haven. A place she had never dreamed might exist. A world that she desperately wanted to claim for her own.
That first afternoon, Kari declined an invitation to dine with the class and spent hours walking the town’s heart. Almost hoping the intense draw she felt would fade. If it didn’t right away, this would give her an excuse to stay a few more days on her own. Then she would put it down to a pleasant interlude and travel back by train, her happy memories stowed away, glad to have found a place she might visit from time to time, nothing more.
Ha.
She proceeded down to the shore, strolled along the beachfront path, went back up the main street. It was when she stopped for coffee and a sandwich that she finally admitted defeat.
Every step, everyminute, the sense of belonging grew stronger still.
The next stage came together with astonishing ease. Rafi and Graham took childlike delight in shopping for houses. This process became a vital means of calming her internal waters, for it was in this same period that Kari accepted Indrid’s counsel and agreed to participate in the gallery event. Throw her coveted anonymity aside. Reveal herself to the world.
The idea of a home that might become her secret haven became increasingly important. The online inspection of homes in and around Miramar took on a special flavor. She was doing this. She was doing thisnow.
The home she selected was a case of love at first glance.
The old farmhouse sat at the end of a meandering valley lane. It had been stripped down to a weather-beaten shell and then resurrected as a two-bedroom haven. Old walls had been stripped out, as well as the original ceiling. The result was a series of large, interconnected spaces forming the kitchen, dining room, and living area. A new garage was tucked around to one side. Behind it was a miniature replica of the house itself, intended as a guest cottage. And beside that...
Her studio.
The barnlike structure had been plucked from her most secret dreams.
The weathered exterior gave way to a huge internal space, full of light from tall windows on every side, plus a massive skylight, all of which were shielded by electronic blinds. A small bath was tucked in one corner. The video presentation suggested it as either a sound studio, a viewing room, or a gym. Kari knew otherwise.
She bought it the next day.
* * *
Kari left her motel room as dawn etched silhouettes from the quiet city. She checked out and poured a coffee from the lobby urn. She had no interest in waiting for breakfast. She was far too nervous to eat. Kari dwelled in some nether region, the borderlands where fear and excitement and dread and joy all met. She settled Sienna’s wicker basket in the passenger seat and started off.
As Kari drove along the silent street, she decided the moment and her emotions were all too potent a mix. She was filled with the urge to use these impressions in a new work. A block past Rafi and Graham’s gallery, she pulled into a parking space and rose from the car. The electric stabs of fear that had jolted her during the night were gone now. Standing there in the breathless quiet, Kari felt it all gradually come together.
This was why she was leaving her safe little niche in other people’s world. So she could have moments like this. Making a slow circuit of Cañon Drive, using her phone to photograph the gray city’s silhouette, mentally sketching the artwork to come.
The Beverly Hills street would be a mere shadow image. By contrast, the people would possess a brilliant clarity. A child. No, two children holding hands. A couple walking behind them, also linked. A family so full of happiness and love, they positively shone in primary colors. While the world of shops and cars and wealth, the things other people treated as important, asreal, was reduced to a vague predawn silhouette. Just like now.
When the new image was firmly fixed in her mind, Kari settled back behind the wheel and started the motor. As she pulled from the curb, Sienna emerged from her basket. The sleepy kitten padded across the central console, settled into Kari’s lap, and purred.
Kari joined the freeway and headed north.
Kari had driven the LA freeway system only a few times and never by herself. Her intention was to make it past Ventura before the early rush-hour speeders began their morning commutes. Her only scary moment came after she passed the Getty and started down that steep, steep slope, with two semis and a concrete mixer for company. Her car was nearly new, a Mercedes GLB. She liked the high-up driving position almost as much as the car’s color, a metallic periwinkle blue.
Past Thousand Oaks, another climb and descent, then Ventura’s multiple exits, and the freeway merged with the coastal road for a long narrow stretch, with cliffs to the east and the Pacific glistening off to her left. She stopped at a Starbucks in Santa Barbara for coffee and a pastry, almost giddy with the sense of adventure just beyond the freeway’s next bend.
She had often come up here with her art group and considered Santa Barbara a border territory. Walking the streets, observing the region from behind the safety of her easel, she had recognized any number of people from her father’s realm. Santa Barbara was home to many successful denizens of the film world, stars and directors and producers powerful enough to have others come to them. But she was safe here. Such people had not taken much notice of her when she had attended parties and festivals at her father’s or brother’s insistence. They were blind to her now.
