“I think you’re ready for a show. I really do. Everyone at the gallery does. A retrospective, with the bonus of the new work — again, should you choose to show it. I think it will arouse tremendous interest. About where you’ve been. & where you’re going.
“All right, I’ll shut up now.”
“Beth, it’s very flattering. And you may be right — about everything. But I’ve closed that door. What I do, I do for me. I know you’ll understand.”
“Absolutely. One hundred percent. At least I’ll sleep tonight — I made my little pitch. Best of luck, Jacquie, and you know we’re always here. And good luck with the move! Kiss Marin for me!”
. .
She awakened in the middle of the night thinking about Fergie, the Mill Valley girl with cystic fibrosis. She remembered something her little sister said.
After she died, the mom tried to explain things. Well-intentioned friends had been coaching her to talk to the sister about Fergie’s journey, how one day we were all going on the same journey. Right after Fergie passed, a close friend even held the mom in her arms and said, She’s begun her journey. So later that night when the mom tucked her in, the little sis said, Where did she go? The mom said, Back where she came from. Where all of us came from. The girl said, Where? The mom nodded toward the ceiling. Where the stars are. She went to where the stars are. The girl asked if Fergie would be cold. The mom said no, she didn’t think so. Did you know, said the Mom, that people are made from stardust?
dust?
That’s right. People are made from stardust, from all the light that comes from the s & the sun.
Mama, do stars die?
Everything does.
But where do they go?
Well, stars live a long, long time. And even when they die, they keep giving out light.
But how?
They just do. It’s their nature.
When a baby dies in the mama’s stomach, is it a dead star?
No, said Mom, on the verge of losing it. When a baby dies, its dust goes back to be with its friends again. The other stars.
If Fergie’s back with the stars, & all the s die, even if she dies too, then will she give out light?
Yes.
For a long, long time?
That’s right. Now it’s time for sleep.
. .
“Hello, is this Jacquie?”
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“Steve Martin.”
“O hi Steve! What a nice surprise.”
“I usually don’t do this — Beth Rader gave me your number. I should add I was holding her at gunpoint.”
“Hahaha! No, it’s fine — really.”
“I was trying to remember the last time we saw each other.”
“I think it was — wasn’t it at the Central Library?”
“That’s right. Gee. Beth said you’re moving away?”
“Yes! To Marin.”
“I love Marin. I just called to say that Beth showed me some images you took that I thought were extraordinary. The young couple with their stillborn.”
“Mmmm. Yeah — she’s quite taken with them.”
“So was I. I know your work, by the way. I’ve always been a big fan.”
“Thank you. Back atcha.”
“I’ve always regretted that I never collected you. I remember how controversial you were — those images of your little girl—––—––wait. You didn’t happen to be at Gus’ opening in London at the Gagosian. Gus & James Franco?”
“Gee, I don’t think so. But if you find proof that I was, please let me know.”
He laughed.
“Your new pictures: I saw Arbus there, but what amazed me is there wasn’t that aspect of the grotesque. What you’ve done is so tender—transcendent—& completely unsentimental.”
“That’s very kind, Steve.”
“Beth said you weren’t interested in selling any images & I completely respect that. I didn’t want you to think that’s why I was calling, because it isn’t. I’m going to be in LA next week, & was hoping — I’d be honored if you’d show me some prints.”
“Next week? I’ll probably be up in Marin—––”
“O—––”
“—––but I can come down.”
“I can come to you…”
“No, it’s fine. I’m gonna be commuting for a while, at least until I sell the house.”
“That would be lovely,” he said, humbled. “& thank you.”
“Did Beth mention any of my other work? New work?”
“I don’t think so. She did say there have been more images taken since the ones I looked at.”
“There have… Steve, I don’t know if you know that my daughter died a few months ago.”
“She did tell me that. I’m so sorry.”
“I took some pictures of her in the hospital. Pictures of her alone, & of — Jerilynn and the baby — which is healthy and blessed, by the way. She gave me a beautiful little granddaughter, Nikki.”
“It’s hard to find words.”
“I made a series of prints — large-scale, 50 by 60. Is that something you’d be interested in seeing as well?”
“Yes, I’d be honored. And frankly, Jacquie, I’m interested in anything you’d like to show me.”
“Let me give you my email.”
“Perfect. And would you mind if I bring a friend? I know that James — Franco — would be thrilled.”
“Not at all.”
“He’s become quite a collector. He’s gone on an Eggleston bender.”
“I saw him not too long ago. He actually may own one or two of my early pieces. The 1st Jerilynn nudes.”
“Do you know what I actually think might be great? I’d love to throw you a little dinner party. Just eight or ten people.”
“That would be lovely.”
“Larry would want to co-host. He’s got a beautiful new house in Bel-Air he loves showing off. Beth said he’s very excited about the new work. What if we did something small? I think the Ruschas are back from Paris… Laurene Jobs… Joyce Carol Oates and her husband… Bob might even come if he’s not touring — Dylan. Larry showed him at the gallery in New York. And Tina Fey. We’re doing an event at the Nokia—”
“Tina Fey is the funniest woman who ever lived.”
“She started collecting. You’d love her. But whether we do a dinner or not, I’d of course love to come see whatever you’ll show me.”
“I’m thinking — and it’s very sweet of you to offer a dinner party. But I’m actually thinking — and tell me what you think — I’m actually thinking that maybe I could show the work at Larry’s house. Maybe mix the two. I could hang the pictures, almost like an intimate gallery show. I’m not sure he has the space…”