As I walked through the gallery, I was completely swept away by the photographs displayed on the walls throughout. Some were in color, but most were in stark black and white. One group that caught my eye was a black and white series of hands. It was amazing how the photographer was able to capture the essence of people just by using their hands. Some were young, some old and gnarled, still others caught in between, but all sent a very visual message. Another series was taken on a battleground. These were jolting, horrific images: burned out tanks with smoke still billowing from them, fields of bodies stacked like wood; soldiers, grimy and in tattered uniforms sitting with blank looks on their faces. I looked closely at the name on the captions, thinking there was no possible way the same person could have taken both sets of pictures, but I was wrong. Jordan Stuart, the captions read.
I continued wandering around, murmuring hellos to friends and colleagues who were also present, but I found myself drawn back to the hand series. I stood contemplating a picture of a child's hands framing an older person's hands, and a voice from behind me said, "This one is particularly powerful, don't you think?"
I turned and looked at the woman who had spoken. She was looking past me to the picture over my shoulder, standing casually, but there was a tension in her body I didn't understand. Her gaze met mine and I felt a jolt run through me. Her eyes were a deeply penetrating jade green, and the force of her focusing on me nearly took my breath away.
"Um.... yes," I stammered, clearing my throat and turning back to the picture. I could sense her coming up closer behind me, almost as if an electrical current surrounded her. Her arm reached past me to gently touch the glass of the frame and trace the veins on the older hand, and I could smell a hint of cinnamon and vanilla. In an effort to shake off the strange effect she'd had on me, I heard myself say, "I don't think the artist would appreciate you touching the glass." She turned and looked at me, amused. I winced. I sounded like a prude, even to myself.
"Normally I'd agree with you," she said, her voice husky and warm in her throat, "but I'm sure she won't mind if I do."
I was about to say something that would undoubtedly have been foolish when a voice from across the room called out, "Jordan! There you are! Hon, come over here and meet these gentlemen. They're interested in buying some of your work." The woman looked past my shoulder toward the voice, a look of slight irritation flitting over her face, then she settled her bright gaze on me once again.
"I hope you'll excuse me," she said. "Duty calls." And with that, she smiled graciously and walked with long strides over to where an older woman was waiting, gesturing to a group of men in business suits who looked uncomfortable in the bohemian atmosphere of the gallery.
I watched as the older woman placed a hand on the small of Jordan's back and guided her over to the men. Jordan said something that made them all laugh and seemed to put them at ease, and as a group they wandered over to some color prints of wildlife in another part of the gallery.
That was the first time I met Jordan Stuart.
The next time I saw Jordan was about three months later. I was working late in the music store which I co-own, and had just finished a fairly exhausting piano lesson with one of my least favorite students. I was getting ready to close the store when the bell over the door rang. Slightly irritated I said, before I could see who it was, "I'm sorry, but the store is closing. We open at 8:00 tomorrow morning if you'd like to come back."
There was no answer, so I headed toward the front to see if I had imagined the door opening. I glanced at my watch. Damn. I was already late getting home, and I had a ton of work to do to prepare for an upcoming performance. With this in mind, I was completely preoccupied and therefore very surprised to see Jordan standing in the doorway.
"Well. Hello," I said, feeling awkward and strange suddenly. Her eyes focused on me, once again sending a jolt through my body. She smiled and said, "Boy, you're a real stickler for rules, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry?" I said, confused. Then I remembered - I had scolded her for touching one of her own photographs at her last show. I blushed, and she laughed, walking toward me and holding out her hand.
"Hi, I'm Jordan Stuart. We never got the chance to formally introduce ourselves, did we?" she said, taking my hand in a firm grip.
"Uh...no. No, I guess we didn't. I'm..."
"I know who you are. Kate Shaw, musician extraordinaire. I've been asking about you, and now I've found you. It's about time, too!"
Still confused, I had to consciously make myself let go of her hand. I could smell the hint of cinnamon and vanilla I'd sensed on our first meeting, and I was having a hard time catching my breath for some reason. How strange this all was!
"You've been asking about me? Why? And who have you been asking?" I said.
Jordan laughed and looked around the store. "Is there somewhere we could talk? I know you need to close up shop and I don't want to keep you.... but I'd really like to talk to you."
I took a step back and looked at my watch again. "I'd love to, really, but I need to be getting home. I have a lot of work to do."
"Well.... may I walk with you a while, then? You don't live far from here, do you?" she asked.
I hesitated, a little unsettled by how much she seemed to know about me, then I shrugged. It couldn't hurt to walk with her.
"Sure," I said. "Let me finish locking up, then we'll go."
As we walked together, Jordan's eyes constantly swept the area around us. I was still uncertain why a world-famous photographer had been searching for me, so I finally gathered up the courage to ask her. She was silent for a moment, then answered seriously, "You were the only one at the show who seemed to really appreciate what I was trying to say with those pictures. I watched you for quite a while before I approached you, and was intrigued that the first thing you did was get after me for breaking the rules. If Maggie hadn't interrupted me, I would have asked you out for coffee or something. By the time I got through with those businessmen, you had already left, so I had to resort to some snooping to find out who you were."
"And how did you do that?" I asked.
"Your friend Peter told me," she said.
"Oh? You know Peter?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes. His partner, Jeffrey, is a dear friend of mine. I've taken several of my favorite prints to their shop and had them design custom frames for me. It wasn't hard for Peter to figure out I was talking about you once I described you." She skipped a few steps ahead of me, humming a tune I didn't recognize under her breath.
