Free In Flames by Richard Hilary Weber Page B

do?”
    “You listen and watch. And you don’t make enemies. Everyone is a potential friend. Elaine says you’re a first-class watcher. I take her word for it, she’s a damn good judge. Think of the work as a kind of living Facebook.”
    “The art appeals.”
    “People should too. You’re a people person, Elaine told me exactly that when I called her.”
    Exactly
…“I don’t know, Reg, I don’t have special training, not for watching people.”
    “Just plain observation, what’s so hard about that? Surveillance isn’t illegal here, you know, as long as it’s outside the target’s home, same as in the States. And the reason for all this is the best there is, your country’s security.”
    It amazed me the way human beings went on about their business, persisting in the face of all plausible discouraging information, as if forever trapped in some all-encompassing Stockholm Syndrome. There was no dissuading Reg Townsley, he pushed right on. “You’re perfect, Dan. That you have another life, another job, this is all good stuff. You’re fresh. You have a lot of interests. And you haven’t had time to pick up bad habits here. Soon enough you’ll come to enjoy it all.”
    We’ll match Xy, dollar for dollar
…That part was enjoyable. And flattering. Nothing put me off about the pay, as there was no guarantee I’d find any work after my one-year contract with Xy ran out, if it lasted even that long. A second job that wasn’t a job, work that was more like a hobby, watching the world go by, reporting on what I saw, this definitely appealed, implausibility be damned.
    “One thing, Dan, speaking of Facebook, we looked up your page, it’s way out of date.”
    “Who’s got time, it’s such a bore.”
    “That’s my point. Liven it up a bit. You’re not taking enough risks. We’ve got guidelines you can follow. Give San Iñigo a big plug on your page, show how interesting this place is. All you can ever do is give it your best shot, Dan. Something aesthetic, let it reflect your growing profile, an art lover, soon
le gallerist
. Stuff about how San Iñigo sort of grows on you, and how you love all the pretty sunsets out there. Look at those gorgeous colors.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God
—poetry, Dan, and from a Jesuit priest no less. Throw in something like that. With lots of pictures. Load up on the vernacular, local stuff from the gallery, snapshots of your work by the sea, people here will swallow it all with relish, they’ll love you.”
    “No pictures of the new harbor, I’m not allowed to.”
    “Of course not, no, there you’re right. I mean the sky and all. Look at it now.”
    “It’s not sunset yet.”
    “And it’s mainly a lot of burn-off from the refinery, I know that’s what gives it so much color. But hey, lookit, everything has upsides, that much is incontrovertible. Optimism, Dan, never resign yourself to anything but the upside.” Which even to me sounded more like a religious proclamation than sober assessment, a wishful and romantic dreaming within a dream, far from any more obvious realities in San Iñigo. But no matter, I agreed. I accepted Reg Townsley’s offer to run their art gallery listening post.
In for a penny, in for a pound
—my mistaken philosophy.

Padre
    A few weeks later, Gallery Cristoforo opened with a local art photography exhibit.
    The assistant Reg hired, Diego Pastori, selected all the photos—
San Iñigo Beach Beauties
—before I’d signed my contract and had anything to say, and when the small gold letters in a lower corner of the gallery’s front show window appeared—D ANIEL S HEDRICK, P ROPRIETOR —I acquired legal responsibility.
Gallery Owner
, who’d have ever imagined…I thought it would look great in the next Princeton alumni bulletin. And on Facebook—Reg Townsley conned me into that fiddle, too. My Cottage Club friends would certainly be impressed, even my parents might have something to take pride in.
    Reg drew up a