Ruiz watched the watchers; the sleek shimmering haute couture and oiled bodies that jangled jewelry through the gallery at a dazzling drift. He started biting his thumbnail. He wondered what they would see in his work, particularly this large canvas, his latest.

What did green mean to them, or black or the orange or him? Was he of substance in their world of appreciating--meaning buying--art?

By eleven p.m. he had eaten his thumb down to the knuckle.