When Iced Coffee Meets Fine Art

There were people everywhere on the sidewalks.  Everyone seemed the same in that they didn’t belong here.  They had phones out and were taking pictures.  They wore shorts, backpacks, and t-shirts they bought in the last 24-hours at a souvenir shop.  Some had ice cream in their hands, some were caring babies, and some with shopping bags.  It was the usual mark of any tourist area and that did not exclude Cannery Row in Monterey Bay, California.  

Ever since Fynn and Courtney were small children, their parents rented a house near the beach and they stayed a long week in the sleepy town.  The tradition started when their mother proclaimed that she “always wanted to live in Monterey.”   They agreed that the commute over the Pachen Pass into San Jose daily would be too much for either of them to do every day, but one week a year, during the warm dry months could work. 

Even when the children got older and insisted on staying back home with their friends, their parents insisted.  Fynn took off for college but flew back specifically for the occasion, hesitantly leaving his new girlfriend behind.  

“She will be there when you get back to Boston,” their father said.

“You have only been dating her for two weeks.  She is not coming on our family vacation,” their mother said.

“I will be eighteen and an adult next month, I am not sharing the third bedroom with her,” Courtney said.

So then it was final.  The family of four would once again stay in Monterey during a long week together during the summer.  Their parents would commute into San Jose during the week and sun on the deck of their rented house on the weekends.  Fynn and Courtney would spend their days walking up and down the main drag of Cannery Row, named after a John Stienbeck novel, looking for something to entertain themselves with.

“Remember that art gallery?” asked Courtney, pointing down an alleyway they had not yet ventured down this year.

“You mean the one that had the pictures of the hamsters dressed like cowboys?  Those were hilarious.” 

“Yeah, those were funny.  Maybe I should get some prints for my dorm room next year.”

“You are ridiculous.  You don’t even know where you are going to college yet.” 

“No, but I will have a dorm room I will need to decorate.” 

“If you get into college.” 

“Eastern Oregon University has already accepted me, thank you very much.” 

“Aiming high I see.” 

“I will let you know it is a grand school and my print will look great on the walls there.” 

“I don’t think you can take that in there,” Fynn said to his sister pointing to the iced coffee in a plastic cup dining a green Starbucks label with the straw poking out in her hand.  They had just visited the wide known coffee chain and while Fynn got a shot of an espresso and a slice of banana bread, he downed in four bites, Courtney opted for a more timely option, a Trenta sized iced coffee with two pumps of vanilla.

“I’m sure it’s fine.  People bring drinks into art galleries all the time.  Don’t they do wine tastings at these things?  That is more dangerous than my iced coffee drink with a lid.

“A lid that has a hole in the middle.”   

“Look, if it makes you feel better I will be discreet.  Look, I'll put it in my backpack while we are in there and take it out when we leave.  No one will be the wiser.”  Courtney loosened the strings to her backpack placing the drink carefully inside. 

“Are you sure that it will not spill?”

 “No, I do this all the time when I go to work.”  

“Working in the library at school for credit does not count as work.” 

Courtney ignored her brother.  The espresso shot didn’t give him enough energy to fight with his sister.

Fynn shrugged, opening and holding the door for his sister as she charged through the doors and past the ‘No Food or Drinks’ sign.  

The space was tight and it appeared there were white walls closing in on them, as though the gallery owners were trying to fit as many three quarter tall walls into the small storefront. 

“Look at this one,” she said laughing.

“A llama with spectacles.  Very nice,” Fynn replied.

“$2,000?  My goodness.  For a llama with glasses?  I don’t remember this place being this expensive,” Courtney said.

A woman in a crisp white shirt, a gray pencil skirt and a mousy brown bun at her nape approached the siblings.  She pointed at a landscape painting on the opposite wall.  “We were lucky to get a Manet to sell from a local philanthropist who is downsizing their personal collection.  We never get prized paintings like this one.  It is the most expensive painting in the gallery but we are selling it at a price that is sure to appreciate.  Let me know if you have questions about the Manet or any other artwork in the gallery,” she said with a tight-lipped smile and walked toward a cluttered desk with a register tucked in the corner.

“Did she say Manet?  I thought it was Monet,” said Fynn.

“I don’t know what she said, but it sounds expensive,” said Courtney as she backed up away from the woman with a grin on her face.  Half way on her second step her backpack hit the wall behind her.  Courtney remembered the drink in her backpack.  Did she just dump it onto the painting behind her? Fynn gasped to confirm her horror of a suspicion.

“Please tell me there is no iced coffee all over the painting.  Judging by the drips on my legs I am sure I spilled.  Please tell me it is a painting of a dog in a tutu, not the Monet,” Courtney said in a single breath.

“I’m pretty sure she said Manet.” Fynn said and peered over his sister’s shoulder and winced, looking back at his sister.  “It is the Manet,” he replied.

“As it is the most expensive painting in the gallery, please tell me it is going for $2,001.” 

Fynn looked around his sister at the bottom right corner and simply said, “nope.” 

“Should we run?”

“Yep.” 

With that the siblings charged towards the door. 

“Have a great day,” the woman in the white blouse said walking towards the door where the siblings were standing moments ago.

Courtney glanced back only to catch the woman looking down at her feet and then look up at the painting with horror on her face.