Dinner was a big hit. Wes loved both the pizza and the root beer, as he should because it was delicious, and we shared the salad. I drowned my portion in ranch dressing. As we left the apartment afterwards, Wes asked, “Will Jasper be out all evening? I was hoping to say hello.”
“I’m not sure what time he’s getting back, but he’s with a client and isn’t usually up for socializing afterwards.” Not with new people, anyway. I didn’t count, because he and I were family.
He fell silent as he followed me down the stairs. Once we reached the street, he murmured, “I suppose that job takes its toll…on both of you.”
I could have told Wes right then that he was my first client ever, but it felt odd and awkward to talk about this, so I just left it at, “Not necessarily.” He got the hint and changed the subject.
It took about twenty minutes to reach the pirate grotto. I led Wes down an alley, then stopped at a gate with a hand-lettered sign which read: Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. When I reached for the latch, Wes asked, “Do we actually have permission to be here?”
I flashed him a smile. “Don’t worry, Doc. My plans for tonight don’t include getting you arrested for trespassing.”
He muttered, “That’s not a yes,” but then he followed me into the yard and whispered, “Oh wow.”
The backyard and the house that went with it belonged to an artist who was a friend of a friend. He’d built half a nearly life-size wrecked pirate ship in the yard and painted the back of his house to look like a sea cave loaded with treasure. A few rocks, crates, and chests stacked beside the house sold the illusion. To finish it off, he’d strung the huge tree in the yard with Christmas lights, then stuck blue, amber, and green glass bottles over the bulbs, which bathed the yard in a soft, multicolored glow.
We stepped around the felled mast, and I climbed into the ship through the open back end, which was built to look like the ship had been ripped in half. It was listing to one side, so the captain’s quarters was a bit like a funhouse with the furniture at crazy angles. I climbed onto the slanted red velvet couch, sitting in the “V” created by the back and the seat, and Wes cautiously climbed up beside me. He probably expected it to tip over, but everything was bolted down.
“This is incredible,” he said.
“Isn’t it? I just love artists and the unique ways they leave their marks on the world.”
“Is it really okay to be here?”
“Yes. He wants people to come and experience it. All he asks in return is that we pay the toll.”
West started to reach for his wallet. “How much is it?”
“It’s not that kind of toll.” I opened a pirate chest and took out a thick sketch pad. “We pay by leaving something for the artist in here.”
I handed Wes the book, then took out my phone and shone my light on it. He slowly leafed through the artwork on the pages and murmured, “This is almost as remarkable as the pirate ship.”
“The artist, who goes by Galileo, doesn’t advertise this place. It’s a little secret passed around in the local arts community, so most of the people who visit here are artists of one sort or another.” I stuck my hand out to pause his flipping. A beautiful cityscape done in markers filled a two-page spread, signed by an artist who went by Zane. “This is by my friend Christian, who’s a local graffiti artist with a huge following. He’s the person who told me about this place.”
“Isn’t Galileo afraid someone will steal this book? There’s some extraordinary stuff in here.”
“My friend asked him that once, and he said, ‘If someone needs the book enough to steal it, they’re welcome to it.’ It’s been here for quite a while, though.” I fished around in the chest and produced some pens and colored pencils. “Want to do the honors?”
Wes’s brow knit with concern. “I mostly just make silly little cartoons. It’s not like the stuff in this book. That’s real art.”
“It’s all kinds of things.” I found a two-page spread where different people had contributed dirty limericks, which made him chuckle. Then I showed him some graffiti pages, which included a cartoon of a stick figure DJ with lavender hair, rapping some lyrics from a Macklemore song. “This was my contribution last time I was here, and I’m not an artist by any means.”
“It’s adorable.”
“It looks like a first grader drew it, but thank you.” I held out a black pen and asked, “Are you ready to give it a shot?”
He took the pen from me and flipped to a blank page. After he thought about it for a moment, he sketched the pirate ship in full sail, in a style that was a lot less cartoonish than the artwork he’d made for his office. Then he drew two men holding hands at the ship’s railing and reached for the pencils to add a few spots of color. One man had lavender hair, and the other wore a red bowtie.