Seventh Son: An Anthony Carrick Mystery, #7

By Jason Blacker

Anthony Carrick's demons are starting to haunt him. With the urging of his love, Dr. Emily Stratham, he's gone to see a psychiatrist.

Now the psychiatrist wants Anthony's help in investigating the disappearance of the psychiatrist's childhood friend.

In Corpus Christi, this friend, Phil Guston, who was a semi-pro surfer, has everything to seemingly live for. But a beautiful wife, a clutch of surf shops he's opened with another childhood friend seem to paint a bucolic picture.

Digging deeper, Anthony learns that Phil's father went missing and is presumed dead at the age that Phil has gone missing.

And then there's some old sordid Guston family business from up in Connecticut that seems to run generations deep. Could that have something to do with Phil's disappearance. And more importantly, has Phil just disappeared or is he actually, dead!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Blacker
• Release date: Mar 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781927623787

Jason Blacker

Jason Blacker was born in Cape Town but spent most of his first 18 years in Johannesburg. When not grinding his fingers down to stubs at the keyboard he enjoys drinking tea, calisthenics and running. Currently he lives in Canada.  Under his own name he writes hard boiled as well as cozy mysteries, action adventure, thrillers, literary fiction and anything else that tickles his muse. Jason Blacker also writes poetry and daily haikus at his haiku blog.  You can find his haikus and other poetry at his website www.haiqueue.com.  For FREE books and to stay up to date and learn about new releases be sure to visit www.jasonblacker.com where you can find more information about his writing and upcoming projects.  If you enjoy space opera in the tradition of Star Trek then take a look at Jason Blacker’s pen name “Sylynt Storme”. It is under the name Sylynt Storme where you can find both sci-fi and vampire fiction written by Jason Blacker.  “Star Sails” is the space opera series and “The Misgivings of the Vampire Lucius Lafayette” is his vampire series.

Book preview

The Dude Abides

Iwaited alone in the reception room. Well, I suppose that’s not entirely accurate. The receptionist was with me. Her name was Aire. That’s air but with an e on the end. That’s what she told me. She was friendly and she was young. I wouldn’t have put her beyond thirty. Maybe a few years before. Aire Ainley, she said. I asked if she was related to the good doctor. She was. She said she was his wife.

Aire was a beautiful woman. Average height, slim, with long chestnut brown hair and green eyes. Particularly enchanting eyes. I wasn’t flirting with her and she wasn’t with me. I had arrived about ten minutes early. That’s what was asked of me. Aire had given me some forms to fill out. Standard forms that asked all about my medical history and medications I was on. Luckily I wasn’t on any. I’d just learned that JR’s doctor wanted to have him put on blood pressure pills. Stress of the job I guess. Or maybe the red meat. Maybe that’s why he’d been eating more chicken salads lately rather than rare steaks.

These forms also asked about my mental health. Was I suicidal, depressed? Stuff along those lines. Just because life was shit doesn’t mean that I was depressed. I mean, just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean people aren’t out to get you. I didn’t feel depressed. Life sucked most of the time but that’s because it was full of assholes, not because I was depressed.

There was another section where they asked me why the hell I was here. Well, they didn’t say hell. I was tempted to put down, because my girlfriend made me. But I didn’t. I wrote, trouble sleeping.

I handed back the forms to Aire. She asked me to have a seat and asked me if I wanted anything.

I’ll take a whiskey and a cigarette if you’re offering, I said.

She laughed at that. I wasn’t joking.

I don’t have either of those, but I do have coffee, tea, juice and pop, she said.

I’ll take a coffee.

I went and sat down. A few moments later she brought me a mug of coffee on a small plastic tray that was embossed with Captain Picard doing a facepalm. Above his head were some words, No Coffee, and underneath it had, Think Of The Tea. I smiled at that.

If you take tea we bring a different tray, said Aire.

What does it say? I asked, filling the mug with cream and sugar.

It’s of Captain Janeway and she’s got her hands up in exasperation. Above her it says, ‘No Tea’, and below her, ‘It’s Coffee For Me’. Most people like it if you know a bit about Star Trek.

I smiled and nodded and thanked her for the coffee. She grinned at me and left. She was a real ray of sunshine. I mean that sincerely. She had a sunny disposition, but then wouldn’t you want that if you were serving in the front lines of a psychiatrist’s office?

The mug I got was a white mug with a square picture on it. It was from the Big Lebowski. The Dude was holding a glass of White Russian, or at least that’s what it looked like. Could’ve been a glass of milk or cream. The important part was the caption underneath, Hey, careful, man, there’s a beverage here!.

All of these little kitschy objects I’ve pointed out so far should give you an idea of the place. It was hard to describe, and I’d only been into the reception area. For example, there was a large surfboard in one corner that I’d noticed, signed by Laird Hamilton. I knew of the name, but I wasn’t a surfer. There was also a large print just over my head, above the seventies-style couch I was sitting on, of the Buddha sitting in the lotus position with each of his chakras almost pulsating in a different color.

I’d forgotten to mention Aire’s attire. She was dressed exactly like you’d imagine a young female flower child from the sixties dressing. She didn’t have any flowers in her hair, but she wore a long flowing dress that was striped in a variety of colors. On her feet were sandals, and her makeup was minimal. The overall design feel to the place was best summed up as Neo-Classical-Eastern-Mystical-New-Age-Mythology-Morphology. I just made that up and I have no idea what it means. But it gives you an idea of the place. It was a little too granola for me, but I was doing this for M. At least the music was good. They were playing The Emancipation Procrastination. A jazz album that was currently getting good airplay on KJazz. It was by Christian Scott. That’s not his full name. That’s just the part of his name I could remember and what he often went by.

There were other posters showing beaches and guys surfing. Only guys, none of the posters showed women surfing. One of them looked like Laird. It was a close up of a guy in a tunnel of crashing waves. There were some posters with motivational sayings as well. Things like, The struggle you’re experiencing today is only developing the strength you’ll need tomorrow. Don’t give up. And, Fall down seven times, get up eight.

There was also a child’s play area in one corner of the room. There were bins filled with toys for boys and girls. Dolls, Legos, cars, books, puzzles and bears. Lots of bears. Aire was typing away at her computer. I looked to be in a locked room. Not in a creepy sense, I just couldn’t figure out where the doctor was. There were a couple of doors in here. Three actually. Through one I had entered into this room. Through another was where Aire had disappeared to get me coffee. The last one was to my right. That was probably the doctor’s office. Only I couldn’t hear anything. That must have been soundproofed.

As if in answer to my queries, I heard a door open and close beyond that door I was just speaking about. Around that time I heard a couple of muffled voices. Aire looked up at me.

Lloyd should be here any minute.

I nodded and smiled. A few moments later he entered through the door beyond which I’d heard another door. It was like a puzzle. I stood up. He came over to me and we shook hands.

You're Darn Tootin'!

Dr . Lloyd Ainley was of average height and looked like a surfer more than anything else. He had an easy manner and a soft voice. His grip was firm and his hands were smooth. He wore loose off-cream pants with a shirt that was similar to his wife’s dress. He had thongs on his feet and around his neck was a necklace of blue stones. On his left wrist he wore a variety of colorful, braided bracelets. He wore yellow-tinted aviator glasses. He was a handsome man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. M believed him to be more likely in his mid-forties. He had a goatee that was more stubble than anything and his hair was of a similar color to his wife’s but with what I assumed were naturally sun-bleached highlights. His hair flowed straight and down the sides of his face to shoulder length. He was tanned, but it hadn’t yet leathered up his face.

Anthony, he said, I’m so happy you came. Please follow me.

His enthusiasm seemed genuine. He put you at ease. I felt like a long lost friend he was just now catching up with. I followed him down a hallway, past the door I’m assuming was the one opened and closed I’d heard earlier. At the end of the hallway was another door. We entered that one into his office. He turned to me.

Please take a seat wherever you’d like, he said.

On this side of his desk were two large comfortable recliners. There was also a couch. In the middle of all this was a large wooden coffee table. I took a recliner and put my coffee down on the coffee table. Dr. Ainley took the other recliner.

The Dude abides, he said, nodding at my coffee mug.

What does that even mean? I asked.

Dr. Ainley looked at me and he nodded.

That’s a good question, Anthony. What does it mean? For me, in the context of that movie, I think it’s an optimistic chant, if you will, that suggests that he always survives. He lives on, and he adapts and accepts. Especially considering everything he went through. But honestly, it’s just a bit of fun. I’ve tried to make the environment here light and happy. Carefree, if you will.

I nodded. I looked around the room. It was dark. There were only two lamps on and the blinds had been closed. More than that, they seemed to be of the blackout variety. Soft trickling jazz piano was on a small radio on his desk which was wooden and tidy. There were only a few things on it, including a laptop and a pad of paper and a holder of pens and pencils. The wood looked like it might have been reclaimed from a long time laying on the beach. It looked rustic, rough and personable. There was something about the wood that made my difficulties seem less heavy. You could almost hear the wood sighing under the weight of its washed up life.

Above the couch were his certificates. He was a bonafide psychiatrist with his MD from Baylor College of Medicine. He picked up another mug that was on the coffee table and took a sip. This one had a picture of William Macy on it. The caption underneath was You’re darn tootin’!. I think that was from the movie Fargo.

You like the Coen brothers’ films, I said.

Dr. Ainley nodded.

You’re very observant, he said.

It’s important in my line of work, I offered.

Do you want to talk about work now? he asked.

I shook my head. I looked around some more. In a big wooden box on the side of the couch, further away from the entrance, were children’s toys and bears. A large bookshelf was behind him, against the wall that the door was attached to. It was wooden and stuffed with books. I could see most of them. None of them were about mental health or psychiatry. Mostly they were novels in a whole variety of genres. From action-adventure to zombies. Romance to thrillers. There were also some about surfing, hiking, the earth, natural wonders and so on. A collection of children’s books took up the first three shelves. Ages 2 to adult. I mean, the fiction books were for adults.

I couldn’t believe this was one person’s collection of books. I was impressed by the lack of work books. This office was very cozy. Across the top of the couch was a soft patchwork knitted blanket, the likes of which your grandma might have knitted for you. There was a smaller and similar one across the chair behind his desk. Also on his desk was a Lego set, built, of a surfing scene. On the opposite side, sitting on the edge of his desk and facing us were The Avengers. Not the real figures of course, the action figures. In order it was Spider-Man, Thor, Iron Man, the Hulk, Wolverine and then Captain America.

You can’t really tell me that all those books are yours, I said, nodding at the bookshelf behind him.

Dr. Ainley looked behind him, then he looked back at me.

No, though I bet I’ve read more than half of them. The romance titles and the science fiction are mostly my wife’s. I’ve read some of them. From both genres, he said, grinning, but I prefer mostly mysteries and thrillers. The kid’s books are mostly for patients, and I’ve read all of them. Just to make sure the topics are useful and helpful.

I nodded.

No books on psychiatry or mental health, I said.

You are very observant, he said. Those books, if I need them, are in another bookshelf we have in the kitchen.

I looked over at the coffee table. It had books too. Puzzle and coloring books for both children and adults. There was also a large coffee table book titled The Universe and Us. Underneath that was the subtitle From here to thar is very far!

It’s an all-ages entertaining look at the universe and our place in it.

This place is a smorgasbord of design choices, I said.

Dr. Ainley smiled at me.

It’s done purposefully, he said. It helps put patients at ease and it also helps them project onto me, a personality, if you will, that they feel comfortable with.

So you’re starting off deceiving your patients,I said.

Dr. Ainley smiled at me again. It seems that nothing I said would likely rile him up. Not that I was here to test that.

I don’t believe that’s true, he said. I’m not lying to them. I am honest. I have to be. And in spite of this grab-bag of design choices, it does all represent me. Do you think I’m being deceitful, Anthony? he asked.

Hard to say, Doctor, right at the moment. I just met you.

Feel free to call me Lloyd, if you’d prefer. So, Anthony, who do you see me as?

I looked at him. I looked around the room. I caught Spidey’s eye. Then I turned back to Lloyd.

I see you as you are. As you’ve said. I think you’re a surfer who likes helping people and who is happy in many different types of environments.

On the corner of the coffee table, just behind me and to my left, was a wooden box. The box contained a variety of different worry beads.

That is who I am. Almost went pro as a surfer in my college days, but then I broke my ankle on a bad tumble and decided to focus on medicine.

Was that because the healing took too long or because it hampered your skills? I asked.

Neither. My ankle healed really well. I still maintained my rankings, but having endured modern medicine, and I say endured specifically, I decided that medicine was a better calling.

What do you mean by endured?

Most doctors have awful bedside manners. I saw a huge gap for offering sympathetic and empathetic medicine.

But then you got into psychiatry, I said, instead of fixing bones.

Well, I never wanted to be an orthopedic surgeon. In those days I wasn’t sure what I wanted to specialize in. But over time I came to the conclusion that medicine is good with emergencies like broken bones and cuts and things of that nature. But when it comes to long term health and homeostasis I found it to be wanting. That’s what moved me towards psychiatry. I believe there is a very direct relationship between mental health and physical health and vice versa.

And that was the end of surfing.

He shook his head.

No, not really. It was the end of my pro career, but even still I surf two or three times a week. You have to remember that back in those days, this is the eighties and nineties, there wasn’t the same kind of money in it as there is now. You could make a living, but you’d have to be pretty smart with the money in order to have a retirement. It’s a short career. For example, nobody has won the World Surf League Championship aged forty or older.

How old are you?

Forty-seven. The oldest guy to win the WSL Championship was Kelly Slater when he was thirty-nine. That was in twenty-eleven, and he’s arguably the best surfer ever.

Through the Churn

And you, do you surf? he asked me.

I shook my head.

That’s right, you’re not from around here, are you?

Not originally. I’m from Oklahoma. Stillwater, Oklahoma. That’s about an hour north of Oklahoma City and about an hour west of Tulsa.

I’ve never had the opportunity to visit Oklahoma, he said.

I wouldn’t bother. I like the state, hell, the town of Stillwater ain’t bad, I guess it’s the people that spoil it for you.

Like who?

Like my father. My mother and I left in eighty-three and came out here. I started junior high out here.

Do you want to talk about that experience?

I shook my head. I was being difficult. It was on purpose and it also wasn’t. The only time I’d seen a shrink was shortly after we’d arrived here in LA. My mother thought it might be good for me to talk about my childhood. Maybe it helped. Maybe it didn’t. What I do know is that I hadn’t thought about it until now.

How did you and Aire meet? I asked, deftly deflecting the conversation from me.

She’s a surfer too. We met down at the beach. Even now, twenty years past my prime, many surfers still know who I am. We’ve been married now three years.

She looks about twenty years younger than you, I said.

Not quite, he said, smiling. She’s fourteen years younger than me. Thirty three. Are you married, Anthony?

I shook my head again.

You ever did any sports? You look fairly athletic.

I boxed. Could have turned pro, but like you I decided against it. I won the Middleweight AIBA World Boxing Championship in Houston in ninety-nine.

AIBA?

That’s the Amateur International Boxing Association, though that’s not what it stands for. The initials are for the original French. Same thing though, it’s for the amateurs and not the pros.

Very impressive, he said.

Where did you get your blankets? I asked, nodding at the blanket on the couch.

From a lady online. Like I said, I’m trying to make this a welcoming experience for everyone.

You have children as clients? I asked.

Lloyd nodded.

I do. They’re oftentimes the easiest to talk to.

And sometimes with the most heartbreaking stories. You ever had to call in child services or the police?

Three times the DFCS and police have been called.

What for?

Sexual and physical abuse.

I nodded.

A couple of cases back I was dealing with that.

That’s what I understand from what Emily told me.

What exactly did she tell you? My voice was sharp as cut lemons.

I assumed you knew. She only told me that you would be calling and that you’ve been having difficulty sleeping ever since you got back from New York on a difficult case that involved child abuse.

The child abuse was just a secondary shit show to why I was really there.

Would you like to talk about it now?

No. But I would like to know how you know so much about me.

I don’t know much about you, other than what you’ve shared so far and what Emily told me. I apologize if she wasn’t supposed to tell me anything. But we’re old colleagues, and I’d like to think friends.

That’s all she told you?

He nodded.

I knew she was going to speak to you. I just don’t like to be in the dark. You know a lot about me and I know very little about you.

I must protest. I don’t think I know a lot about you, Anthony. In fact, I think you probably know more about me than I do about you.

How do you know Emily?

I’ve consulted on many child cases for the state and the county, he said. Sadly, too many of them have involved the death of children. That’s how we’ve met. Must be fifteen years now.

You know where I’m from, and I don’t know where you’re from, I said, starting to sound like I was being a little dickish. The truth is, I didn’t feel like talking about the shit I was supposed to be talking about.

You’ve probably seen my medical diploma on the wall over there, he said, nodding at it on the wall. I nodded. Got my MD in Houston. I was born and raised in Corpus Christi. That’s where I learned to surf. How did you and Emily meet?

Same way you met her, I suppose. I’d seen her around on a variety of cases I’d worked on in homicide. I took a real shine to her when dealing with a case about a Hollywood producer who got bludgeoned to death by his own Oscar.

I think I remember that case. The wife did it right?

I nodded.

Were you on the job at one point?

I nodded.

Ten years. Three on the beat, seven in homicide. Cleared two hundred and thirty-one of two hundred and thirty-one cases I was given.

That sounds like a lot of pressure to perform.

I just like to catch the bad guys, as corny as it sounds.

Not corny at all.

I didn’t say anything for a while. I was feeling a little fidgety. I eyed the box of worry beads. Lloyd noticed. He reached for the box and offered it to me.

These are Greek worry beads. No religious connotation. They just help some people to relax. It gives them something to do. Why don’t you try.

I took a smokey gray-blue bracelet of beads.

How are you supposed to use it?

However you want. In Greek they’re called komboloi. I’ve been told that loosely translates to knot and to say. Generally meaning that with each knot you say a prayer or a meditation. But they’re usually not used religiously as I said earlier.

He took out a bracelet of beads. They were smokey gray.

Worry beads, you’ll notice have a tassel at the end. Then there's the head bead behind a shield. Both of those elements are not supposed to move.

He pointed these out to me.

Generally, they’re about two palm widths in length.

I measured mine across my palms. They were.

If you count the beads, and they’re proper Greek worry beads, there should be an odd number of beads and oftentimes they’ll be a prime number.

He counted his beads. I counted mine.

I have seventeen. That’s an odd number and a prime number, he said.

He looked up at me.

How many beads do you have?

Nineteen.

Lloyd nodded his head.

Odd as well as being a prime number.

Why is that? I asked.

I don’t know. Maybe over time that became the industry standard. There are two main ways of using the beads. A quiet way and a loud way. I’ll show you the loud way first.

I watched him take the worry beads and hold some of them in his palm while lacing the free thread between his fingers. Then he flicked the free beads up and over the top of his hand so they came to click against the free bead he had just above his thumb. Hard to explain how it looks, but once I got the hang of it, it wasn’t all that hard.

Kind of like doing a reverse yoyo roll, I said.

Yeah, sort of like that. The quiet way is easier, and of course quieter.

This way was fairly easy. You walked your thumb and index finger from the shield along the thread until you reached a bead. Then you slipped the bead behind your thumb and tipped the cord up until the bead settled against the shield. You continued that until you’d moved all beads from one end to the other. Rinse and repeat.

Do you find it calming?

I shrugged.

It’s interesting. It helps me keep my hands busy, which, as an ex-smoker is helpful.

I’ve had a lot of patients tell me they use them for that. I’ll often use them in guided meditations. I recommend them for that purpose too. Do you meditate?

I nodded.

Good then you should try it out with your meditation practice. See if you like it.

I nodded again, pushing beads around leisurely and with what I thought was a lot of finesse.

What else would you like to know?

I see you’re not writing anything down.

I suppose this would be a good time to fill you in on how my practice works. I like to let the patient lead. Depending on the age. With children it’s different, you have to help guide them with questions. I’ll do that with you, but if you don’t want to talk about anything difficult we can talk about the weather and the surf. Your privacy and trust are crucially important to me. That’s why I don’t take notes. Or rather, I take as little as is required, and usually that’s very little.

What about the questionnaires I filled out when I arrived? I asked.

That’s mandated by the medical association. Though when we input it online you are only identified through a number. That number is algorithmically created by your name and date of birth. It’s hard to reverse engineer, but with your name and date of birth I can always recreate it.

What about a fire?

In a bad fire I lose the hard copies of those forms you filled out. Then I get you to fill out new forms and recreate your identification number and we can keep billing and all that other information consistent. The cabinet with the hard copies is both fireproof and secured with a biometric reader and a password. Only my wife and I have access.

Why did you get into this business?

That brings me to my other points. As a psychiatrist I am a medical doctor which means I can prescribe drugs for any injury whether physical or mental. As I believe with the physiological approach, I am loathe to prescribe medication unless it is obviously necessary to curtail injury, or, I believe that the benefits far outweigh the side effects in these drugs. I’m pleased to tell you that over eighty percent of my patients recover without the use of pharmaceuticals.

Or they leave and haven’t told you the truth, I said.

Lloyd smiled.

Possibly, though at this stage in my career I’m pretty hard to fool. We also talk amongst ourselves. By that, I mean we ask patients if they have seen a psychiatrist before, and if so, who that was. We don’t want patients double dipping, if you will, and our electronic health records management system will alert both doctors if a patient is double dipping that way. However, that’s a cynical way of looking at it.

In my line of work, Lloyd, it’s usually the best way to look at it.

I hope we can explore that further over time.

I didn’t say anything for a while. I moved beads around on a string. Lloyd was manipulating his too.

I am a big proponent of holistic medicine. And by that I mean in using food and herbs as necessary to help the body reach its full potential nutritionally. The father of medicine, Hippocrates, said to let food be thy medicine. A healthy mind requires a healthy body to live in.

Are you gonna drum on about hippie vegetarian diets and singing Kumbaya? I asked, more acerbically than I had wanted to.

A plant based diet should be the foundation to healthy living. But if you’re not interested in hearing about it then we won’t talk about it. But is that how you feel about Emily? As I understand it she’s a vegetarian.

No, I guess I’m just a little pricklier than I should be.

Why is that?

I shrugged.

Could it be because Emily has urged you to see me?

Coerced sounds more like it.

You can leave at any time, Anthony. And like I said, you’re in the driver’s seat. Our conversation will go in the direction you want it to.

I didn’t say anything. I pushed beads around on a thread.

Does my approach work for you? It’s probably best if we get that out of the way. If you’re looking for a quick fix with medication then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong guy.

I looked up at him and nodded. I took my mug from the coffee table and took a couple of large sips. It was warm. On the coffee table was a small travel clock. Looking at it, I could see I only had five minutes left. I spent the last five minutes asking him about the best surf spots in LA. Hermosa Beach Pier and Lunada Bay were a couple that I remembered. I wasn’t paying that much attention.

Well, Anthony, said Lloyd. It appears that our time has come to an end.

He stood up. I stood up with my empty coffee mug.

You can leave that on the coffee table. I’ll take care of it.

I followed him down the hallway, but we didn’t exit into the reception area. He opened up the side door that led into the elevator foyer.

You’re a master at deflection. I hope over the next couple of weeks we’ll be able to talk more about what brings you here.

He shook my hand warmly and I left. The worry beads were a gift, he’d told me. I had wrapped them twice around my right wrist. Standing by the elevator waiting for the world to let me back in, I got to thinking. Lloyd was a hundred bucks an hour. That was a deal for me on account of my small earnings. Still, spending a Benjamin to see a shrink was an investment, and I wasn’t making use of it. I decided I’d have to start talking to him about New York and So-yi’s death. But that could wait until next week. Right now I had paintings to paint and money to make.

Missing Persons

Paintings were coming along. I’d finished the one I’d painted of Emily. I’d wanted it nude. She’d wanted it clothed, so we settled on her being draped with a sheet. It was more realistic than I usually do, but it was a gift for her fortieth birthday which had been on the tenth of March. That was a few weeks ago. She’d loved it. So far, since the beginning of the year, I’d completed six paintings. Seven if you counted M’s portrait, but that one wasn’t for sale.

Declan, Triangle Gallery’s owner, wanted to have a dozen new works for a solo show he was offering me just before summer started. The show was opening on Sunday the seventeenth of June. That gave me roughly a couple of months to come up with another six paintings. I was burning the midnight oil in trying to get enough painting done. Cases had been slow, which helped. I still had some money from recent sales, but living was eating into my modest stash.

A gallery owner out of New York had asked for a few paintings to put up in his gallery at the start of fall just to see how it goes. He’d seen my paintings at Rebecca England’s home in New York. She’d been good to me after that case I’d helped her with involving her nephew. The gallery was called The Bauhaus. The gallery owner’s name was Ercole Kon. He was a shorter Spaniard who had a gift for bringing obscure artists to the fore. Getting to show on both coasts was a dream of