Electric Avenue • [h.s]

chapter three

San Francisco, California

May 23rd 1976

         Delilah tried to forget how she'd tossed and turned the whole night as she slung the cotton tote bag over her shoulder.

The sun is lounging in the sky and everyone is out enjoying the unceasing sunshine of the San Francisco bay. She licks her fingertips and slicks back a couple rogue baby hairs, dodging the cracks in the sidewalk for good luck.

It was just a few depressing months in to her first semester of college when she found the newspaper advertisement on a whim. At first, she flicked past the article without a second thought but the more NYC rainstorms she found herself caught in, the more she began to consider a sunny change of scenery.

The closer she got to the gallery, the more she thought that this interview was actually a terrible idea. She was just a college student with no real experience in fine art, how on earth did she believe she was going to get this job?

A wooden sign with handwritten pastel lettering revealed to Delilah that she'd arrived at Electric Avenue, the San Francisco bays most eclectic gallery of one-of-a-kind contemporary art. Any work the gallery sold made upwards of her fathers yearly mortgage repayments.

Overlooking the coasts main pier and standing at least 3 stories above any of it's neighbouring buildings, the hot pink painted exterior was just the kind of place Delilah yearned for whilst studying back in New York.

The pretentious, unoriginal work of Manhattan's trust fund babies had no appeal to her, she'd seen it all thousands of times before... but this place was the total opposite. A breath of fresh air to renew her creativity.

All of the galleries Delilah had ever visited were impersonal, almost clinical; Everything glass with monochromatic detailing. The lighting was always cold and unwelcoming.

Industry leaders would say it's to promote focus on the display pieces, but Delilah always questioned why people didn't want to feel warm when looking at art.

Electric Avenue, however, was the perfect juxtaposition to everything she'd come to know of art exhibits. It's interior was just as vibrant as it's brickwork.

Outlandish pottery, sculptures and canvases inhabited every available surface. Plants hung down from the high ceilings like leafy nursery mobiles.

There was even a section where paintings by art students were on display. She mooched over to the corner where they were on show and was dazzled by the quality and the sheer imagination of the artists, despite being mere students just like Delilah.

~~

"Martin is ready for you now," The secretary with mauve painted lips and matching dungarees offers a welcoming smile.

Nodding, Delilah stands from the neon orange egg-seat she'd been sat in. The woman leads her through some rustic, wooden double doors, which had been the focus of her dazed blank stare while she daydreamed for the last 20 minutes.

Delilah's attempts to pacify her nerves had been so far unsuccessful, she wanted this position so badly that she'd do anything for it. As they neared the door to Martin's office, who she assumed was the owner, she smoothed out any wrinkles she caught in her skirt.

She'd rifled through her luggage for hours to find the right outfit as anything she had planned didn't look right when trying it on in her mirror this morning.

Though she gathered that a matching black blazer and pleated skirt ought to do the trick for just about any job interview. Her black mary-janes were paired with some white knee socks, complete with matching headband. Very classic Delilah.