Page 16

Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-The_Talent_Scout-by_Christine_Venzon.docx

“You act your age. You know what they say: Use it or lose it.” They paused, an amicable stalemate. “I’ll talk to Dexter,” Lucille said. “I been meaning to have a dinner since the weather turned. I want to meet this boy. I want to see what’s what.” She called back to say Dexter would be home the Saturday of the following week. Marti told Prosper. “If you can get to the gallery, I’ll drive us from there. And come hungry. Make Lucille happy, and she’ll work her charm offensive on Dexter.” She was eager to close the gallery that night, excited as she hadn’t been in years. After 18 months self-imposed exile, a lowvalue, anonymous study in beige, this felt like carmine and indigo and emerald green. Like winning a stakes race with a 20-1 longshot, like landing the interview everyone was after. Pulling off something like no one else — wasn’t that, somehow, the definition of a masterpiece? He arrived as she was tallying the day’s receipts, stepping out of a rumbling Escort two-door, wrestling his guitar case out the passenger side. Marti smiled at the burgundy jacket, dovegray chinos, and black alligator-print wingtips: He’d dressed. “Give me a minute to finish. We can stop at the bank on the way.” Marti counted the bills and coins, listening as Prosper wandered the showroom. She heard silence, then felt him standing at the register. “Tell me more about this picture.”


Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-The_Talent_Scout-by_Christine_Venzon.docx
To see the actual publication please follow the link above