Obsessions Of The Fame

• Isobel Jones, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2007

“Find the painting, NOW”, I yelled at the large man standing before me. He was smoking a cigar and his big tummy was nearly bursting out of his shirt. He was just a typical detective - short and fat. I was paying him ridiculous amounts of money and he still had not produced anything, not even a mere painting- the one thing I truly needed.

I turned around to face my manager, tears forming in my eyes. Jill was a nice lady in her late 50s. I had become like a daughter to her. We had known each other for over 20 years. We knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but most of all we had grown rich together. By a stroke of luck, she picked me up after the war, recognising my talent. That was the beginning of my fame. That was the beginning of my new wonderful life.

I went into my dressing room and looked through my album. Memories started flooding back to me and I remembered someone giving me a complement after my first concert. The lady had said,
“When you sing you bring hope for me and others and everyone needs that in this time of crisis.”
It was one of the nicest compliments anyone had ever given me and it gave me the courage to sing to the world.

I turned the page of my album again to find a rough black and white sketch of what was meant to be the painting. The painting I had grown to love.

My older sister, Nina and I featured in the painting. She was the bright, smart, brown haired one and I was the cute golden haired angel. A friend of my father’s created the painting. It was done with Nina and I, in the sea, with our hair flowing everywhere. My favourite memories were of playing in the sand and sea outside our house. We were so lucky, back then.

Nina was my idol. She was my big sister, whom I followed everywhere and copied everything she did. She used to get so annoyed with me, but then we both grew out of babyhood and became good friends. We were really close sisters and the bond between us was inseparable, until the accident.

Nina just went too close to the edge of the cliff and fell. Losing a sister and a best friend at the age of 10 is a terrible thing. I do not recommend it. She died only a couple of months after the completion of the painting.

At first I hated the painting. I could not stand to look at it, at her. It made me so angry that she would leave me. Mum sat me down. We talked about the accident. I felt much better from that moment.

I began loving the painting thinking that Nina was up in the sky somewhere watching over us. I guess it is hard to describe a love between yourself and a painting of a deceased person, but that’s what happened to me.

I felt terrible when we had to sell it. Mum and I kept it for a year or so, but it had to be sold because of the war. The depression drove us to starvation. The painting was the last thing we wanted to sell, but we had to eat. My mother took the painting into the middle of town to try and get a good price for it. When she was coming home on the train, it blew into pieces. I lost two things that day - a mother and a beloved painting.

I never really knew my father because he had been at war since I was born. When I was looking through my mother’s old things I found a letter saying my father had died. She had tried to hide another disappointment in my life, but it still happened.

I had many offers of residence but I took it with my next-door neighbours. They had two girls- one had left to live with her husband and the other one was nine, just three years younger than me. It was good because I could have the older sister’s room. Six months after the attack we moved out into the country. We all felt much safer there.

My manager knocked at the door & my thoughts disappeared.
“Come out, Lily! People will be expecting you at the concert in a while. You need to get your hair & make up done,” she said nervously.

***

After the concert I made my way back to the dressing room. I felt quite alone thinking of my family. My eyes found the album still opened to the drawing of the painting. Someone knocked on my door, I yelled,
“Come in.” thinking it was Jill. It wasn’t. It was a tall man with dark hair. He had a dark expensive suit on and was smiling.
“Hi,” he said. He was about 35. I was quite surprised since all of my fans were usually older than me, but he was about five years younger. He stepped in further and produced a blank piece of paper.
“Could you give me an autograph? It’s for my father, but I like you very much too,” he added trying not to be offensive. I grabbed a pen from beside the album. He looked down and saw the drawing. I quickly closed the pictures feeling a bit embarrassed. His face went blank.
“Are you okay?” He looked like he was going to throw up. Suddenly I thought. Maybe, maybe he was looking funny because he had seen the picture before.
“Have you seen that picture before?” I asked opening the album. He looked really confused and said,
“I own that picture, well actually my father owns that picture. It’s of his daughters who died during the war. So technically it’s of my half-sisters. ” He smiled. My jaw dropped open. After a long pause I laughed.

***

I became acquainted with my father, step-mother and half- sister. It was amazing. I finally had not only my painting, but a miracle had given me a family as well.