The Truth About Numbnuts And Chubbs - Plot & Excerpts
In a weak moment she'd agreed to go to this gallery opening Helena had organized tonight, but she wasn't really at home with this sort of crowd. Modern art confused her. She always got the sense of watching a naked Emperor march by while everyone else cooed over his new suit of clothes. Bry liked classical art, portraits and landscapes that weren't interrupted by flying cubes or bicycle tracks, or random items she could have picked out of her own garbage. In Helena's opinion, that made her "pedestrian". "Just don't tell anyone what you really think," had been her advice to Bry as they left Helena's car and walked toward the polished glass front of the gallery. That seemed to be Helena's mantra, she mused. Just pretend everything's "darling". So now, here she was, trying to look cool and sophisticated, watching her cousin greet people with the double-cheek air kiss. Helena was fully-recharged this evening, bright and sparkling as a fake crystal chandelier, much improved on the dour, crumpled, teary-eyed woman she'd been seven hours ago at lunch, when pouring out her troubles.
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