Painting By Numbers
Ken Walton wasn’t what you would call a strong man physically. He suffered from asthma from an early age and was prone to catching any coughs, colds or flu that were doing their rounds. His wife Kate, on the other hand, was strong as an ox even though petite in frame. She thought nothing of running in a marathon for charity at moment’s notice, raising thousands of pounds for good causes. Ken was the one who held the towels, space blankets, at the end of her races and provided encouragement from the sidelines, neatly wrapped up in ski gear, to fend off the chills. What he lacked in physical strength and health, Ken made up in determination and a strong mind. At an early age and because he had missed so much schooling because of illness, he was cast aside into the dross of the Secondary Education System. Grammar Schooling was not for him it was deemed. An eventual apprenticeship was all he was thought capable of and even then his mother fretted that he wouldn’t be kept on because of bad attendance. Ken, realising his weaknesses at an early age, set his sights on a nice steady inside job of a draughtsman, where the only draughts were on the outside. He worked hard at his arts and arithmetic and got a place at the local college to study Art and Design, with the view of switching to a draughtsman’s course in his second year.
He’d met Kate at the College, who was taking a Secretarial Course and who hated the typing and shorthand elements. She obviously had taken pity on him. They married straight after College, to the dismay of both sets of parents and set up home in a rented two up and two down on the outskirts of Luton. Far too young and foolish they had said, though Ken’s mother was glad to hand over the sickly child to another carer. Kate’s parents were too concerned that Ken wouldn’t be able to hold down a job and there would be money problems for the pair, down the road.
To flummox their parents, Ken got an immediate position at a local builder’s firm, in their drawing office and Kate, whose secretarial skills were still wanting, was taken on by a small engineering firm as an Office Junior. She still had the same title nine years later, even though, as the unofficial Personal Assistant to the Managing Director, she effectively ran the place and saw to its expansion and growth, employing over fifty workers on the shop floor. She was the powerhouse, the drive behind the firm. All decisions were referred to her, pay disputes, hiring, firing was all down to her, with her bosses blessing of course. All decision had to be referred to the Top Man, even though all knew that this was all eye wash and the Top Man was too busy reducing his handicap on the golf course. Ken settled and quietly progressed up the ladder and was now meeting clients and drawing up their aspirations on paper. He let the Boss do the site work, as outdoor work would bring on unnecessary stress to his well being.
Both were doing well financially and had moved to a large semi with a garden and a garage at the back in a better area of Luton. The garage housed their pride and joy which was chosen by Ken not for its power but its efficient heating system. This ferried them both, each weekend, to various running events, where Kate would take part and Ken would wait patiently at the Finishing Line, to watch his beloved come in, holding the space blanket out to wrap her in tightly. Both sets of parents had now turned on them for the lack of family, lack of the sound of pattering feet. They didn’t care and laughed it off. Ken had long decided that he was at fault down there and his system wasn’t firing on all cylinders, as it should. Unbeknownst to him, Kate had been to the clinic and was told that her egg production was at fault and the doctors had prescribed something for her.
A simultaneous incident at work sparked off a train of events that was to alter their lives forever. Kate had a long call with an American client who was one of their best customers and he had told Kate that she was wasted in dreary old Englandand should come to the land of plenty and opportunity. Ken, on the same day, had a similar conversation with an American client for whom he was planning a warehouse. The American had told him that they were crying of for people in New York with his talent and that his expertise was being wasted over here. That night, over a cosy TV dinner, they recounted their experiences that day and came to a decision that they should check out the grass on the other side of the fence. It wasn’t quite the unanimous decision, since Kate ruled the roost on that score but Ken went along with a modicum of enthusiasm.
Their next joint port of call was at the American Embassy, or at least an office that dealt with emigration. Kate had her nose put out of joint by some officious American lady, who told her that, as an Office Junior, she wasn’t really qualified for anything, even though she tried to convince the woman that she had the business sense to run a substantial engineering Company. Ken on the other hand, sailed through with flying colours and his professional qualifications impressed the lady so much, that it was on his part that they were accepted and had to complete the mass of forms. The sticking point was Ken’s health but he managed to convince his doctor to give him a clean bill of health, on the basis of his regular attendance record.
By the end of the month, they had given in their notice, packed their two suitcases and were on an American Air jumbo heading for Newark. Their preparations were not without their mishaps. Firstly, both sets of parents turned on them, accusing them of abandoning their families. Ken’s mother was distraught that her poor boy wouldn’t survive the long flight, with his health and all that. Kate’s parents had obviously watched too much American police drama and were seriously concerned about the safety of their precious daughter in the slums of New York. They managed to appease both their parents somewhat by Ken offering his dad, his well heated car, gratis. Kate handed over the keys to their precious semi, tabby cat included, to her brother on the basis he would look after it for them and pay the monthly mortgage. This solved a housing problem for her brother who had recent married and wasn’t over keen on the Council flat he had been offered.
Ken’s boss was distraught at losing one of his best workers and tried to entice him to change his mind with an enhanced pay offer, but too late. In Kate’s case, it didn’t dawn on the Managing Director that Kate was actually leaving, until it was too late. He had misunderstood her notice as Holiday request and the reality only dawned on him when she presented him with a drafted advert that he should place in the local rag, for a Junior Assistant with a list of duties that made the mind boggle. He rightly assumed that Kate would plan and arrange everything for her absence as she had done each year for their fortnight in the sun. He was a very worried man when the real truth hit him but again it was too late. Both Companies gave them a fair send off and they both ended up with a five-piece luxury luggage set to boot.
“Champagnefor you Madam and for you Sir?” offered a sprightly stewardess. They had been so excited at check-in that the lady had mistaken them for a honeymoon couple and bumped them up to Club Class. They were too excited to sleep and spent most of the flight checking through their paperwork and the job offer that Ken had got from an Engineering Design firm in Newark. The firm had also arranged for them an apartment nearby, on a month’s basis. They really felt that they were on their honeymoon and starting a new life. Realisation hit them hard when, feeling groggy, with lack of sleep and too much champagne, they joined the long queues at immigration. The first Officer they reached, after an hour’s wait, told them they were in the wrong line. The second Officer told them that they had completed the wrong forms and after two hours of waiting, the third Officer took pity on them and bed them to ‘have a nice day’ as she stamped their forms.
In the twilight, the cab took them to a massive apartment block and the driver assisted them with their luggage and at least took pity on the new immigrants by taking them to the reception desk, after soliciting a hefty tip. A young, coloured man with a bright smile welcomed them and told them he had expected them, hours ago. They signed the month’s contract and with a set of keys, he took them in the elevator to their sixth-floor apartment. On the way, he outlined the rules of the establishment and told them that if they were short of any furniture or equipment, he had a store down in the basement and he could supply all their needs. He also commented that they had cute accents. Almost as an after thought, he told them that if they were hungry, they should visit Danny’s Bar nearby and tell Danny that Larry had sent them. With that suggestion, he bed them ‘have a nice day’ and was off, leaving them in a strange apartment, strange city, in a foreign Country.
The apartment was spacious and airy but after some consideration, they decided it was more to the sparseness of furnishings than actual size. After a long hug and kiss they decided to leave the unpacking until after they had explored Danny’s Bar, after all, it was only mid afternoon by their body clock. Danny’s Bar was packed, smoky and exciting. A waiter found them a small table and reeled off the usual extensive menu with another list of side orders. They plumped for their first American hamburger with all the trimmings and a Bud to wash it down. They became regular clients at Danny’s but never got to meet Danny.
Ken was up, showered, dressed, breakfasted and ready to go to the office a good two hours before his appointed time. He even popped out and walked past the office building twice to make sure it was the right place. It was only two blocks away and on the fifth floor of another grey block. He was nervous and even though Kate had told him he would be fine he still had that nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. The time came for him to be there five minutes before the appointed hour. He kissed Kate and set off on the five-minute journey to the commencement of a new job and life. The receptionist at the main desk was offhand and just pointed to the bank of elevators. He knew it was the fifth floor having perused the listing of occupants of the building at least four times that morning. He ended up on a long corridor and had no indication in which direction to go. A helpful post boy waved him in the right direction and he stepped out trying to dampen his nervousness. He noted the sign printed on the glass of the door, knocked and entered. He was in a small lobby, with two girls looking at him from behind enormous typewriters. They stopped typing, looked up and smiled. He decided he would address them both and courteously announced that he was the new boy from across the Atlantic. They looked knowingly at each other, whispered something and the darker one pointed to a seat whilst the fairer one, eased herself out of her chair, adjusted her hair and disappeared through a door at the rear.
“A cute accent you have,” said the darker girl. “My name is Mary-Louise and my friend is Anne-Tyler. You must be Ken Walton. I remember typing letters to you. How is the apartment? You should be able to find something more suitable once you have settled; plenty to choose from around here. Now here is Mr. Adams to see you.”
“Hi Ken, good to put face to paper hey!” said a short stout man, waddling in and grabbing Ken by the hand in a heavy double handed shake. “Come this way into my office. We have things to discuss. Mary-Louise, be a darling and freshen up some coffee and maybe a doughnut or two. How was the journey? How is the apartment and how is Mrs Walton?” before Ken could answer he opened another door and whispered, “I have Ken here, give me five minutes will you?” as he ushered Ken to a chair in the cramped office. “Ken, Ken, we are sooo busy,” he uttered, emphasising by spreading his arms wide that nearly popped the buttons of his shirt, tightly stretched over his ample midriff. “We are so busy that we haven’t had time to give your position the full credit that it deserves. This office is just too cramped and we have to find new premises. We don’t want to put you in a broom closet on your first day, do we Ken?” At this moment the door was barged open by Mary-Louise with a tray of two styrene cups of coffee and a coloured box of what Ken decided would be doughnuts.
“That will be one dollar thirty!” demanded the girl sternly as Mr. Adams searched through his pockets in vain.
“Help me out here Ken. Never have enough shrapnel for coffees.” Ken gave the girl the correct amount. She smiled and slammed the door behind her. Even Mr. Adams gave a conspiratorial raise of the eyebrows. “Now Ken, my partners and I have decided that it would be better if you came back in a week’s time and by then we will have more office space and the place will be shipshape. Go and do some sight-seeing with Mrs. Walton. Get to know the place!” He got up from his chair and ushered the bewildered Kenneth Walton out of his office, through the lobby with the two typists and out on to the corridor, uttering pleasantries all the time. Perplexed, Ken was left standing in the corridor, not sure what to do next, having paid for the coffees and doughnuts and not even tasting them. He went back to the apartment, feeling both sorry and elated. Sorry that he hadn’t started the job but elated at the prospect of visiting the Statue of Liberty and going up to the top of the Empire Statebuilding with Kate.
He got back to the apartment as Kate was returning from her third sortie to the basement with a cart load of furniture and bits and pieces. Kate insisted that he recount in every detail and nuance what had been said and what he had seen. Kate mulled this over for a while and announced that it didn’t bode well, but at least for the first week they could enjoy themselves, getting to know their surroundings and visiting all the famous places that they had read so much about. Kate then proceeded to show Ken all the goods she had acquired from the basement which she described as an Aladdin’s cave. She got Ken to hang some pictures whilst she would pop down and bring up some more chairs for the dining area. Certainly, the flat looked more homely with the extra furnishings and he forgot about the job, pondered about sight-seeing instead.
The week flew by, with adventures here and adventures there but reality finally struck on Monday morning when it was due time to go off to work for Ken. Kate insisted on accompanying him, to at least the main lobby of the office block and waiting for him there. Deep in their hearts, they knew that this day would start with a disappointment but Ken insisted he had to go through with the routine. He took the elevator to the fifth floor and was somewhat relieved to find that the door to his supposed place of work was firmly shut and piles of junk mail was already heaped up on the inside of the door. An enquiry of the helpful post boy determined that the office was closed and that he assumed that the Company had folded, since he didn’t have the usual forwarding address. Fully knowing his plight cheered Ken and he descended in a better frame of mind. Kate waved him over to reception, where she was on the phone talking to someone.
“As we thought Ken, this was a no go. You don’t look too disappointed.”
“No Kate, in fact I feel remarkably relieved. I didn’t take to Mr. Adams. Who were you talking to just now?”
“Whilst you were up there, I talked to the receptionist here and Tracy-Ellen was very helpful. She told me where Mary-Louise was working now so I phoned her and she gave me the low down. She said the place was dead beat and says she’s sorry you had to pay for the coffees. Come on let’s go back to Danny’s and work out a plan. Mary-Louise says there’s lot of work about. You only have to pick and choose.”
Being now deemed regulars, the waiter at Danny’s showed them to a comfortable bay and immediately brought two mugs and a pot of steaming coffee.
“Where do you get a job around here?” asked Kate of the waiter.
“We are short of three here. You can start now,” replied the waiter seriously. “Do you want me to see the boss?”
“Well, not quite but where would you start looking for a job in the neighbourhood?” asked Ken. The waiter quickly disappeared and came back with two well thumbed broadsheets and plonked them on the table.
“This is the easiest way. Just work your way down the job list and phone the ones you fancy. Give them a call or just walk over there and brazen it out with them. That’s how the locals do it! Sure, you don’t want a job here?” He left a pen and walked over to attend to another customer as Ken and Kate took a broadsheet each and pored over the job listings.
“There are masses of jobs in here and they all seem to be in Newark. The jobs are graded by area rather than category; lot of sifting to do.”
“Right Ken, let’s find something for you first. It looks as if I can get a job in here at a drop of a hat and its good place to find out what’s what in the locality. Lots of local businessmen come and eat in here. Look, I have an Architect looking for an assistant here.”
“Good plan Kate. Somebody has ringed that one but we’ll keep a note of it.”
After a second jug of coffee, they had worked out a suitable course of action. Ken was to work his way, armed with a list, from the farthest block, back towards their apartment. The first six jobs he had listed had long gone. Most offices had rudimentary notices posted, ‘job gone,’ ‘job filled,’ ‘no vacancies’ and so on. Ken was halfway through the list and all his hopes seemed dashed. One receptionist took a shine to him, attracted no doubt by his English accent, and kept him talking for twenty minutes. At the third from last, a senior manager deemed to see him and asked him to fill in an application form. This was at least encouraging and at last he got a coffee and doughnut for his pains. The next place was only a block away from his apartment and he had trouble finding the place. It was in the yard at the back and didn’t look too promising. When the door was finally opened by a worker in an overall covered in paint, did Ken finally understand why the workshop was set well away from other offices. A manager came out to see him and offered him a job on the spot.
“People get fed up with the smell of paint and don’t last too long. I provide good wages and good clean conditions, if a bit smelly.”
“What do you actually paint here?” asked Ken curiously.
“Whatever the customer wants. We turn out master pieces in oils for the hotel chains, five hundred at a time. Harry over there prints the canvasses and these guys over here just do the painting by numbers thing. Anyone with a bit of skill ends up in the finishing department where we make the pictures look like the real thing. Most artists only make their money when they are dead. I’m making a handsome living now. Smart thing, eh?”
“Bit like child’s play,” Ken commented.
“True, but there is a real need for this Kitsch and I provide the best. Do you want to start? See Harry over there and he’ll tell you the drill,” said the man and walked off back to his office. Harry was disinterested. He’d been through this process countless times and half of the people didn’t bother turning up. Ken had to impress him that he was serious and that he had Art Collegetraining. This didn’t convince Harry but he did lighten up and suggested that Ken purchase a thick black polythene sac to put his clean clothes in and a coverall to wear in the workshop which he could leave there and not smell out his apartment.
A waiter saw his plight and told him she was in the back, washing dishes for the moment and would be out front soon. He sat down and drank his coffee. Kate came out and he hardly recognised her, dressed in black with short black skirt, clingy top and a stupid red hat. She kissed him on the cheek before the realisation came.
“Cor, you smell funny. How did you get on?”
“Interesting but you have landed one here I see.”
“No problems here Ken, I can work all hours God sends and the tips are good with the lunch crowd. The other lads and lasses are counting on me to up the tips takings. They even suggested that I should do topless. Only joking Ken. You should see your face. Well? Spit it out, bugger the ‘interesting’ bit. What have you found?”
“Don’t laugh, but just a block away, there is an artists workshop that turns out oil paintings for hotels and restaurants.”
“Nothing funny about that, is there?”
“Well, they have a production system and it’s painting by numbers. You must have done that in the past, as a kid?”
“Yeah, but the results were crap. Even I could tell that, though Mum insisted on hanging them on our lounge walls and embarrassing me to death.”
“Yes, but all the major artists in the past, had their pupils colouring base chunks for them and then the Master would add the finishing touches. Those with a bit of skill were allowed a little more leeway and became famous in their own right.”
“But you’re not going to turn into a Michel Angelo or a Picasso in his late period, are you?”
“Don’t be so sceptical Kate, at least we both have jobs straight away and this has given me some confidence and dignity back. We have money coming in and I’ll keep a weather eye open for something better.”
“I’m really pleased for you Ken darling. I must go. Now if you see Larry at the block, for God’s sake don’t mention the bits I picked up from his basement. He approached me today and asked if I needed any more furniture. I had the nouse to stay mum and not say I’d helped myself to the stuff in his basement. It seems he has this scam going. He denudes a vacant apartment and then sells the bits and pieces back to the new tenants. I though he was being just helpful and I took the stuff without paying, so don’t you dare let the cat out of the bag. He’ll get a shock when we move out.”
For the next four weeks, Ken beavered away, six days a week, ten hours a day, splodging paint onto areas of marked out canvas. He got quite adept at it and added some of his own flair. The Boss noticed. Nothing escaped his gaze. Ken was promoted, with a pay rise to one of the finishing areas where the splodges were smoothed out and intricate details added. Three final artists of considerable skill finished the scenes before they were presented to the Boss for final scrutiny. The carpentry shop mounted the canvases and framed them in mass produced products, according to the clients’ wishes. At the end of the fourth week, Harry had had a spat, upped sticks and left. Ken, by now, was the old timer in the team and the Boss appointed him chief hirer and firer not that the later skill was much in demand. Most people left because of the fumes, others because of boredom and tedium of the infantile task. His prime job now was to prepare and print the canvases, ready for painting. Being a skilled draughtsman, copying was part and parcel of the craft and he found this easy. It gave him time to analyse the techniques used by the original artists and modify the way the areas the paint was to be applied in the workshop. His biggest innovation was to persuade the boss that they should move away from oil-based paints to water-based acrylics. There were many advantages, in reduced drying times and fewer offensive smells for a start. The cost convinced the boss and suddenly Ken’s job as hirer in chief was becoming redundant. People were staying longer, skills getting better, resulting in a faster turnaround of the product which made the Bosses eyes glow.
A client from Chicagovisited the workshop and wanted over a thousand varied pictures, not on canvass but on block board, not requiring any framing. This was the new fad and Ken had to source the board and set up a silk screen printer for the designs. The board came in huge sizes but bought cut to size, the price rocketed and much was damaged in the delivery process. Ken decided that the now almost redundant picture framer would buy in the large full sheet, trim off any damage and cut boards to the required size. There was quite a lot of waste but the overall loss and frustrations reduced considerably. Ken commandeered several off-cuts and painted the caricatures of the men in the workshop. He had difficulty remembering all of their names and these pictures, hung on the wall of his work area helped. They were also a source of amusement and generally well liked. The God like impression of the Boss was everyone’s favourite and even the subject, secretly enjoyed being portrayed in such a way.
Ken painted a tablet of Kate and presented it at Danny’s on his way home. She liked it so much that she had him sketch each of the staff to paint up tablets to hang behind the bar. Ken enjoyed his newfound talent and was in demand by the regulars at Danny’s, who insisted in having their portraits hung above their favourite tables. By this time, Kate was an old timer at Danny’s. Her organisation skills being recognised had been promoted to the Floor Manager. Her tasks now included meeting and greeting guests and showing them to their tables. In fact, she ran the place and takings were up significantly. More importantly, tips were up to such an extent, that staff turnover was a thing of the past. She had reorganised the distribution of tips a fairer way and the Manager and the Chefs no longer took the lions share. The kitchen staff objected which gave her an opportunity to clear them all out and replace them with new people that would do her bidding. As she used to tell Ken, a blind monkey with both hands tied could do the kitchen work since all the produce came pre-prepared and all the kitchen staff in there had to do, was heat it and serve it up. She reorganised the place, got rid of the tables by the window where people on the street could look in and see an attractive ‘crush’ area. There people stood, drank from bottles and ate on the ‘hoof,’ creating a busy and exciting bar atmosphere. She got Bernie the Boss to come out of his shell and mix with the clientele rather than snoozing in the office or pretending to scrutinise the order books. Kate changed and simplified the reordering of the produce system so that the deliveries were the same order each day which reduced the checking in times and avoided scope for pilfering. Any staff member she caught, not contributing their tips fully to the pool, was out on their ear and Kate policed this area diligently, after all people would ‘kill’ to get a job there now.
Tony Chapman, a major client paid the paint shop a visit and Ken showed him the various products and options that were now available. Tony caught sight of the caricatures on the wall and was amused by them. Ken explained that they were an aide memoir for him to recount the names of all of his staff. Tony loved the idea and invited Ken and his wife to come to his hotel in Los Angeles and sketch the staff there. For Ken this seemed a good opportunity to visit another part of the New World, agreed and they set a date.
A few weeks later, they were flying Delta to Los Angeles and they fell in love with California, the warm climate and the coast. The caricatures were such a success that Tony Chapman wanted the same done for all of his chain of hotels and restaurants. Kate and Ken made an immediate decision to abandon Newark and begin a new life on the ‘Golden Coast.’ They sent their apartment keys back to Larry and letters of resignation to their respective employers and settled into another new life in the land of opportunity. Their business in caricatures thrived which allowed them to purchase a dream home overlooking the ocean, North of Los Angeles. Kate’s search for a suitable job was suddenly thwarted when she happily discovered that another addition to the family was on the way. The climate was ideal for Ken who was now able to shrug off his asthma and frequent maladies. On his private helicopter taxi rides to the airport, Ken frequently mused on how his life had changed in such a short time, from the dreary office job in England to the lap of luxury in California. He wished his doubting teachers could see him now.
