" A nineteen year old with a mother of twenty-four who could comfortably pass as his date, I thought to myself. "Why don't you go to your room, let me...fix today's dinner." I asked her aloud. Nodding she went to her room."Dinner's ready!" I called out to her. She appeared in the doorway wearing a white robe, which I recalled as the one given to her by my father. I soon realized that she was out of her mind, or who else would wear a translucent gown without a bra?The outline of her perfect boobs. I gradually sensed that things were normal. Priti was watching TV along with my parents, and seemed very shy of even saying hello to me. We sat close to each other, but spoke very little. After a while Priti got up and went across to another room. When she did not come back for a few minutes, I too went to look for her. Maybe to apologize, and to tell her to be comfortable. In the other room Priti was just sitting on the bed. Before I could say anything she indicated me to bolt the door from. Mary was a puzzle. She was clearly a first-class, buttoned-down preppie woman, very much in command. At the same time, she had spent the three hours it took to get over to Martinique drinking and carousing with a stranger who was about ten years younger than she was.Plus, it was obvious that the two of them had gotten quite friendly in my little forward cuddy. It was no skin off my nose. And I had plenty of spare sheets to change the bed. But the contrast between her uptight exterior and her. A few weeks later I heard coincidentally about a vacancy at the very same gallery. The recruiting process was a formality, no one else had applied. I lived in a small town without artistic education, and every talent from my generation had moved out, a process we called the big braindrain. The owner was an immigrated excentric. During the interview, she looked at me under thick red glasses, wondering if I was willing to work odd hours. Above her head hung a portrait of her, it was obvious,.