Chasing a Dream

By Steve Jones

What can one do if he or she is trapped in an unwanted occupation with no way out? Eric J. Stones, a lifelong illustrator, enlists in the military to pursue an occupation as a medical illustrator. He finds his hopes dashed when he is assigned as a Fire Protection Specialist. Can he work his way back into the field of the creative arts? Or must he spend four years…Chasing a Dream?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685629946

Steve Jones

Steve Jones has a powerful reputation as a holistic martial arts teacher and pioneer of his own Body Mind Spirit (BMS) system. He has two successful schools in London with around 200 members and a wide range of regular corporate clients including Apple Computers, Regency Hotel and Goldschmidt Chemicals.

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About the Author

Steve Jones is a lifelong resident of New York City. He lived in Woodside, Queens, with his mother and five siblings during his formative years.

Steve began his formal art education at the High School of Art & Design and later received a BA in Liberal Arts and an MA in Art Education at City College of the City University of New York, where he graduated magna cum laude.

While serving in the United States Air Force, he was a comic strip artist for the Okinawa Post Newspaper. In Steve’s own words, he has had a lifelong passion for the creative arts.

As a teacher, Steve has taught in many schools throughout New York City, among which were the High School of Graphic Communication Arts, Norman Thomas High School, Bronx High School of Writing and Communication Arts, and the High School of Arts & Technology. During this time, Steve has served as Arts Coordinator of student mural painting projects.

As an author and illustrator, Steve Jones faces teenagers’ basic concerns for achievement with insight and sensitivity. As one of six siblings, he has drawn on his own experiences, as well as his years of teaching in the New York City school system and a lifetime dedication to illustrative art. Steve’s objective is to promote adolescents’ solutions and resolve as they live with challenging obstacles in urban inner city areas. Wake Up acknowledges these challenges and encourages adolescents to stay strong and pursue their own aspirations.

Steve is also the illustrator of Mud The Eloquent Elephant by Alec Nightingale (2014). He is the writer and illustrator of his first book, The Hidden Buffalo (2016), A Light Shines in Woodside (2018), and Wake Up (2018). He lives in New York City with his wife, Frieda Smallwood Jones. Chasing a Dream is his fourth written and illustrated book.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to:

My loving wife, Frieda

My parents, Dorothy and Fredrick Smith

My siblings, Gregory, Jozette, and Ginger

And to the men and women in the United States Military

In loving memory of my beloved brothers, Arthur and Kenneth

Copyright Information ©

Steve Jones 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Jones, Steve

Chasing a Dream

ISBN 9781685629939 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781685629946 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023909550

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

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Acknowledgment

I would like to acknowledge the United States Air Force where I served my enlistment from 1972 to 1976. The Air Force has provided invaluable information, supervision and references that enabled me to create a fictional account of what may not have been my realistic experience.

I was able to create characters, events and activities based on imaginations of a variety of personalities, all of which never existed in my military experiences.

In my youth I attended a city college in New York. My experiences and interactions there, allowed me to create a fictional concept, some of which I could’ve only hoped reflected my own youthful experiences and I applaud my college professors and department advisors for their input in my development, which enabled me to create and fictionalize those personalities as well.

1969 ~ Open Up the Door…

I’ll Get It Myself!

Hey family, I’ve always been chasing that elusive dream as a professional artist. My name is Eric J. Stones and this is how it went down. Busting my ass working on all those art projects in high school was no easy task. I stayed up all night until sunrise a couple of nights a week, trying to meet my high school art project deadlines. Using an Exacto Knife to cut mat boards for framing my finished projects, I would sometimes slice my fingers. Owwww! Shit! Goddammit! I did it again! I should get a Band-Aid but I’m still going to get this work done! Shit! I’m Eric Stones! I’m a natural born artist! Failure is not an option! I’m a bad mother…Owwww SHIT, Goddammit!

Eric, what are you doing up this late? You have school tomorrow and it’s almost 2am!

Mom was standing at the entrance to the living room of our two-bedroom apartment in her pink bathrobe. Barely five feet tall, she has her arms folded and a frown on her face; she’s one hell of a feisty woman.

And what kind of language is that in this house? I’ll smack you into next week if I hear that again!

I’m sorry, ma but I have to get this work done by tomorrow and I’m slicing my fingers left and right! I might only have my pinky finger by the time this is all over with. I won’t be up too long, ma.

Come and rinse off your fingers. There’s iodine and bandages in the medicine cabinet.

She walked me into the bathroom and proceeded to rinse my fingers with cold water. It was soothing. I put iodine on the cuts and covered them with clean bandages.

The next day, my sweat, blood, and tears paid off. I submitted the completed portfolio of artworks to my Advertising Art and Cartooning teachers. They seemed pleased with the creativity that went into the work. It was the first time professional artists evaluated a portfolio that I worked on. Their comments made a world of difference to me.

My academic grades turned out to be just as good. I wasn’t one of the smartest kids in the class but I applied myself well enough to pass my classes. I can’t believe it, I’m finally finished with all the academic schoolwork and the art projects! I have a nice portfolio of cartooning and advertising work. There’s absolutely no way I’m not going to land a good job doing this kind of work for a living.

The High School of Art & Design Graduation Day at Carnegie Hall was a blast! I wore a blue suit and gray shirt with a blue, black and gray paisley tie. My shoes had a glossy shine and I was ripe and ready to go! Like most graduations, ours was slow and boring with the announcement of Honor Roll Awards and Certificates.

Each of us students marched across the stage and received our diploma cases. We would receive the real diplomas the next day. During graduation, the big moment came when the class of 1969 was declared official graduates of The High School of Art & Design! As we tossed our graduation caps into the air, I reflected on my achievement. I couldn’t believe it. I finally earned my high school diploma! Wow, I don’t ever have to go to school again for the rest of my life! I can just draw, paint and become a millionaire! Haaaa shit! Life is great!

After the graduation ceremony, we met some of the other graduates and their families outside Carnegie Hall. We took pictures and profiled our caps and gowns for all of New York to see. We said our goodbyes to former classmates and their parents and headed for party time at the next venue—someone else’s home. Some of us went to a house party in Harlem. We smoked cigarettes and a little pot! We danced and laughed the afternoon away, listening to hit tunes like Grazing in the Grass and Going in Circles by The Friends of Distinction, Everyday People by Sly and The Family Stone and I Can’t Get Next to You by the Temptations! We swore we were grown! We were slow dancing and kissing the girls like it was the last time we would ever kiss a girl again. We partied like there was no tomorrow. The smell of some good ass weed permeated the entire party. Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill and Apple Wine filled almost every plastic cup. I’m sure there was stronger alcohol in some of them other cups! Word got around at the party that a parent, who’s house we were partying in, was on their way home!

Oh shit! Let’s get the fuck outta here! could be heard throughout the party.

A few us scattered away like roaches in the night when the light comes on! I never knew who went where. All I know was is that I was sober enough to hop on the F train to Queens. High school life was great! The memories will stick with me forever. But now, the time is here to get out into the workforce and see what I can do!

#

After graduating from high school, a sense of accomplishment overwhelmed me as I prepared to embark on my journey into the world of the creative arts. I wore a suit and tie. My shoes were shined and I sported an Afro. I had a new imitation leather portfolio with my best work inside. It’s Monday morning and it’s time to rock and roll!

July 1969, and there I was, carrying a large black portfolio of my best artwork and wearing a gray double-breasted bell bottomed suit that happened to belong to my younger brother, Mitchell. He worked at the local butcher shop and was able to buy nice clothes. Mitchell played the bass fiddle in his school band. They periodically performed for various school venues.

At eighteen years old and a newly minted graduate of The High School of Art & Design in New York City, I was swaggering down Fifth Avenue on my way to my first interview for employment in an advertising agency.

Included in my portfolio were school art projects such as mechanical paste-up camera-ready production work for magazine spreads, a few existing logos I redesigned, and some illustrations of people and animals, including land, city and seascape illustrations. I also had comic book drawings and some spot cartoon work as well; works of art that were given very good grades by my high school teachers, who were professional artists. I tried to be adept at a variety of visual works of art and I was hopeful that I would find employment. There were many fellow artists at Art & Design, whose work was amazing and I hoped mine would prove to be just as good.

I am very grateful to God for blessing me with the ability to visualize and draw what I see. I thank Him every day for the talents He has Bestowed upon me. When God gives you something, no one can ever take it away.

Armed with the vocational training I received at Art & Design and the love and support of my family, relatives and friends, I continued my swagger down Fifth Avenue and my mind kept playing the same song by James Brown, over and over again, I don’t want nobody, ta’ give me nothin’, open up the door, huh, I’ll get it myself… I felt like dancing and sliding down the street the way James Brown would slide across the stage.

There’s a lot going on around me with the Civil Rights Movement and political unrest. Afros, dashikis and opportunities for blacks are cropping up everywhere! African-Americans are focused on going to college and combating bigotry, which seems to be so prevalent in our society! It seems like we’re surviving all the obstacles of adversity.

With all the positive issues like civil rights, black awareness, and peace movements that are affecting change in our society, I’m very concerned about this country on the global stage. The U.S. has always been a winner, despite the social problems we endure. War is exploding in Vietnam. There are demonstrations by the Peace and Love non-violent movements against the United States military involvement in Vietnam, as well as other social issues such as the Women’s, Lesbian and Gay Liberation Movements.

The times we’re living in are encouraging a renaissance of change. There are thriving opportunities for artists from all walks of life. People are expressing their individual freedoms through music, art, writing, dancing, acting and even fashion. The Age of Aquarius is a number one hit, performed by The Fifth Dimension for a play called Hair. This genre of artistic expression is symbolic of present day radicalism.

The day-glow posters of Peter Max with stars, stripes and bright colors depict a care free, psychedelic society. Our bell-bottomed jeans, flowered shirts, head bans, beads and necklaces with the Peace symbol contribute to establish us baby boomers as a rebellious generation ready for change.

I continued my swagger down Fifth Avenue on my way to Franklin Associates. I felt important, wearing a suit with a shirt and tie. I always liked dressing up, even for Assembly Day in high school, where a white shirt and red tie were required. I think a shirt and tie is important especially when trying to make a good first impression.

New York City is pretty much the same as it’s always been…crowded! I continued walking along Fifth Avenue toward Fifty-Second Street, taking in the sights and sounds of midtown Manhattan. People are bustling back and forth on their way to and from work.

I finally arrived at Fifty-Second Street and turned left, looking for Five East 52nd Street. I was about a half hour early so I thought I’d find somewhere to relax and have a cup of coffee. The first thing I noticed at the side of the entrance to Five East 52nd Street was a small courtyard with a beautiful man-made waterfall above a small reservoir. There were metal tables and chairs in front of it. There was a kiosk where sandwiches, coffee and refreshments were sold. A few people were drinking coffee and reading their newspapers. I walked over to the waterfall and sat down at one of the tables. The streaming waterfall comforted me as it flowed so nicely and steadily into the reservoir. Looking at the tall buildings around me, I was very impressed with the glitz and glamour of the neighborhood. After retrieving the Daily News, I placed my portfolio under the table.

May I have your order, sir?

I looked up and saw a waiter standing there. He was a tall white man with brown hair; wearing black slacks, a short gray jacket, a white shirt and black bow tie.

Coffee with cream please.

I felt so insignificant, knowing I didn’t belong to the same social class as the others sitting around me. Thinking that perhaps my order was too small, I blurted out, …and a hot dog with mustard!

Hot dogs are not available at 8:30 in the morning, sir.

The waiter stood patiently while I considered my other choices. It was hard to read his expression but I could only imagine he was thinking the worst.

As I watched the waiter return to his booth, I felt so small and insignificant, sitting at this outdoor cafe in this posh neighborhood. None of the other well-dressed, rich-looking patrons, who sat drinking coffee and reading their newspapers, looked anything like me.

After returning to my table, the waiter said, That’ll be one dollar and seventy-five cents.

What the f…I looked at him, trying not to reveal how shocked I was.

Did you say a dollar seventy-five cents? I thought you said that hot dogs were not available at 8:30.

They’re not; that’s the price of the coffee, sir.

I gave him two of the few dollars I had to my name. I sat there nursing my very expensive cup of coffee. I’m still ecstatic at the prospects of getting my first job as an artist and working in this dazzlingly glitzy neighborhood with all the rich white folks.

When I get this job, I’ll have lunch here by the waterfall at least three times a week. A dollar and seventy-five cents wouldn’t be a problem because I’ll be earning a good salary!

After my coffee and a cigarette, I got up and walked out of the courtyard. I went into the building next door, where Franklin Associates is located. I walked through the lobby to the elevator, confident that I would secure this position.

To my surprise, a doorman was standing there and escorted me into the elevator. He was an elderly looking Italian man with white hair and glasses. He had brown pants and a tan shirt with some kind of emblem on the chest pocket. He barely looked at me as he closed the elevator gate.

What floor would you like, sir?

Fifth floor please.

This is so cool. I’m going to be an artist, probably have my own office in a building just off Fifth Avenue and make a nice salary, especially after they see my work! Haaaa shit! Life is good!

Smiling, I momentarily envisioned myself being employed at Franklin Associates as a high-powered executive art director making all the creative decisions.

I’ll be popular and well-liked by my peers! My work will be highly appreciated and valued! I might even catch the eye of a nice-looking female artist! Haaaaa shit, life is good!

My mind suddenly exploded with the words of that James Brown hit, I don’t want nobody ta’ give me nothin’, open up the door, huh, I’ll get it myself, do you hyeah me na, na? I don’t wa—

Five!

The doorman’s voice dragged me from my musings.

Thank you sir…

The elevator operator stared, stone-faced, straight ahead like some sort of zombie. He didn’t say you’re welcome, didn’t smile, nod his head or anything; just had that stone-faced blank stare.

Damn! I thought. What the hell’s wrong with you? Ol’ ass turkey! I shouldn’t think like that. He probably took so many people to different floors in this building over the years, until he just became oblivious to our presence. He might even be one of the nicest guys in the world. But for now, he looks cold and stoical.

The lavender colored carpet and air-conditioned lobby greeted me as I walked out of the elevator. The furnishings were maroon and lavender leather and there were several plants scattered about. Abstract paintings hung on cream-colored walls along with a sign directing me to the entrance to the company. Large golden letters that read, Franklin Associates, hung just above the huge chrome and smoked-glass doors. The receptionist greeted me, when I walked through the doors. She was a Hispanic woman with short brown hair and a pretty face. Her friendly disposition calmed my nerves and made me feel welcome.

Good morning sir! She said. How may I help you?

Good morning, my name is Eric Stones. I have a 9 o’clock appointment with Mrs. Franklin.

Pushing a button on a telephone keypad, her smiling gaze spoke volumes as she said, Your 9am appointment is here. You can have a seat, Mr. Stones, she’ll be right out.

Thank you.

I walked over to an inviting maroon-colored sofa and sat down, enjoying the soft comfort. I looked around at a few award-winning advertisements which were probably accounts that were clients here at Franklin Associates. There were plants scattered around the reception area and a large abstract painting directly behind the receptionist.

Good morning, Mr. Stones.

I got up from the sofa and walked over to an elderly, well-dressed woman, extending my hand.

Good morning, Miss…

I’m Mrs. Adele Franklin. Welcome to Franklin Associates.

She had a radiant smile and a cold grip as she shook my hand.

You have a very nice looking place here, Mrs. Franklin.

Thank you, Mr. Stones.

Being called Mr. Stones made me feel important already.

Let’s go into the art studio for the interview, she said, her cold gray penetrating eyes fixed on me.

My heart started racing, as I pondered her words,

All I need is an interview. I’m confident I’ll get this job.

We continued toward the back, through another glass door and down a short corridor where more advertisements adorned the walls. We came to an open doorway on our left.

This is our kitchen area where our staff has coffee and sometimes lunch or dinner.

I nodded politely as we continued walking toward the art studio.

This is our restroom.

We continued moving on our way toward the art studio.

This is the conference room where we meet with our clients.

The conference room is a large, airy room, the decor is like the lobby and corridors where I’d seen some abstract paintings, a few more award winning advertisements and a scattering of smaller plants.

Welcome to our art studio, Mr. Stones.

The art studio is large and bright with eggshell-colored walls and a large bay window that faces 52nd street. Several drafting tables are located around the studio. At the side of each drafting table are medium sized cabinets with several drawers where art supplies and studio materials are stored. I made a mental note to purchase one of those cabinets soon.

There’s a small room within the art studio where a large Photostat camera is located. It’s used for making copies of line and gray-scaled tone images.

A few of the artists walked with us to the conference room where they evaluated my work-magazine spreads, layouts, illustrations, and a few cartoon drawings. They smiled, nodding their heads in approval.

There’s certainly a lot of talent here, Mr. Stones, said one of the artists.

And we can certainly use a talented man in our company.

Thank you, sir.

I’m feeling excited at the prospect of being offered a job. After my work was evaluated, the artists left the conference room.

The position doesn’t pay very well, Mr. Stones, said Ms. Franklin. Eighty-five dollars a week is our starting salary but that’ll change as you are promoted. I almost stopped dead in my tracks! My heart sank into my shoes. Although this may be the going rate for an inexperienced artist, I was hoping for a higher starting salary.

Would you accept a position with Franklin Associates, if one is offered to you, Mr. Stones?

What the hell, it’s a start. I’m not married and I have no children. I can work with that salary. I’ll just have to find more work to supplement my income.

Yes ma’am, I’ll accept the position.

Thank you and welcome to Franklin Associates, Mr. Stones.

I shook her cold hand and we walked out of the conference room.

Wow! I’m a graphic artist! I can deal with the low pay for now. I’m a graphic artist in New York! They’re going to like my work! They’re going to like me! I’m going to work here fifty! By then, I’ll be making lots of money! Hot diggity dog! Open Up The Door…I’ll Get It Myself ! Do Ya’ hyeah me na na!

She said nothing while jubilance and euphoria tickle my insides. We walked back to the art studio and she introduced me to the other artists.

This is Mr. Eric Stones; he will be working with us.

The artists appeared to be middle-aged. Thomas Gray is the Art Director who complimented me on my work. Eugene Feldman, the Assistant Art Director, is heavy-set with short crew-cut red hair and thick bi-focal glasses. He’s a sloppy dresser. We all shake hands and exchange pleasantries. A young woman walked into the art studio.

Mr. Stones, this is Miss Maria Rodriguez.

Miss Rodriguez is petite and is wearing a brown leather mini skirt, white blouse and beige scarf. Shapely legs hold me transfixed while the scent of her perfume makes me swoon. She’s probably twenty-five or so, a little older than my eighteen years. Her drop dead gorgeous body told my raging hormones that age didn’t matter much.

While I was busy gazing at Maria, Mrs. Franklin moved on to a middle-aged blond whose arms gave the impression she could knock the shit out of you if she ever hit you.

Mr. Stones, this is Mrs. Janet Tillman.

Nice to meet you, Miss Tillman, I said.

Oh please, she laughed. I’m too old to be a Miss anything. Janet will do!

Her laughter made me smile.

And, lastly, this is Reginald, our Photostat Camera Operator.

Nice to meet you, Eric.

A dark-skinned black man, Reginald was thin with salt and pepper hair and appeared to be maybe fifty or older. I was irritated by the way we were introduced. Mrs. Franklin sure has some nerve. Reginald! She couldn’t introduce him with the dignity she gave the other people by mentioning his last name, And lastly, this is Reginald, as if Reginald is the family dog. I found that degrading.

I believe I missed your last name, sir, I said, trying to give him the dignity he deserves.

My last name is Taylor.

Nice meeting you, Mr. Taylor.

You can call me Reggie.

Glad to meet you, Reggie.

I hope they introduce me as Mr. Stones to her clients if and when the time comes.

My desk is in a corner of the studio, just outside the Photostat room, across from Maria’s cubicle. Wow, this is nice! I’m going to decorate my work area like the other artists with pictures, posters…wait…shouldn’t there be a cabinet at the side of my desk with several drawers where art supplies and studio materials are stored?

Eric is our office assistant; he’ll be providing support for our daily operations.

Office assistant? I was taken aback! What the hell does an office assistant have to do with creating advertisements and graphic designs?

Mrs. Franklin nodded and smiled before dashing my hopes of a more dignified position with her next words. The wrinkles on her face deepened as she flashed that crocodile smile.

The artists may have some other work for you like going to the post office from time to time or picking up a few items from the art store. Eventually, we’ll have you cut a few matt or illustration boards, but we’ll see how things work out. I’m sure you’ll work out just fine, Eric.

I’m no longer Mr. Stones. I’m Eric, the office sucker. I can’t mask my disappointment any longer.

May I have a word with you, Mrs. Franklin?

Yes, Eric, come with me.

I nod to Reggie and the artists as I follow Mrs. Franklin out of the studio.

Yes dear, what is it?

I thought you hired me as an artist.

She pinned me with her cold gray eyes and thin smile. You are hired by Franklin Associates to perform office duties.

Well, respectfully, Mrs. Franklin, if I was hired to perform office duties, then why was my portfolio evaluated?

If you are with Franklin Associates long enough, we may put you to work as an artist, Eric. In the meantime, you can get to know how things work around here and we will groom you to become an artist for our company. Besides, the other artists out there have all been through the same process here at Franklin Associates.

Oh, OK. I understand, Ms. Franklin, now that you’ve explained the process. I was just a little confused.

She smiled that crocodile smile again.

Wise decision, Mr. Stones. Now, as soon as you put your portfolio away, I have an errand I want you to run for me, OK dear?

Yes, Mrs. Franklin.

#

As time went by, I came to like working for Franklin Associates. My routine on any given day included assisting the other artists by cleaning their work areas when they go home, and running errands. Reggie taught me how to use the Photostat Camera, in case he was absent. I kept the kitchen area clean, wiping up coffee spills, making sure there were enough coffee cups and paper towels. I provided the same care and diligence keeping the bathroom clean.

Mr. Gray, Mrs. Franklin, and the company owner, Mr. Howard Franklin, make the final approval of all finished artwork by the staff artists. Sometimes advertisements aren’t approved for a number of reasons including the wrong type size, the wrong font selection, or the wrong color: I heard the artists arguing all the time now. It was amusing hearing them use profanity.

Janet, what is this piece of shit? Are you blind?

Mr. Gray was angry with Janet for selecting the wrong color for an advertisement the agency was working on.

Fuck off Tom, I told you six times already that they didn’t have that pms color. You told me to use a similar pms color.

Dignity and decency of reasoning at Franklin Associates on 5th Avenue went right out the window.

Mrs. Franklin jumped into the fray and started cursing at Janet.

Ya’ know, Janet, we are dealing with a time element here; this job is due Friday or our client will go ballistic and we’ll lose the goddamn account! Here it is Wednesday afternoon and you still can’t find that color in any of the art stores in New York City! Maybe if you’d stop gossiping on the phone all goddamn day, ya’ know? In my immaturity, I wanted to burst out laughing and jump into the garbage can to hide.

Janet became livid, as she waved those big arms around. I hope she doesn’t knock Mrs. Franklin on her ass.

Adele! I was calling Plaza Art Store, Pearl Paints, Lee’s, Utrecht, fuckin’ A.I. Friedman and other studios to see if anyone had pms 299! I wasn’t socializing on your goddamn phones with anyone!

Very good, Janet! We’re all working overtime until final approval of this account!

She turned and started to storm out of the studio. I didn’t mind working overtime. It would mean more money for me. Hot diggity dog!

Eric, you don’t have to stay here. I was referring to my art staff. She turned and glared at the artists, The ones who are actually working on our accounts!

Trying to diffuse the situation, I calmly say, Well, if I can be of any assistance, please let me know.

Oh I will, Eric, but for now the kitchen counters and maintaining the restroom areas, you know, that sort of thing, are probably more than you can handle right now.

That unblinking crocodile smile was starting to piss me off. Embarrassed as I was in front of the other artists, I just smiled and nodded my head courteously.

Yeah, that’s right, rub it in, you old blood-sucking bat. I know I’m just an office slave to you but it isn’t always going to be this way!

After the bride of Frankenstein left the studio, the other artists showed a little support toward me. Maria spoke first.

That was a rotten thing she said, Eric, don’t let it bother you.

Thanks Maria, it’s alright.

Tom placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I’ll see if we can give you some of the matting jobs in the near future.

I didn’t expect that out of him because he always seemed to be very serious, never smiling, always so intense, even when the rest of the other artists shared a joke or two. Maybe it’s the stress of his occupational responsibilities. I know now that sometimes he can be down to earth.

#

I’ve been employed at Franklin Associates for almost a year now. I’m an efficient worker. The artist’s work areas, the kitchen and bathroom are always spotless. There has never been a complaint about how dirty these areas are. Whenever I deliver a message to wherever, I always return to Franklin Associates in a timely manner and the art materials are always neatly stored away before I go home.

Some of the other artists were disgruntled working under Adele Franklin. They referred to her as the Old Bat. There were more and more arguments with Ms. Franklin, about meeting deadlines, finding the right materials and definitely using the phones for personal calls. Stay off the phones! became a workplace slogan that was associated with her.

The artists were packing to go home one evening. I was at my desk cutting matt boards. I tried to sneak and use the phone to call a friend to see what what’s up for the weekend. Maria tried to warn me but I waved her away, thinking that I wouldn’t be on the phone for long. That was a bad mistake. Mrs. Franklin came storming into the art studio, like an express train. That sneaky bitch must’ve been on the same line in her office.

Eric, what are you doing on that phone?

Maria, sitting in her cubicle, crossed her legs and stared at us.

I had to call home and let my mother know that I wouldn’t be coming straight home.

Well, that’s just cute and responsible, Eric, but you could’ve called from an outside phone before you entered the subway, couldn’t you?

I’m sorry, Mrs. Franklin. I thought—

You’re not paid to think, Eric! Don’t ever use the phone again for personal calls unless you clear it with me. Do I make myself clear?

Yes, Mrs. Franklin.

We’re running short on hand towels and toilet tissue. Focus on those things a little more!

She’s full of shit because I always keep the restrooms well stocked.

I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Franklin.

She started glaring at Maria. I figured she wanted to admonish her too so I left, not wanting Maria to feel uncomfortable. I wondered how I can get my hands on a dead rat from the subway; I would leave it in Ms. Franklin’s desk drawer to greet her with her buttered roll and coffee in the morning.

I walked into to the art studio a half hour later. Maria was at her desk sniffling; I knew she had been crying.

Are you alright, Maria?

Yes I’m fine.

You had an argument with the old bat?

I was trying to help her get it out of her system.

She smiled. I’m sorry but I’d rather not talk about it now, maybe later.

OK, but if there’s anything I can do for you don’t hesitate to ask.

Thanks…you’re such a nice person, Eric and I’m glad you work here.

I started to blush and probably turned a few shades of red. Maria smiled even more.

I returned to my desk and rummaged through the drawers in search of a new blade to cut more matt boards. I found a small plastic statue of a hippopotamus. It may have been a child’s toy. The Franklin’s sometimes brought their grandchildren to the office. I put the hippopotamus on my desk and as I sat there looking at it an idea came to me. I glanced over at