Brownie Points by Jennifer Coburn Read Free Book Online Page A

good that the hospital gets such great support from the community.”
    Val dismissed my comment with a shrug. “Michelle says you do ceramics.”
    “Sculpture, actually,” I said.
    “We’re always looking for raffle prizes for the auxiliary events,” Val said as Stacey and Ellie nodded at what a great idea it was to give away my nonexistent glazed fruit bowls. “Like you said, it’s for a good cause.”
    Your husband’s career advancement?
    “Totally,” Ellie agreed.
    “It’ll give you great exposure if you decide you want to sell your pottery someday,” Val said. “I know I’m always looking for artsy little gifts.”
    “Who isn’t?” asked Stacey.
    “I actually do sell my sculptures,” I said. “I got a pretty good write-up on the last —”
    “Bunco!” someone at the next table shouted.
    My last show did get a good write-up in the Examiner , but the reality was I was never going to achieve the level of success I’d hoped to when I quit my job in advertising so many years ago. I sometimes wonder if Jason resents — or at least regrets — encouraging me to pursue sculpting full time. Though neither of us ever said it aloud, we both hoped that I would become the next big thing in the art world. I wasn’t even the next little thing. If I’d gone virtually unnoticed in San Francisco, I was guaranteed invisibility out here. I had ten years to make a successful career and never did. Now it was Jason’s turn to launch his career in a big way.
    “That was a quick round,” Val said. Women began getting up, smoothing their unwrinkled skirts with manicured hands, and moving to other tables. I looked around to see if there was a rhyme or reason to the rotation.
    “We stay here,” Val said. “Looks like Marni and Michelle are headed our way. Let’s kick their butts, shall we?”
    “Hello ladies, have a seat,” Val said.
    When Michelle asked how Logan and Maya found their first few days at school, Val lifted her eyebrow. “Maya has a brother?”
    “A twin,” I said. “Logan. He’s, um —” the other black kid at school — “quite similar looking.”
    “Hmmm.” Val pondered and looked at the others to see if they knew Logan. “Does he play soccer?”
    “That’s the one with the kicking, right?” I said lightly, trying to dismiss the whole topic of which sports my son played. Before discovering his passion for fencing, Logan dabbled in modern dance, jazz and tap. If anyone got kicked it was quite by accident.
    Ever the hostess, Michelle interjected, “Marni makes documentary films, Lisa. You two probably have a lot in common, being artists and all.”
    “Really?” Marni said, smiling for the first time. “What do you do?”
    “Mostly I do sculptures with junk, but sometimes if I get a wild idea, I’ll run with that too. Last year I made a love seat from tires.”
    “That doesn’t sound very comfortable,” Val said.
    Oh yes, great goddess of making people feel comfortable.
    “I removed the wheel so the hard material isn’t part of it,” I explained, not because I thought she cared, but because I was nervous. “I cut the tire into strips of rubber, then laid them over a couch frame I built. In the end it was really comfortable, and pretty cool looking, if I do say so.”
    “I saw something like that once,” Marni said.
    “You did?” I fretted. “Where did you see it?” Here I was condemning Utopia’s cookie cutter architecture and carbon copy decorating while all the while I was making furniture sold at IKEA!
    “Some gallery in the city,” she said.
    “San Francisco?!” I asked, somewhat urgently. “Was it the Four Circles Gallery by any chance?”
    “I can’t remember the name, but it was a cute little place near the Castro District. They had all kinds of life-size statues made out of —” Marni paused as the light bulb lit. “Made out of scrap metal. Is that your stuff?!”
    “Yes,” I said, nearly collapsing with relief. “Yes, that’s my stuff. I