I woke to the aroma of bacon and coffee. I imagine I sleepily floated down to the dining room like one of those cartoon critters wafted on the vapors of that amazing olfactory bouquet. In reality, I likely staggered into the kitchen like a zombie.

“Morning sunshine!” Charles chirped. “This isn't really part of the package, but after our delightful chat last evening, I thought you might appreciate a home cooked breakfast.”

I flashed a groggy smile. “I thought 'Bed & Breakfast' implied a cozy pace to sleep and maybe cheese and a muffin in the morning.... You really shouldn't have.” I halfheartedly protested. Charles shot me a grin. “...but I'm glad you did.”

He happily turned back to his stove and flipped the slices of bacon sizzling in the pan.

“While bacon is maybe my first true love, we're.... spending some time apart.” I smiled patting my thighs. “Although I'm sorely tempted to ask you to put those slices in a bag so I can huff the aroma.”

Charles laughed loud and hard and nodded with a smile.

“Please don't tell me you don't do coffee!” He mock pleaded, pouring a fragrant cup and handing it to me.

I let out a theatrical sigh and accepted his cup, addressing it in a very Blanche DuBois delivery. “I know you're no good for me and will someday bring me to ruin.... but I just can't quit you!”

Charles laughed. “So, if you don't mind me asking, what are your plans for the day?”

I cradled the coffee cup in my hands and gazed into space, considering his question, mindlessly drumming my fingers on the coffee cup.

“I've never been here before. I guess I'll explore the town... you know, artist spaces, galleries, performance venues... that sort of thing. I guess I'm on a quest for culture.”

“Godspeed, Margaret Mead!” Charles laughed. “May I suggest a few spots? Just to save you some time thrashing through the cultural ….underbrush?”

I beamed at him. “That would be most appreciated.”

“Not that the thrill of discovery isn't delicious, but I know all about poking around relentlessly until you find something worthy of your time and attention.” he smiled.

I nodded, then said quietly “Do you miss it? Roaming the world?”

Charles smiled. “I loved every minute of it. But my mom needs me now. The world will always be there.”

I reached out and squeezed his hand. “You're a good son. She's lucky to have you.”

“And I'm lucky to have her. When I hear some of the stories from friends....” He involuntarily shuddered. “....well.... I guess we're lucky to have each other.”

I nodded. “So what do you do when you're not ….minding the manor?” I smiled.

Charles shrugged. “The usual. Nascar. Pool Halls.... Titty bars.” He deadpanned.

I lowered the coffee from my lips and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

He couldn't hold his poker face. Charles erupted in a guffaw, then got serious again. “I help some friends who have a gallery downtown.... I won't say which one, but it's one of the ones on your list.” He grinned.

“I'll just have to ask everyone if they know you.” I grinned back.

“Oh girl, they all know me. How do you think I made you that list? All us art outcasts know each other! I'm also involved with the local community theater company and I help now and then with the drama department at our local community college.”

“Orchestrator? Choreographer? Lighting director?” I queried.

Charles smiled. “Set designer. Once upon a time I fancied myself an artist don'cha know.”

“You still are!” I smiled. “This place is the quintessential B&B. It's like the master from which every other one was copied.”

Charles blushed. “You are too generous in your praise mademoiselle. Keep that up and soon I'll suspect you're trying to charm me out of the deed to my momma's property!"

I giggled. “Not a bad idea. I could copy this place and franchise clones around the world as 'Mrs Claypoole's Original American Bed and Breakfast' I'd be the Disneyland meets McDonald's of B&Bs!”

Now it was Charles' turn to raise an eyebrow at me.

“Y'know” he said quietly. “That's not half bad..... A lot of the places I've been.... it would be a welcome novelty.....” and his attention turned from me to gaze into space, lost in thought.

I finished my coffee and gathered my things. “Thanks for the list.” I smiled. “I'm off to see your fair city.”

Charles' list turned out to be invaluable.

I was stunned by the creativity and adventurousness I saw in the venues he recommended.

I might have expected this in New York or Paris.... but in Greenville? It was such an advantage to have a skilled curator overseeing your explorations...

I saw some amazing art installations and some very ahead of the curve performances. It truly was a treasure trove of culture. When I spoke to the artists and curators they all laughed.

“Oh, honey.... don't give us swelled heads. We're just an odd distraction to the primary art forms in this city.” Lisa & Bo, a couple of really amazing performance artists gracefully dismissed my gushing.

When I shot them a perplexed look, they'd laugh. “Line dancing. Cover bands. Sing-along bars....”

“You mean Karaoke?” I asked. They shook their head emphatically.

“Too 'forrin' ...good-ole all-american sing-along bars.” They said with a look that made their feelings crystal clear. “THAT's the real art scene in this town.”

“So why don't you move?” I asked. “What I've seen looks like it would be right at home in New York or L.A. ….or Paris or Madrid.”

They shrugged. “Those places are all great. And they all have great art. Cutting edge stuff. Attitude changing stuff. We'd just be... at best.... more of it. But here... even if hardly anyone cares.... here... we're all of it.... our stuff stands out more here... has a chance to make more of a difference here... than it would in a city that already has plenty of world changing art. And, we love the people here, even if they really don't exactly love us back. They may not get us, but they let us do our thing, and they're at least gracious about the fact that they don't really get us. It's a comfortable climate... weather-wise and socially... nice people and affordable housing.” Lisa said.

“We may be on the outskirts of the art world, but for some of us who don't really need to suffer for our art, it's a comfortable place to be. And every now and then a nice stranger happens along and seems to really get us... and that makes it all worthwhile.” Bo grinned.

I blushed. “I must confess.... I had outside help. ….actually more like inside help.” I smiled and waved the piece of paper Charles gave me. Lisa took the list from my hand and looked it over. A look of wry amusement crossed her face.

“Charlie Claypoole.” She grinned to Bo, who nodded with a knowing smile.

I nodded sheepishly. He didn't even have to say 'I should have known'.

“He really is a one man chamber of commerce” I smiled. Bo nodded grinning.

“He should have a blog or something.... 'Hidden Greenville'.... a guide to the amazing art hiding in plain sight.” I muttered offhandedly.

Lisa lit up. “Yes. Yes he should! He's a charming storyteller. He should have a blog.... or a podcast.... he could tell tales of his world travels and intersperse them with interviews about interesting things going on around his current home base....” Bo was nodding enthusiastically, really liking this as the idea developed.

“And...” I raised a finger, getting caught up in the enthusiasm, “...he could talk about things going on around the vicinity of his new home base... Mrs Claypoole's B&B.... conveniently close to all of Greenville's hidden artistic treasures!” I grinned.

“So the blog and podcast cast a light on Greenville's undiscovered art scene and the perfect spot to stay when someone comes to see for themselves what they've read about on the blog or heard in the podcast!” Bo's eyes widened as if the words he was speaking was a revelation from somewhere else.

I grinned and nodded. “The blog & podcast are about the city and its undiscovered art scene, but the raconteur narrating it and the B&B he runs, are inherent product placement!”

“Ohmigod. That's brilliant!” Lisa gushed. “I can't believe none of us ever thought of that before!”

Suddenly Bo got silent, pulled back almost subliminally, and shot me a look.

With raised eyebrow he quietly muttered “....are you a muse?”

My laugh startled and disarmed him.

“God NO! I'm just an artist.”

I moved on to the next gallery on my list and was surprised to see a collection of very contemporary pieces... many of which seemed quite familiar. I'm sure many of them were from the 'deviant arts' website, but these all looked like original pieces. The exhibit was called “Gone in 60 nanoseconds – Ephemeral art and the sublime cloud” with an image of a sky with clouds shaped like Michaelangelo's Sistene chapel 'Creation', Mickey Mouse and Elvis.... all portrayed as cumulus Rorschachs. I got the premise immediately. Internet art was at once instantly pervasive and utterly ephemeral... like the image seared on the retinas of a crowd for a brief moment of time by a camera flash.

I was really enjoying the exhibit and the conceit behind it when I was jarred out of my reverie by one unexpected piece.

A zombie's-eye view of shoppers at a mall, all conspicuously ignoring the observer, whose perspective is the subject of the stark black and white woodcut-type image.

It was one of our “collectible” pieces from Plague Diaries. And it had a small card attesting to its source. Along with the asking price.

$500.

I couldn't resist. I whipped the phone out of my purse and shot a picture of the display card and price tag when I was immediately accosted by an officious gallery guy.

“No photographs! This is a gallery NOT a roadside attraction!” Bernard, the gallery owner glowered. “If you want it, BUY it! You can't just steal it to your iPhone!”

He was SO snooty, I couldn't completely suppress my smirk. He was like a cartoon of an art snob.

“Oh, PLEASE!” I replied haughtily and caught myself mimicking his demeanor. It was too easy to fall into that lampoonish caricature. With great effort, I damped it down and continued in my own tone of voice. “I'm well aware of most of this art. It's ALL available online in much better resolution than I could get on my phone!” I turned the screen to him, pointing out how I had focused on his description card and price tag. “I was just photographing the information card and price to send to my ….partner.”

Instantly his demeanor changed and he transformed from haughty offense to the model of unctuousness... though he was still haughty.

“Intriguing, no?” He whispered. “”A new artist from an exploding new internet serial.... are you familiar with 'Plague Diaries'?” He said quietly and ominously as if he was sharing directions to the fountain of youth, or the zipcode of the lost city of Atlantis.

I tried to suppress my smirk and nodded.

“Quite familiar.” I croaked, still trying to squelch my mirth.

“It's a sensation! Such brilliant storytelling.... it seems like another ordinary zombie tale.... zombies are all the rage right now.... but look deeper and there's so much.... subtext.... and those images.... like this.... the people at the mall.... all oblivious.... but all so subconsciously ….colluding.... to willfully ignore the truth staring them in the face daring to be seen....” he drew in a breath. “Powerful.... Groundbreaking. $500 is a steal! When this hits mainstream.... we're talking Warhol or Roy Lichtenstein prices.”

“Who is this next Warhol or Lichtenstein?” I inquired struggling to keep a straight face.

“His name is right here. The stories are by Taldone. He puts his name on every issue, but he let slip in an interview that he doesn't do the art. This is the artist's logo right here.” and he pointed to the nearly subliminal purple glyph on the otherwise stark black and white print.

“What does that say?” I asked the expert trying to sell me a $500 print from the good printer at office oasis.

“It doesn't say anything. It's a logo. The artist's imprint.”

“A glyph? Like Prince, when he was the artist formerly known as....?”

“Exactly!” He nodded enthusiastically. “It's like a brand. A trademark. An icon.”

“So. Not a name....” I said dejectedly.

He shook his head. “No. The artist guards his privacy above all else. That's why he only signs his work with this ….glyph... as you called it.” The guy was beginning to sell himself on his blustering sales pitch.

“How do you know it's a 'HE'?” I asked innocently.

“....Well..... just look at the starkness.... the ….brutality.... of this portrayal.... it's a graphic novel for chrissakes..... Alan Moore.... Frank Miller.... Art Spiegelman.... Daniel Clowes... Venditti.... obviously Taldone wouldn't hire a girl to bring his haunting story to life.”

“So, Taldone's a guy....” I said, with a hint of a question in my tone. He nodded.

“....Who hired this mystery artist to illustrate his story...”

“More than illustrate. The art and story are greater than the sum of their parts. There's an artistic symmetry that raises this beyond mere storytelling. This is epic. Prophetic. This is Homer. Orwell. Salinger. Gibson. This will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

It was a good sales pitch. He pretty much had me convinced.... at least convinced that he believed that hyperbole he was spouting.

“Next big thing, huh?” I asked rather skeptically.

He nodded emphatically.

“$500?”

He nodded again. I think he was beginning to believe there might be a sale here.

“Worth every cent. And sure to appreciate. This is just beginning to blow up. Soon people will be clamoring for these pieces.”

“But it looks like it was just printed on a giant industrial printer. It could be one of millions.... or just an internet file infinitely reproducible on giant printers.” I opined.

He shook his head. “Yeah. No. Sure.... it's possible... the files are online... but this is signed by the artist. Look. That's your guaranty of originality.”

I crossed my arms and regarded the piece. I had this guy on the hook and was savoring it.

“Mmmmm....” I muttered ambivalently. “Do you have a business card?”

He reached into his jacket and quickly proffered one with the speed of a gunfighter.

I fished into my purse and found my purple gelpen. I quickly jotted my logo on the back of his card and handed it back to him. His initial confusion at receiving his card back was compounded when he turned it over and stared at the back.

“It's not a logo. Not exactly. It's my last name. Very stylized... but my name. Saville. See?” and with the tip of my purple gelpen, the very same one I had used to sign the piece he was trying to sell me for $500, I pointed out all the letters stylized and stacked atop one another.

He shot me a look of profound incomprehension. It was a delight watching the clouds clear and seeing the slowly dawning realization bloom on his face.

“Taldone?” I said matter of factly. “That's my partner. T Aldone. Tina Aldone. Actually Christina, but she prefers Tina.... so T.... Aldone. Her story. Her world. I just give her world its images.”

His look was a mix of bewilderment, incomprehension, and a vague sense that he was really in the wrong place at the wrong time and had really stepped in it. Only he couldn't quite grasp what 'it' was. His profound disorientation had a surprisingly relaxing effect on me. I felt far less defensive and much more generous at bringing this poor schlub up to speed.

I reached into my purse and produced my wallet, letting it fall open to the clear pocket showing my fake I.D. I extended my hand.

“Hi. Chloe. Chloe Saville.” I smiled. The guy just continued to stare.

I smirked. Then regarded his $500 display piece. I shook my head with a grin.

“We've only been charging $35 each for these....” Then it occurred to me to shoot the guy a look. “Yes. Each is a one of a kind. The originals are all digital files from paintshop, but once printed and hand signed, I check it off my list. There are no two copies. Not originals anyway. And clever of you to notice they're all hand-signed in ink” I wiggled the gelpen in my fingers. “To validate originality.”

I turned back to regard the piece on the wall, or actually, the card under it with the description and the price.

“$500? Do you really think anyone will pay that kind of money for ….this?” and I waved at the piece.

He nodded, regaining his composure.

“Absolutely.” He deadpanned.

“Tina Aldone will be really mad when I tell her what we could have been charging for these....” I put on a rueful pout. “You wouldn't believe how I had to twist her arm to charge $35.... which barely covers materials and postage.” I shook my head sadly.

The guy got ...a look. I could tell he felt that he was being punked. What were the odds that the 'mystery artist' would show up at his gallery.... in Greenville of all places... and that this 'next Warhol or Lichtenstein' would be... gasp.... a woman! I could see on his face as he talked himself out of everything I was saying.

“So, I take it you're not interested....” He said icily.

“In paying you $500 for something I drew in an afternoon and printed for $18?” I smiled.

He shot me a cold glare that said 'give up whatever scam you're trying to pull, I'm on to you missy'. “Suit yourself” he said, dripping with contempt and turned to leave.

“This really is an impressive collection.” I said, “...That piece notwithstanding...” I grinned and cocked a thumb at the Plague Diaries print. “What inspired you to do an exhibit of internet art?”

“It was a decision by the gallery board. This is an explosive movement in the art world. The internet makes it both easier for patrons to find great art and makes actually collecting and compiling the works far more elusive since it's all so....”

“...ephemeral” I muttered. He nodded in agreement.

“So it was decided by ….the gallery trustees.... to obtain as many unique physical artifacts as possible and offer them for sale to discerning collectors.”

“The gallery trustees?” I raised an eyebrow, Bernard simply nodded. “You mean like a boardroom full of investors? They hardly seem the type to make aesthetic....”

Bernard began shaking his head vigorously. “No. No no no NO! ….The trustees are a select group of principals with a financial investment in the gallery, the physical real estate, and a longtime patron of the arts and world traveler with impeccable credentials as a discerning judge of a myriad of art forms.”

I nodded. It sure sounded like Charles.

“Well, I must agree, your patron of the arts has a really keen eye. And it must be refreshing for a world traveler to avoid jet lag and find such a diverse and captivating selection from the comfort of the computer in her own den.”

“HIS own den” Bernard corrected ….haughtily.

I nodded solemnly. He took my bait and chomped down hard.

“Good luck with the exhibit.” I finger waved as I began to walk toward the lobby. “And if you find someone to pay you half a kilo for that....” I cocked my head to the P.D. print, “Don't worry about an empty space. Tell Charlie Claypoole to ring me up and we'll get you another piece pronto.”

Bernard began to chase after me, but then stopped. He probably realized he'd have no idea what to do if he actually caught up with me. As I made my way out of the gallery and onto the street, I sent the photo to Tina with the caption “You'll never believe what I found.”

She texted back almost immediately. “OMG! You're pranking me, right? Where ARE you? Come join us!”

“Doing galleries in Greenville. Where are YOU?”

“Olive Garden.”

“Now YOU are pranking ME! Does your mother know????”

“Hahaha. I know, right? My friends like it. So yeah. Join us.”

“Save me a breadstick. ...Directions?”

“...across from the MALL....duh!”

“Duh. :-D On my way.”