Portrait Of An Artist At The End of Her Rope

1975

Jackie rubbed at the tops of her nails in agitation. They were stained blue, permanantly it seemed. She gave up trying for perfection and pushed away from her easel.

"Mister Manna?" She asked her mail slot.
"I am." It answered back.

She unlocked her front door, allowing the harried man admittance to her studio.

He entered, carrying a small child with him.

"Is this Victoria?"

The small girl nodded, her eyes huge. Jackie smiled down at her, not unkindly. "Would you like some cookies?"

She considered this, then nodded affirmatively. Jackie parted from them, "Would you please make yourselves comfortable?"

Mr. Michael Manna didn't think that "comfortable" was the word for the cramped studio. He picked Victoria up and sat her on his knee in the cradle of the couch and it's cover.

"Lessons," She said, "Will be five dollars an hour, two hours, thrice a week. I know you can get someone for less in the art district, but I believe I'm worth the price you'll pay." She said directly, formally.

"Thrice?" He murmurred, unused to the word.

"If you can't afford it..." She started to say.

"No, no.." He opened his (thick, she noticed) leather wallet, emptying out a few fives in her hand, "You can take her now."

Jackie began to protest the retreat of this man from her studio, but he had lifted the latch and left her locked in with this little girl.

She gave her a sheepish grin, holding forth a smock for the girl, "Shall we begin?"



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