A few more days passed, or possibly a few more weeks passed.  Black showed up at her door.  This surprised her as she didn’t think Black knew where she lived.  She scowled at him “What are you doing here?”

“This is the date we agreed on.  You said you’d be ready today.”  Ela searched her memories; she couldn’t recall agreeing to this date.  On the other hand she had no idea what the date was. 

“No.”  She shot back.  “It can’t be.”

“It is.”  Black pushed his way in before she could argue anymore.  “Where is it?”  Ela mutely led him the way to the canvas which was taller than either of them.  Ela had been so engrossed in painting the thing right up until the moment Black got there that she hadn’t even realized that it was done.  A 21 story story.   The narrative focused on characters that had no real names but Ela had dubbed Red, Black, Green, Gold and Blue.  They bore no resemblance to the real people she knew with the same names.  Their hair matched their names, unlike most of their real life counterparts.   The floors off the tower were as follows:

On the ground floor was a greasy spoon dinner.  Perched on stool by the counter was a tired looking man in a trench coat.  Black.  There were other people at the dinner, customers, waitresses, cooks.  But they all had the same faces, the same white hair.  These whiteheads were obviously not as important as Black.

The next floor up had dingy, sad looking studio flats.  Black had a little notepad out, he seemed to be asking questions to someone in the hallway.  In one of the apartments two of the whiteheads were having sex though clearly only one of them was enjoying it. 

A market.  It had the resemblance of an outdoor street bazaar.  Black was running through the market knocking people over as he went.  He seemed to be chasing someone though it wasn’t clear who it was.  There was a curious foot in one of the door ways.  It was perhaps who Black was chasing.

A storage room.  A dark cluttered place where you didn’t leave something for when you needed it later but rather you left it to be forgotten.  In the shadows there were two figures meeting.  One was an attractive woman with a short skirt and long hair.  Green.  The other was a woman who was not old but older.  She wore a pantsuit and kept her hair cropped short.  Blue.

A workshop.  There were rows of sewing machines but they sat idle in the dark.  The only people there were Green and Black.  Green was pointing a gun at Black.  Black stood there as calm as a man could be staring down the barrel of a gun.

A utility room.  Filled with pipes, circuit boards, mops and buckets.  Black was there, on the floor, being kicked by two beefy whiteheads.  A fourth person was there, one who had clearly ordered the beating.  A woman who wore a man’s suit and tie.  Despite her attire, there was no mistaking her gender, the cut of the suit showed off her hourglass figure.  Gold.

A police bullpen.  Whitehead officers typed reports with two fingers, drank coffee and questioned whitehead suspects.  Black was seated at his desk, he looked hung over.  Blue was throwing a file on his desk, she looked displeased.

Offices.  Some appeared to be for police, others for lawyers.  In Blue’s office she was screaming abuse at Black.  Black stood there stoically, unbothered.

A museum.  It mostly housed Greco-Roman statues.  In the center was an empty, smashed display case.  Green was there and seemed very upset, Black was taking notes on what she said.     

An art gallery.  Or part of the same museum?  On the walls were works by Fahrelnissa Zeid.  Seated on a bench were Black and Gold.  Black seemed annoyed while Gold had a sly grin on her face.

Apartments.  Some of the apartments had piles of books or fancy looking exercise equipment, but all of the residents sat in their couches watching TV.  Green was in her apartment with the TV on but she didn’t seem to really be watching.  Drug paraphernalia laid out on her coffee table.  Black was out in the hallway pounding on Green’s door.

More Apartments.  Black was in one that was larger than the rest but also sparsely furnished.  Or rather Black was out on the balcony of this apartment, shirtless and drinking coffee.  It wasn’t clear if the apartment belonged to Black or the striking young man that laid nude in the bed.  Red.

A control center.  Monitors showed scenes from other parts of the building.  A sole whitehead was on the floor watching the screens.

A hospital.  Black was laid out in a bed unconscious.  Red stood by his bed with a neutral expression on his face. 

A shopping mall.  Filled with upscale boutiques.  Red was browsing through a clothes store.  Nearby Black peaked out from behind a newspaper.

A kitchen.  Whitehead cooks did their work.  A flame burst out of one pan.  Over in a corner Red and Green were speaking.  Green looked to be on the edge of tears.  Red gripped her shoulders, he seemed angry with her. 

A library.  Black was at a reading table.  One of the books he had was The National Gemstone Collection.  From behind a bookshelf Red looked out at Black.

A theater.  Red was on stage belting out a song, a comely whitehead girl kneeled before him.  Green, Gold and Blue were in the audience though not together.  Black stood outside the theater in the lobby. 

A ballroom.  Regally dressed whiteheads danced with each other.  Gold and Red danced together.  It was the only floor where Gold wore a dress rather than a suit, yet she was the one leading in the dance.  Black was clearly an uninvited guest to the event.

A penthouse.  Amid the gold-leaf trim and fine furnishing stood Gold, holding a knife under Red’s throat.  She was not cutting it but rather making a point clearly understood.

An attic.  A dusty empty space with a low ceiling.  Green stood on a ledge, poised to jump.  Black was at the window, begging her to come back in.  

“Interesting.” Commented Black.  Ela was unsure what that meant, interesting was not the same as good.  “Tell me the story that takes place here.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”  Black snapped.  “I’m paying you well for the painting.  I want to know what the story is.”

Ela’s hands shook uncontrollably.  They shook from anger, from exhaustion, from the inability to explain the painting in a way that would satisfy herself and Black.  “I can’t tell you the story because I don’t know the story.”

“You created it.  How can you not know?”

“I mean, I have my own ideas about how the story would go.  But if I say that then it limits the possibilities.  Someone else might come up with a superior version of the story to my own.  It’s meant to be interpreted in different possible ways.”

This did not appease Black.  “Let other people have their versions.  I want to have the artist’s.”

Ela squinted at Black.  “I can tell you that I think it either ends in the basement or on the roof.”

The basement of the tower was a car park.  Black laid on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

The roof had a radio tower on it.  At the top of the tower there was a green gem.  Black was on the roof.  His bruised face starred up at the gem.

“Hmm, I like that.”  Commented Black.  “You can either have a happy ending with the detective finding the museum’s missing gem or a sad ending with him dead.”

“No.”  Replied Ela.  “Both of the scenes happen but neither one of them are necessarily at the end.  Black doesn’t necessarily die in the basement and he doesn’t necessarily live on the roof.   Additionally there is a possible ending on or beginning on every floor, that the basement or the roof is the end is only my interpretation.”

“Fine.”  Black had had enough arguing about the matter.  “Help me carry it out then will you?”

“No.  You can’t take it.  I’m not done with it.”

“Ela it looks splendid and I have to have it for tomorrow.  Besides,” he looked down at her shaking hands “you don’t look like you’re in any condition to do more painting.”

Ela glanced down at her hands then back up at Black.  “You’re doing this to me.  I was fine before you got here.  If you need it tomorrow, come back tomorrow and I’ll have it ready. ” 

“No, I think I’ll take it now.”

Ela dashed between Black and her painting.  “The fuck you will.  You can have it tomorrow or not at all.  I can find another buyer.”

Black glowered at Ela.  “Tomorrow then.  No excuses.”  Then he left.