Sebastian walked round so he could read the letter over his mother's shoulder. "What's an installation?"
Mary Ellen opened her mouth in preparation to answer, then shut it and looked across the table to her husband. "Simon, can you explain?"
Simon shook his head. "I know what one is, but you really need to see one to understand."
Sebastian reread the letter. "I might drop by the Higgins and have a look."
Mary Ellen nodded. "You do that, and maybe you'll understand."
"Take a camera. You might be able to sell a photograph of it to one of the papers," Sebastian's father suggested.
Saturday
Sebastian paused to appreciate the photograph in the entertainment section. It showed a crowd gathered in the Higgins Hotel to see Mrs. Garlow's installation, and it was his first sale. He then moved on to reading the letters to the editor. There were a couple of letters defending Mrs. Flannery's comments about Mrs. Garlow's installation. They questioned how such a thing could possibly be called art, and having seen the installation in question, Sebastian was on their side. There was a letter from someone who'd bought a copy of Gran's book, and seemed to think it was money well spent.
Monday
Sebastian flipped through the paper until he came to the letters to the editor. Today, for the first time Sebastian could remember, they took up an entire page. There were the run of the mill letters, where people complained about the government or the way the iron-rimmed wheels on wagons traveling through Grantville were damaging the roads. And then there was the developing battle between Mrs. Garlow and Mrs. Flannery. People were starting to take sides. And caught in the middle was Gran's book. Sebastian chewed at his thumbnail as he tried to work out if this was good or bad.
"Stop chewing your nails. There's plenty of food in the house!"
He dropped the thumb instantly and turned to his mother. "I'm worried about what this will do to sales of Gran's book. Do you think it'll hurt it?"
"Of course not, it's all good publicity."
She was his mother, so of course she'd say something like that. Sebastian turned back to the letters. As he read he felt his thumb brushing his lips and hastily dropped it.
Tuesday
Sebastian put down the phone and smiled.
"Some more orders?" his father asked.
He nodded. "That's the sixth shop to call asking for delivery of more books as soon as possible."
"So everyone likes Mom's book again?"
"Everyone but Mrs. Bonnaro. I got a check and her returns today."
Simon walked around to read the list of orders Sebastian had taken down. "She might regret that. How many books have you sold, then?"
Sebastian opened the order book at the back, where he'd been keeping a running tally. "We've had orders for three hundred in Grantville, of which we've been paid for a hundred and thirty four, and we have mail-orders for another sixty, waiting on the clearance of payments."
"So you've got close to two hundred actual sales, and nearly four hundred possible sales. That's not bad."
"But we need to sell nearly seven hundred to break even."
"So get out there and hustle. Advertise. Do what you have to do to move them. Otherwise you'll end up remaindering them for fifty percent off."
Wednesday
The Grantville Times Wednesday edition was double its normal size, being a bumper four section, sixteen page monster. The letters to the editor claimed the full two page center-spread in one section. And it wasn't just the Times. The Daily News was also running an enlarged letters to the editor section.
The opening of Mrs. Garlow's latest show was also being promoted. Sebastian looked at it, and wondered. "Dad, would it be all right if I go to the gallery tonight?"
"What time?"
"The show starts at seven thirty, so I'd like to get there earlier."
"What show?" Mary Ellen asked.
"Mrs. Garlow's got a new exhibition starting tonight."
"And why this sudden interest in first night showings?"
"I thought I might take a camera and see if I can get some shots for the paper."
His father smiled. "You're hoping to earn a little pocket money? Don't let your first sale go to your head."
"I won't," Sebastian said, although that was exactly what he was thinking. He'd got a hundred dollars for that shot. If he made another sale. .
"Just stay out of trouble," Mary Ellen said.
"What kind of trouble can you get into at an art gallery?"
Wednesday night
Sebastian had an advantage over all the other photographers. His grandparents had been enthusiastic photographers and collectors of photographic paraphernalia. His grandfather had reenacted as a Civil war photographer, even going so far as to use historically correct wet-plate photography. Not that Sebastian was using anything that primitive. No, he was using a Speed Graphic with an electronic flash. Not only was it a better camera than anybody else had, it opened doors, including the front door to the gallery. He hadn't thought about the dress code for a first night of an exhibition.
Sebastian happily moved through the gallery taking photographs of the notables as he saw them, usually with their enthusiastic agreement. Then he saw Mrs. Flannery. Sebastian was no student of body language, but with the current battle raging in the letters to the editor he would have thought she'd be a bit of a spectre at the feast. He decided to follow her. He saw her stop in front of a woman and they started talking.
FLASH! Smack!
The room went silent. Half of the patrons were staring at him, while the rest were staring at the two women. The one Mrs. Flannery had confronted was holding a hand to her face.
Sebastian lowered the camera he didn't remember lifting and smiled innocently to the people looking his way. "Don't take any notice of me. I'm just the photographer." He did his best to disappear into the woodwork as he rapidly changed out the exposed double-dark, filed it in his camera bag, and reloaded the camera. By the time he finished reloading the camera, the capacitor on the flash unit was recharged. He looked around for something else to photograph.
A hand tapped on his shoulder "Did you get a shot of that?"
Sebastian turned to find Lyle Kindred and his wife looking at him. "What?"
"Brianna Flannery slapping Heather Garlow."
"Oh!" He looked back to where Mrs. Garlow was still being comforted by a male escort. "Is that who she is?"
"Yes. Now, did you get a shot of the slap?"
"I don't know. I don't even remember lifting the camera, let alone taking the photo."
"We might make a press photographer of you yet," Lyle said. "Come with me to the Times, and we'll see what you've got."
"You're not going to abandon me here are you?" Mary Jo Kindred demanded.
"Have you seen anything you like?" Lyle asked.
"No!"
"Then there's no problem," Lyle said as he started to escort Sebastian out of the gallery.
"I might decide there's something I like," Mary Jo called after them. "Something really expensive," she added just before Lyle and Sebastian left the gallery.
Thursday
The Grantville Times was two sections again. The photograph of Mrs. Flannery slapping Mrs. Garlow made page four. Sebastian looked at it with pride. He'd got it just about perfect. He couldn't have taken a better shot if he'd tried, and according to Mr. Kindred, if he'd tried, he probably would have made a mess of it.