by Audrey Storm
When Sarah got close enough, he flicked his finger at the painting. “Can I buy this?”
Before Sarah could answer, Rachel stepped between them. “Hello sir, I am—”
“Hey, hey,” he warned, waving a finger at her. “I was here first. I’ve already decided to buy it, so buzz off.”
Rachel blinked, taken aback for a moment. Did he think she was trying to buy it out from under him? “My apologies,” she laughed nervously. “But I run this gallery.”
That made his sharp shoulders slouch, his threat gone. “Oh,” he said. “So, you’re the manager? No, no—the dealer? Art representative?” Suddenly snapping his fingers, he guessed again, “Curator?”
“Quite,” Rachel agreed. Turning to Sarah, she sent her on her way again. “I understand,” she said, looking back at the man. “That you wish to purchase this painting?”
“You heard right,” he grinned, leaning back on the balls of his feet as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “How much?”
Out of respect for each artist and what they believed their work was worth, Rachel never displayed a price next to an artwork. Basically, she didn’t require one—as long as an artist paid for their space in the exhibit, they could make as much (or as little) profit as they chose.
But that also meant that she hadn’t taken the time to create one herself.
“Uh,” she said, immediately embarrassed of herself. She cleared her throat, and tried again. “One hundred and seventy-five dollars, sir,” she rambled off. It wasn’t a high number, but it wasn’t a low one either. She watched the man’s face, wondering if he would protest and argue for her to knock the price down. Would she? The most she’d ever gotten for a painting had been fifty dollars, and that’d been in college.
The man merely broke out into a grin. “Sold,” he said happily. “Now, is there a counter in a back room somewhere, or…?”
“Right this way,” Rachel directed him, holding out a hand as she motioned to the left. They walked side by side to the front counter, with the man just barely a step ahead of her. Rachel wondered about that when she noticed. After all, wasn’t she the one supposed to be leading the way? “Here we are,” she said, motioning for him to stay in front of the counter while she slipped around it.
He used a credit card, one with the name ‘Samuel Baldwin.’ “Here’s your card,” Rachel said, handing it back. “Would you like to take the painting now, or once the exhibit is over?”
Samuel Baldwin tapped his card twice on the counter, thinking. “When does your exhibit end?”
“In three days,” she said.
That made him laugh. “I’d definitely best take it now, then. I’m only here for the film festival, so I doubt I’ll find myself back in this area.”
“Oh?” Rachel asked, signaling for Sarah. The Savannah Film Festival was an annual event for the historic city, and part of the reason why Kyle and Rachel had decided to host the new exhibit when they did. The festival previewed movies that were due to come out later in the year and usually called for celebrities, which always drew in big crowds. “Is there a movie you’re here to see, Mr. Baldwin?”
Surprise flickered in his face for a moment at the use of his name, but then he covered it with a chuckle and accepted the pen to sign the receipt she had handed him. “Not exactly,” he smiled. “I more came along for the emotional support than for any of the festivities. My friend is actually in an interview right now, so I thought I’d explore the city. Good thing I stumbled in here,” he said, motioning to Sarah as she carried the painting over. “This makes the trip well worth it.”
Rachel didn’t know if she’d call walking three blocks from the Trustees Theatre ‘exploring’ or not, but she smiled all the same when he handed her a copy of the receipt back. “Well, maybe we’ll see you again,” she said politely.
“Maybe,” he said, suddenly leaning on her counter. “Actually, maybe you’d like to see me again outside of this place. I saw a little café on the corner—”
“Would you like a bag?” Rachel blurted, her face red. She would’ve never expected her sharp dressed customer to ask her out. He really must have been bored.
“Sure,” he said, rolling with it as he pushed back away from her. “Thank you, Madame Curator,” he said, winking at her.
“Have a nice night,” she called, turning to the register. She tried to look busy, more than ready to end her conversation with the smooth stranger.
“You too,” he waved, a grin on his face.
Chapter 3
Rachel didn’t expect to see Samuel Baldwin ever again. Which was why, when he entered her shop with Jonathon Heart, critically acclaimed actor three times over and the star celebrity of this year’s film festival, she ducked into the back to hide.
So he hadn’t been lying about his friend. If anything, he had undersold it. Rachel watched from the back office where they kept the spare fliers and rulers, and watched Baldwin from a crack in the door.
He and Jonathon were swarmed by fans immediately, but Baldwin didn’t seem to want anything to do with it and squirmed his way free. Jonathon tried to follow but was cut off by his fans, and gave his friend a pleading look. Samuel just laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets as he looked away to peruse the gallery.
Rachel realized she couldn’t hide anymore when Samuel stopped dead at the painting that’d been put up in the same spot where the one he’d purchased yesterday had been. She felt incredibly self-conscious when she stepped back into the gallery, pulling on her skirt. Ridiculous, as everyone was focused on Jonathon Heart.
Everyone, except Samuel.
At the sound of heels clicking behind him he twisted, half-glancing until he realized it was Rachel and properly turned to face her. “Lady Curator,” he greeted.
“Hello again, Mr. Baldwin,” she smiled nervously, her purple skirt suddenly feeling just a little too tight as she walked up to him.
He pointed to the painting on the wall. “You found another Atalanta Arcadia piece so quickly?”
Rachel nodded, stepping up to stand next to him. She’d thought about asking one of her regular contributors for an extra painting to fill the space on the wall, but when she’d gotten home that night she had felt compelled to finish a painting that she hadn’t touched in two years. A large canvas depicting a woman sleeping on a bed, her body draped in shadow with the sheets on the floor. She’d had every detail finished for months—all except the background. Maybe it was from being surrounded by similar artworks in the gallery all day, or perhaps it was just finally time to complete it, but she had picked up a brush last night and filled in the space.
She’d painted a man, standing in the backdrop with a rose in his hand.
“Yes,” she answered as Samuel stared at it. “She was more than happy to supply us with another painting.”
Squinting at the artist statement, he leaned closer, muttering to himself as he read it. “To sleep, perchance to dream… As the sleeping beauty dreams on, the thorns of all the roses flooding her life take hold…” He rubbed his chin, and stood back. “This is about suicide.”
“I think it’s about being forced to be happy, and then realizing that you’re allowed to be unhappy in the midst of it,” Rachel said quickly.
Samuel glanced at her. “I thought the whole point of art was to discover your own meaning in it.”
Rachel blushed, but shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me,” he smiled bitterly. “I’ve been through enough lectures about art history to know that we’re all supposed to look for clues as to how the artist wanted us to feel. Or, even worse, that we should feel whatever it was that the artist was feeling when they created their work. That we aren’t allowed to just enjoy a beautiful thing for its beauty.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow, surprised at the angry tone he was spitting. “So,” she said awkwardly. “What does this make you feel, then?” she nodded at the painting. “Suicidal?”
“Sad,”
he said, his voice flat. “For the man.”
“Oh?” Rachel looked at the man again. The rose was drooping in his hand, its purpose forgotten. “What about the girl?”
“The girl is asleep, at peace for the moment. But the man—he looks lost.” Looking away from the painting, he added, “I’ll take it.”
“Sorry?” Rachel asked. She knew that she couldn’t have heard him right.
“I said I’ll take it,” he said, already pulling out his credit card. “Sorry to add another blank spot to your wall, but this is going home with me. And speaking of going home…” Rachel jumped when she felt his light fingers dancing on her hip. “If you’d like—”
“Sarah!” Rachel yelled, quickly stepping out of his reach. “Could you get that painting fit for transport? It has a buyer.” She quickly zipped behind the counter again, her fingers frozen over the register as she realized that she hadn’t told him a price yet.
Samuel came up to the counter and seemed to notice her distress. “Let me guess, it’s more expensive than the last.”
“Um,” she said, not sure how she should play the hand that she’d just been given. Should she charge him less? If she charged more, would he leave it so that she could at least keep one painting on that wall for a whole day? “It’s two hundred and fifty,” she said shakily.
“Wonderful,” Samuel held out his card. “Maybe it’ll pay Atalanta’s rent and give her some extra time to paint.”
Rachel snorted in spite of herself. “Clearly, you’ve never had an apartment in Savannah.”
“That bad?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“Just a lot of rich kids that can afford high prices,” she shrugged, swiping his card. “It leaves the rest of us to work twice as hard to keep up.”
“Yeah? You should try New York,” Samuel said.
“I can imagine.”
Sarah handed a bag with the painting in it over to Samuel. “John!” he suddenly yelled, marching to the crowd of girls still swarming his friend. “Jonathon, I swear to god,” he growled, elbowing his way in. Rachel watched from behind her counter as Samuel cut through the girls to reach Jonathon and pull him away, yanking the poor actor out of the gallery and onto the street where more screams of recognition could be heard.
“Poor guy,” Rachel shook her head after them.
Ten o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. Rachel had the door locked and the blinds drawn before the clock at city hall had even chimed its final bell.
“You could’ve closed early,” Kyle sighed, fiddling with the silver pin on his orange vest.
“Aren’t you the owner?” Rachel gave him an incredulous look. “Besides, the movie doesn’t start for another thirty minutes.”
“To which there’s already a line for—”
“And,” Rachel rolled her eyes. “You’ve got a gold pass, so they’re going to let us in first anyway. Plus, we’re only a block away.”
Kyle continued to grumble, but Rachel ignored him, doing a few last minute things before she officially closed up shop and locked the back door after Kyle and herself.
It took them less than five minutes to get to the Trustees Theatre, and even less time to find the line.
Every year, the film festival offered four different tickets: gold, silver, bronze, and paper. The paper tickets were like normal movie tickets and allowed a person to buy and attend whatever they wanted, be it movie, workshop, or panel. The only problem was, there were only so many seats and an extreme amount of people that wanted to attend, so the paper tickets tended to sell out fast. Which was why there were three other passes available.
They usually had to be bought months in advance, but they were well worth it. The gold pass allowed patrons unlimited access to everything that the film festival put on, and could even work as a VIP pass to celebrity meet and greets. The silver pass was the same, except you couldn’t bring a friend like on the gold pass. The bronze pass merely allowed entrance to any and all movies.
Kyle being Kyle, he had gone all out and bought himself a gold pass.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he was muttering, tugging Rachel along by the hand as the ushers led them inside. Kyle wanted to be as close to the front as possible because of the rumor going around that an actor would be honored before the film started tonight. He probably just wanted to be close enough to snap a selfie when the celebrity took the stage.
“Ah, here we are,” Kyle beamed, dropping into a seat near the middle. “Oh,” he said, snatching his hand back from the armrest. “Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t worry about—Oh. So you do occasionally leave that gallery of yours, Miss Curator.”
Rachel’s heart sank as she recognized the voice beside Kyle. It was Samuel Baldwin, the man who’d failed to invite her out again today.
“Oh, you know Rachel?” Kyle asked, oblivious. “Here, why don’t we switch,” he said, already standing to move.
“Kyle, I—”
“No, no,” Kyle said. “I insist. Come on, it’s going to start soon.”
Feeling helpless, Rachel huffed and stood up to squeeze past Kyle and sit down with Samuel to her left and Kyle slouched to her right.
“Rachel, eh?” Samuel whispered.
“Shhh,” Rachel shushed him, staring straight ahead.
“We aren’t in your gallery right now, Rachel. You don’t make the rules here.”
“No,” she said, moving her hand when she felt his try to hold it. “But we are in a movie theater, and you don’t want to disturb anyone.”
“You might not want to,” he chuckled, his mouth suddenly against her ear. “But I, my dear, have other priorities.”
“Mr. Baldwin—”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The lights suddenly dimmed as a plump man spoke into the microphone at the podium on stage, his bald head catching the light. “Welcome to the Savannah Film Festival! Now, before we get started with our motion picture, first we have a special announcement!”
Rachel could see Kyle pull out his phone from the corner of her eye. She smiled, leaning over to whisper something about his best side to him. She didn’t expect Samuel to catch her arm.
“Who is he to you?” he asked, the joking tone gone. “Why are you watching this movie with him?”
Rachel frowned, ripping her arm away from his grip. “What does that matter to you? You, Mr. Baldwin, do not know me. Whereas Kyle is a friend, you aren’t even—”
“Jonathon Heart, everyone!” The bald man cheered, inciting everyone else to join in with him. Applause erupted all around them, and Samuel used it to hide his voice.
“I’m a man who knows that you masquerade as an artist in your own gallery,” Samuel shouted. “And I’m the guy who also just bought them from you.”
Rachel flushed, embarrassed to be called out so suddenly. “W-what!” she stuttered, struggling to find the words. “No! I don’t—”
“I saw your handwriting,” he said, crowding her as he leaned over the armrest. “On your desk—you were filling out an order or something. When you rang me up for the second one, the ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ I realized that your handwriting was the same as the one on the artist statements.”
“I-I just write them—”
“I saw the other pictures, Rachel. That was the only one that you had filled out yourself.”
Rachel’s mouth was open, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. Why it mattered to her so much that he had found out that she was the artist, she didn’t know. She certainly wouldn’t have protested this much if Sarah or Cynthia had found out, yet with this man she hated the very idea of him knowing.
The cheering died down, and Jonathon gave a soft speech. The plump man maneuvered his microphone so he could be heard better, and Samuel leaned in even closer.
“Rachel, ditch your friend. Have a drink with me.”
Before she could blurt out a no, he had her fingers laced with his and was tugging her up and out of her seat. “Pardon us,” he muttered to the seated people that they had to slip by.
“She’s not feeling well, sorry.”
Rachel scowled at him, but she was too busy apologizing for stepping on feet to shout at him in the theater. It wasn’t until they’d pushed past the ushers to escape into the lobby and out the front door that she ripped her hand away from his and let him have it.
“What the hell was that?” she yelled. “You may be a tourist who only sees this as a vacation, but I live here! Half those people that you just stomped all over are my neighbors and customers!”
But Samuel only laughed. “Aren’t I your customer? Why don’t you show me the same consideration that you want to give them?”
“Because they aren’t trying to have a tryst with a local,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down as couples strode by then on the sidewalk.
“Is that what you think this is?”
“What am I supposed to think? No, you know what—it was great to meet you, thanks for your business—”
“It’s all business to you, isn’t it?” Samuel crossed his arms. “You can’t get your head out of your job to actually take a step back and take a chance. I mean, Jesus—enjoy a night out once in a while!”
“I was!” she shot at him.
“Yeah, with a friend,” he shot back. “Someone, I’m betting, who has been a friend for a long time because you wouldn’t let him be anything else.”
“He’s gay!” Rachel laughed disbelievingly. “You couldn’t tell that from his orange vest and purple pants?”
“So you have a gay friend. Why isn’t there a straight friend in the picture? Why don’t you have someone pining after you?”
“Because I’m not anyone’s first choice, okay?” She shoved him, sending him stumbling back a few steps. “I’m a fat girl who runs a gallery owned by her gay friend, because she was young and decided she wasn’t happy with a steady job and a proud family!”
