Please come and support your local Dogpatch artists.
One night only.
The gallery address followed.
The Dogpatch neighborhood had once been a very busy shipbuilding hub and signs of its heyday could still be seen just about everywhere. No ships were built around the Dogpatch anymore, but its dockside area had retained its old industrial vibe, with large warehouses and hangers, most of which had been transformed into art galleries, alternative shops, nightlife hangouts and very affordable residential lofts. The apartment that Mary lived in was in one of those lofts, and the art gallery that was putting up the indie exhibition was at the opposite end of the dockside – at least a twenty-five minute walk from her place… twenty if she pushed it.
Mary checked her watch for the third time – 7:47 p.m.
She had promised Betsy that she’d be there.
Since arriving in San Francisco, Mary had barely deviated from her plans – no splashing out on anything and keeping herself to herself – just as she’d done in Nashville, and the Golden Gate Cityhad proved to be a paradise in disguise for those who wanted to keep themselves to themselves.
The city was like a clash of parallel universes, capable of being hectic and relaxing at the same time. It could be A-list elite and tremendously expensive at one end, or mega alternative and dirt-cheap at the other. There was so much to see and do that if Mary wanted to, she could go out every night for a couple of years and never visit the same place twice. The choices seemed to be almost infinite because San Francisco truly was a city that catered to everyone, no matter the style, no matter the taste, no matter the budget. Compared to the Deep South, San Francisco was a culture shock.
Despite all the choices, there was a place that Mary had been to more than once – Jolt N Bolt – a bakery and coffee shop that had the most amazing tarts in all of Dogpatch… maybe even in all of San Francisco… and it was just around the corner from her apartment.
Betsy was a very sweet, Goth-looking, twenty-four-year-old girl, who worked at Jolt N Bolt, usually at the till. Mary had never really spoken to her before, other than to place an order, until about a month ago. That afternoon, Mary had ordered a slice of her favorite tart – chocolate raspberry marquise – together with a regular cappuccino, but instead of having it all to go, as she usually did, Mary took a table by the window and simply sat there, people-watching for a while. She finished her tart and ordered a second cappuccino. Betsy was the one who brought it over to her table.
‘Hi,’ the Goth-looking girl said in a shy voice. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I… drew you.’ She placed the cappuccino down on the table in front of Mary, who looked up at her a little confused.
‘You drew me?’ She shook her head. ‘What do you m—’ Her eyes moved to the cappuccino cup on the table and she paused, her mouth dropping half open.
Using just milk, poured from a beaked jug, and chocolate dust, the girl had drawn Mary’s face onto the cappuccino’s surface, and it looked uncanny.
‘Oh my god!’ Mary’s eyes bounced between the girl and the cappuccino. ‘This is… incredible.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ The girl gave Mary a timid smile. ‘I’m so glad you like it.’ She turned to walk back to the counter, but Mary paused her.
‘Seriously. I’ve seen a lot of cappuccino art all over the place. I guess it’s a thing nowadays, but nothing like this… with this much detail. You’re very talented.’
‘Aww, thank you so much,’ the girl said again, averting Mary’s eyes. It was clear that she wasn’t used to dealing with compliments. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘Are you an artist?’ Mary pushed. ‘I mean… do you also draw on paper… paint on canvas… anything? Please tell me that cappuccino drawing isn’t all that you use your talent for.’
The girl finally met Mary’s eyes. ‘Well… I’m trying… to be an artist, I mean. I’ve been drawing since I was a young girl, and yeah, I do both – draw on paper and I also paint on canvas – I love it. It’s… what makes me happy.’
‘And we’ve got to do what makes us happy, right?’
The girl nodded, her stare, once again, running away from Mary’s. ‘I guess so… like I said… I’m trying.’
This time, Mary picked up a terribly sad undertone to the Goth girl’s words and movements. ‘I’d love to see your work,’ she said. ‘Do you have any of it here… or any photos or anything?’
The girl’s smile was coy, but genuine. ‘I do have a few photos on my phone. Would you really like to see them?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Betsy, we’ve got customers, girl,’ someone called from behind the counter in a tone that sounded a lot angrier than the moment warranted.
Betsy’s eyes blinked nervously a couple of times. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said to Mary.
Mary’s gaze scooted over to the counter. Standing behind it was a bald man of average height, with a really unflattering nose. His stare could’ve burned a hole at the back of Betsy’s head.
‘It’s alright,’ Mary replied. ‘I’ll be sitting here for a while. I’m Mary, by the way.’ She offered her hand.
‘Betsy.’ She shook it. ‘It’s really nice to meet you.’
In the days and weeks that followed, Mary and Betsy struck up a somewhat cordial friendship. Every time Mary went back to Jolt N Bolt, they would talk for a while.
