“Awesome,” Edward said before flipping over to the music video channel.
After a couple hours of TV, he unpacked his clothes from his suitcase and put them into the room’s armoire. He set out some chicken to defrost, chatted online with a friend and then played video games until he grew hungry again five hours later.
He made chicken spaghetti for dinner and ate at the desk, his face hovering over his plate, reading his school’s online forum. There was yet another post from his old classmate, Turk, about his grand art opening. Turk described the different mediums he had worked with, and who he got to promise a visit. Free red wine. You know it’s going to be that cheap shit from the box. He knew how to advertise himself – Edward gave him that much, but that was all. There were few other qualities Edward could see that were likeable. Poser! The man demanded encouragement and relied on promotion.
Edward looked over a few pictures of Turk’s pieces, reading the posts. There were eight replies from classmates, all of them positive, all of them supportive, and all of them pathetic. He found the add-comment button at the bottom of the page and typed in a quick jab:
My 5-year old daughter does better work.
1 minute ago by Anonymous
But then he had a better idea – why not make up a fake name and job and really go at it. So he created a new account on the forum, entered his job as art purchaser from England, and then submitted the comment:
Art exhibition fell below my expectations in use of media and I found the paintings uninspiring and simple. To talk about one of Alex Turk’s pieces – ‘Black Stars’ offered little in emotion, deep ideas or experimentation of artistic bounds. The piece might have been an accident caused by a blender being left open and frankly made me sad because a perfectly good canvas had been wasted in its making. More than anything, I would ask the artist to return to his early art classes and study mixing colors. Many of the canvases looked as though he had a great deal of black paint sitting around that he needed to do something with. Technique was messy and outdated. Throwing paint around died in 1980 or so I had hoped. I walked into the exhibit hoping to find at least one special piece for my clients but left feeling ill and dizzy as if I had just woken from an alcohol-induced nightmare.
1 minute ago by Henry L. Whittaker
Edward sat back in the chair, reread his posted comments and laughed. He powered down his computer, turned toward the TV and quickly forgot about his classmate’s art opening. Ten minutes later, he got up to dish himself another plate of spaghetti.
After stuffing himself Edward watched TV until he fell asleep.
~~6~~
DUTIES FOR PROPERTY CARETAKER
Lot 17, Deadman Bay, Peter Island, British Virgin Islands
4.1 Caretaker will clean house before and after guests visit with cleaning supplies in outside washroom of caretaker house.
4.2 Property manager will give notice to caretaker of guest arrival 24 hours in advance.
4.3 Caretaker will report immediately valuables forgotten by the guests to the property management agency.
…
Edward made breakfast listening to his now-favorite music channel, which played a good selection of island pop. He’d kept the channel on during the night. Without it there were only the hushed sounds of the shoreline, an occasional bird cry, and wind moving through the palms. But the channel repeated the same songs every four hours, and he had to change it after Bob Marley’s Jammin started for the fifth time in two days.
Edward finished breakfast about noon; although he didn’t know the exact time. There were no clocks in his house, except the one on his computer, and he didn’t wear a watch – having always used his cell phone’s clock. After cleaning the dishes, he walked outside and around his house, looking for the outside washroom the duties booklet mentioned. He found this in his back yard. The washroom, a shack with corrugated roof, was set against the back wall of the house and on a raised patio deck. On the middle of the patio was a lawn table and matching plastic chairs. On the table was a heavy glass ashtray half filled with water. Edward found a three-legged barbecue grill on its side along with a pile of empty beer bottles in the sand next to the patio. Everything was dirty with damp sand.
The view from the patio was of nothing much. The yard was no more than a palm tree grove and shaded sand rising up to a hill covered with clumps of long grass and scrub acacia, banana trees and blue sky beyond. A breeze fluttered the palm canopy and, even though it was ninety degrees, Edward shivered at the quietness.
A rusty screwdriver stuck through the latch kept the washroom door secured. He pulled this out and opened the door. Inside was a top-load washing machine and shelves with various items. There were cleaning chemicals, detergent and bleach, and between the wall and washer were a broom, mop and bucket. A yellowed sign above the small window above the washer read: ‘DO NOT HAVE SEX ON WASHER’. On the other side of the shack were shelves with more interesting items. Diving mask, a snorkel and a pair of flippers in surprisingly good shape. He found a large pair of binoculars that looked like something left over from World War II, cans filled with bottle caps and seashells, and a Coleman lantern. Below the shelf was a half-full bag of charcoal, and against the back corner were two fishing rods and an 8-foot-long spear gun.
Edward secured the shack door and walked back around to his house. In the short time he had been outside, sweat from his underarms and back had bled through his long sleeve shirt. He rolled up his sleeves as he entered his room and turned on the air conditioner. The humid heat had a weight to it he could feel in his chest. He faced the air conditioner vent for a minute before getting a glass of lemonade and reclining on the bed to watch TV.
It was rice and beans for dinner with a couple links of diced sausage thrown in. He dashed it with Louisiana hot sauce. He ate his first bowl while watching a documentary on Picasso that was on YouTube. He ate his second bowl while reading emails. He put the bowl down when he read the last email from his close friend and classmate, Carlos Rios.
My man, everyone is hating on you. You better say something.
-Carlos
Edward figured Carlos was joking or had sent the email to the wrong person. What did he mean, and why would he say that? The last time he had talked to Carlos he had told him about arriving on the island. Was Carlos jealous? He sat back, with one hand on the keyboard ready to reply, the fork hanging from his mouth. Edward brushed back his hair, considering his words. He quickly typed and sent:
But people love me. BTW whatever you’re smoking I can get here.
-Edward
And then Edward remembered his comments on Turk’s art show thread. He leaned forward, pulled the fork out of his mouth and set it in his bowl. He typed with two hands to bring up the university’s forum. The day before there were five comments including the two from Edward. Now, there were thirty-nine. All the comments were from people he knew in school. He read the comments with his mouth hanging open.
Henry Whittaker you’re a moron. You don’t know what your talkin about
14 hours ago Gina
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Henry is just jealous. His “clients” are all old men in trench coats.
13 hours ago JD
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Don’t reply. He’s a troll!!!!
13 hours ago sTerry
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I cannot hold it in… Alex read the comment and just freaked out. He took down Black Stars and started ripping it up with a fork. We thought he was just playing, but he was crying. I never saw Alex like that. And then he walked out of the gallery and drove off. I tried to stop him, but he would not listen to anyone. Whoever wrote that comment is a monster.