Out
the oriel window of her studio on Telegraph Hill, the sun was setting on the Bay. The syllabus was workable. Caydance had begun studying the faded photographs imprinted on the accordion-folded Arches paper that protruded from the bookwork’s exterior. And thanks to Lucy, a check for $10,000 was headed her way. It was substantially more than the adjunct pay for the one class she was teaching this fall.
Temporarily, she had passed through -- or to be more precise avoided -- the invisible barriers in the wildly beautiful but unpredictably competitive art world. From the refrigerator, Caydance took a bottle of Mumm Napa Brut Rose champagne, recently acquired on a trip to the wine country.
Although her brother, whose tastes in champagne were more expensive, considered that the Brut Rose tasted like something people with old cars jacked-up in their driveways would drink, to Caydance, it tasted like the winery courtyard view to California vineyards and warm sun on the shoulders of her black leather jacket.
She poured a generous amount into the Waterford Lismore Toasting Flute, the one crystal glass that remained from the set of two that her mother had sent her for Christmas.