Legal Artistry

by Andrew Grey

  "Thank you for trying.” Dieter shook hands with both men before leaving the office, heading for the lobby. The glass doors closed behind him, and he'd called for the elevator when he heard movement behind him.

  "Dieter.” He turned to look at Gerald. “I don't know what we can do, but I'd like to find out some more about the paintings. I don't know if it will help, but I was wondering if you could arrange for me to meet this artist friend of yours. I could call him as your lawyer, but I think it would be better coming from you as a friend.” The elevator door opened and Dieter looked at it, watching the door close again.

  Dieter saw a touch of earnestness in Gerald's eyes and found himself agreeing. “I don't have a lot of money."

  "Until we've figured things out one way or another, I won't charge you for my time. Since tomorrow's Saturday, if your friend agrees, I'll be happy to meet you at his studio or wherever you'd like."

  "Why?” Dieter asked, clutching the photo album in front of him like a shield. “You don't know me very well. I'm really just some guy you saw dancing at a club.” He wasn't sure what sort of game Gerald was playing, but Dieter wasn't going to play along.

  "I like your story and want to do what I can to help,” Gerald told him, but Dieter kept wondering what his angle was, and it must have shown on his face because he saw Gerald's expression change, becoming softer. “I went to law school so I could try to help people. And I do that, sometimes. But most of the time I end up arguing with other attorneys over stupid things like who gets the toaster or the television. Your case is bigger than that. It's about righting a wrong that was done to your family decades ago, and if I can, I want to help. It's why I became a lawyer."

  Dieter was slightly shocked. Gerald seemed sincere, and Dieter wasn't quite sure how to react. “Okay. I need to call Mark and see if he's available. Can I call you and let you know?"

  "Sure.” Gerald smiled and reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling a pen from the receptionist's desk, he wrote on the card. Dieter took the offered card. “That's my cell number. Please call me and let me know."

  "I will. Thank you,” Dieter said, turning to call the elevator again. The door opened and Dieter stepped inside, then the door closed and the car began to move toward the ground.

  Dieter left the office building, standing on the sidewalk with the last of the office workers passing around him in their rush to get home or wherever they were headed to start their weekend. Dieter looked both ways before deciding to stop in at the wine store. He needed to talk to someone, and Sean was someone he trusted. Having decided, he hurried to his car, driving through town before luckily finding a parking space near Sommelier Wines.

  The store was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night, and Sean looked anxious, the way he usually did when he expected to be busy and wasn't. “Evening, Dieter,” Sean called as he strode over, before embracing him tightly. “How are you?” he asked quietly without releasing him right away. “It's been a few weeks, and I was beginning to get worried about you."

  "I'm fine,” Dieter answered as Sean's arms and warmth slipped away.

  "You don't look fine,” Sean countered before looking to Katie, who motioned to him.

  "I'll call you when it gets busy,” Katie told him. “Just send Laura out. We can handle it while you talk."

  Sean led him to the back of the store, Laura already walking toward them. “Sean, I have a question about this invoice."

  "Okay. Can it wait a few minutes? I'd like you to help Katie on the floor. We shouldn't be too long."

  "All right.” She headed toward the sales floor, still carrying the invoice. “Oh, Dieter, could you look at the computer before you leave? It's acting slow and cranky."

  "I will,” he promised before she disappeared through the door and they entered the office. Sean closed the door, and they sat down on the futon.

  "So tell me what's got you flustered,” Sean told him lightly.

  "I met with the lawyers, and they didn't give me much hope about getting Gram's paintings back. They said I'd have to sue the museum and the Austrian government in Austria and that I'd have to put up a bond that would be a lot more money than I'll ever see if I wanted to do that."

  "I'm sorry, Dieter. I know how much it means to you to get those paintings back."

  "It's for Gram,” Dieter clarified, “and it's my family's heritage.” Dieter leaned forward nervously. “I knew I shouldn't have allowed myself any hope, but I did."

  "I know. Did the lawyers say anything else?” Sean asked him in a very caring tone.

  "Gerald said that he wasn't giving up and asked if I could arrange for him to meet with Mark. I don't know what he's expecting, but he wants more information. I think he's grasping at straws."

  "How much is this fishing expedition costing you?” Sean asked him in a very fatherly way. After Gram died, Dieter had felt very alone for months, and over time, and Sean had become sort of the dad he never had.

  Dieter shook his head. “Nothing. That's the strange part. Mark gave me the contact information for his attorney, and it turns out he and my dad were friends in school, so up to now, they've been doing the work for free. And Gerald, my attorney, says he's not going to charge me until they either give up or find something. Frankly, I don't know what to think."

  Sean's eyebrows knit together in obvious suspicion. “Why would he do that?"

  "I think he likes me,” Dieter confessed, looking down at the floor. “Two weeks ago after I met with him, we went to dinner. And afterward, I had so much energy and couldn't sit still, so I went to Dance All Night, and I saw him there,” Dieter explained, and he saw the suspicion in Sean's eyes grow more pronounced. “I only go there to dance. When I saw him, I asked him to join me, and we danced together for hours. He's sort of uncoordinated,” Dieter said, and he couldn't stop a grin, “but it was nice to dance with him."

  "Did anything else happen?” Sean asked lightly.

  Dieter shook his head forcefully. “No. I'd never!” Dieter swallowed hard. “I think he was sort of hinting that he'd like to go home with me or that we could go to his place, but at the time, I didn't really understand, and I'd never do anything like that."

  "Why not?” Sean asked. “Not that I'm advocating anonymous sex. But why is it so bad that he'd like you or ask you to go home with him? You're twenty-four, and as long as you know what you're doing and take precautions, you shouldn't feel guilty for having a little fun. As long as you're not being hurt or hurting anyone else."

  "I could never do that,” Dieter said with a little more force than was necessary.

  Dieter heard Sean sigh loudly. “Dieter, I'm going to say this, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way. I knew your Gram, and I liked her. She was quite a lady and a wonderful person. She raised you in an atmosphere of love that most people would kill to have. You never wanted for attention or affection. But your Gram could also be a bit of a snob, and some of those attitudes made their way into you.” Dieter opened his mouth to argue, but Sean stopped him with a gentle touch. “I don't think you're a snob, but some of her opinions—and we both know your Gram was free with them—are still playing in your head."

  "No, they're not."

  "Dieter, I think they are. Your Gram had certain ideas about people and how they fit into the world. I think a lot of those ideas came from her early childhood, which was very sheltered, privileged, and quite narrow. Your Gram once told me stories of things I can barely imagine, balls and parties that boggled the mind, but always with the same people. But you realize she nearly had a conniption when I offered you the job here, because I was gay."

  Dieter's eyes widened, and he shook his head. “No. Why would she?"

  Sean smiled at him a little indulgently, and Dieter felt himself bristle slightly. “She was concerned that I would turn you gay."

  "But she always liked you,” Dieter countered.

  "Yes, she did. But liking a shopkeeper who happened to be gay is one thing. Having your grandson working for him and in clos
e proximity to him on a regular basis is quite a different story, at least in your Gram's mind,” Sean explained, and Dieter wanted to refute what he was saying, but he knew his Gram, and what Sean was describing held a ring of truth he couldn't ignore. “I'm not faulting your Gram. She came around, but she never really understood."

  "I know she had strong opinions about people, some of them not always good or right,” Dieter confessed.

  "Yes. You heard those views all your life, and they keep playing in the back of your mind. You can't live your life the way your Gram wanted you to. No one could. You need to be happy, and you need to live for you.” Sean stood up as someone knocked on the door. Cracking it open, he said something quietly and then closed it again. “You shouldn't feel guilty for wanting to go dancing, and you most certainly have nothing to be ashamed of if you find someone attractive and want to dance with them. As for the rest, follow your heart and not the voice of your grandmother in your head,” Sean told him with a knowing smile. “It's getting busy, and I need to get back out front, but we can talk again later if you want."

  "No,” Dieter said as he got up, and Sean pulled him into another hug. “Thanks, Sean."

  "You're welcome,” Sean responded before opening the door and striding toward the front of the store. Dieter followed behind and saw Sean hugging his son Bobby while Laura hurried back into the office, still carrying the invoice she'd had earlier. Knowing her, she'd probably been holding it the entire time for fear she'd lose it.

  "Hey, Bobby,” Dieter said as he approached, “are you working tonight?"

  "No. Mark and I are getting together for an art slam."

  "What's an art slam?” Dieter asked, visions of paintings being hurled against walls flashing through his mind.

  "Not what you're thinking,” Bobby told him with a mischievous grin. “Musicians have jam sessions. Mark and I have slam sessions. We get together and work through new techniques and just have fun. Would you like to come?"

  "I'm no artist,” Dieter countered, shying away.

  "Don't have to be, we're just messing around with color. I've got some extra paint clothes in the car,” Bobby coaxed with words and a smile.

  "If you're sure,” Dieter responded nervously. It sounded like fun, but he didn't want to intrude.

  "Cool.” Bobby practically dragged him out of the store, saying good-bye to his dad in his excitement. Sean waved as they left, laughing to Katie. “We'll leave your car here, and we can pick it up later,” Bobby added as they climbed into his car and took off. “The extra clothes are in the backseat."

  "Are you sure Mark won't mind?” Dieter asked as he reached into the backseat, retrieving Bobby's bag.

  "Of course not. Mark and I both believe you don't have to be an artist to express yourself through art. Children do it all the time. It's only when we're older and get self-conscious that most people stop,” Bobby explained, as they pulled up in front of Tyler's antique shop. Bobby turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Dieter followed, carrying the bag, as Mark opened the front door.

  "I see we have a new initiate,” Mark called with a smile, and Dieter had his answer. Mark seemed genuinely pleased to see him. “I set things up out back. Come on in and get changed while I add another.” Mark looked to Dieter as though he were going to burst with excitement. Dieter and Bobby went inside. Mark locked the door, and they walked through the fully lit store. “Tyler's upstairs, reworking some displays,” Mark explained before standing at the base of the stairs. “We'll be out back. Don't come out without warning!"

  "Okay,” Tyler called back down the stairs, and they continued to the back door.

  "Get changed and meet me outside,” Mark instructed, and Bobby led him to Mark's studio, where he placed the bag on the bench.

  "These sweats should fit you,” Bobby said, and he tossed a pair of paint-covered sweats and a T-shirt to Dieter before beginning to change. “This should be a lot of fun, Dieter. I promise. So relax and enjoy. It's not every day that you get to make art with a famous artist.” Bobby was right, and Dieter changed his clothes quickly, then followed Bobby out back. “You might want to leave your shoes so you don't get paint on them.” Dieter looked down and saw Bobby wriggle his toes. “Bare feet work best for these things."

  "Okay,” Dieter said with a smile before slipping off his shoes and socks, following Bobby out behind the building. Three canvases stood on easels at the edge of a concrete pad near the building with a table across from them with what looked like squirt guns resting on it.

  "I'm glad you could join us, Dieter. This should be a lot of fun. Each blast gun has a different color of water-based paint in it. Dieter, you're on the far end, and Bobby, you're in the middle. The trick is not to try to control the paint, but let your feeling and emotions show through the gun. You'll be surprised how what you're feeling will show on the canvas. There are only three rules: keep the paint on your own canvas, put the gun back where you got it, and have fun!"

  Mark had labeled the colors on the table, and Dieter reached for the blue, not quite sure what to do. Bobby had already grabbed the yellow, squirting the canvas with lines of color, his face suddenly serious, eyes a little vacant, like he was seeing something that wasn't really there. “I'm not sure what to do,” Dieter told Mark, who set down his gun.

  "Just let yourself go and think about what you're feeling. What happened to you today? What strong emotion did you feel?” Mark took the gun from Dieter's hand and set it on the table. “Close your eyes.” Dieter complied, listening to Mark's voice. “Think about a strong emotion, something recent and powerful. Concentrate, let it flow through you,” Mark told him quietly, and Dieter nodded. “Now, what color do you think of?"

  "Red,” Dieter answered without hesitation.

  "Then pick up the red and go,” Mark told him, and Dieter barely opened his eyes enough to pick up the gun before he was squirting at the canvas like mad. Then, barely thinking, he grabbed the black and squirted in long diagonal lines, slashing with the gun at the canvas, color upon color, alternating red then back, his movements big and bold as the frustration and anger about the paintings, Gram, and everything else came pouring out of him. He hadn't realized he was making noise, but after a while, he heard some yelling and screaming and realized it was him.

  Once the anger abated, Dieter set down the gun he was holding. Breathing hard, Dieter opened his eyes and looked around. Mark and Bobby had both stopped and were looking at him and then at his canvas. “Do you feel better?” Bobby asked just above a whisper.

  "Yeah,” Dieter swallowed and then colored with embarrassment. “I'm sorry."

  "There's nothing to apologize for,” Mark told him. “Look at the canvas.” Dieter had been afraid to, figuring it would be ugly. Well, it was, but not in the way Dieter feared. All the frustration, repression, anger, and self-loathing he'd felt for years was there staring him in the face.

  "Wow,” Mark said. “That's amazing. You can tell exactly what you were feeling—it jumps off that canvas. The slashes of paint are so strong."

  "But what about this up here?” He pointed to one of the few areas with no paint.

  "Don't touch anything,” Mark told him. “It's perfect just the way it is.” Mark walked to his canvas, taking it down from the easel and placed it inside the door before taking down the other two canvases. “The light's fading, so we'll only do one more.” Mark brought out three fresh canvases, setting the easels close together. “This time all of us will use all three canvases. We'll create three pieces together that represent all of us, and we'll do it in two minutes. Don't think, feel. Go!” Each of them grabbed a gun and paint flew, color streams hitting one another, making new colors and designs. Fast and furious they worked, dropping one gun and picking up another. “Done!” Mark called, and they stopped, each looking over their joint creation.

  "It looks great,” Bobby said, stepping back slightly.

  "It does,” Mark agreed with a grin. Dieter wasn't sure, but he liked it. “I'll put the
se aside to dry, and you two can pick up your work and one of the three we did together tomorrow. Did either of you eat dinner?” Dieter looked at Bobby, who looked at him and shrugged. “Okay. I'll get Tyler, and we'll meet at our place for dinner. Bobby, you call Kenny and see if he'd like to join us when he gets off duty.” Mark looked down at himself and then at them. “I think we all need to clean up and change."

  They all helped bring in the supplies before washing everything out in the industrial sink. Dieter cleaned himself up before changing clothes. “I'm going to go talk to Tyler,” he told the other two before walking into the antique store and up the stairs. “Hey, Tyler,” he called from the top of the stairs.

  "Hi, Dieter,” Tyler said as he set a lamp on a table. “How did it go?"

  "Great,” Dieter answered with a smile. “It was a lot of fun."

  "Good.” Tyler moved a table around a display before moving back to take a look at the display.

  "I wanted to talk to you about the rest of the stuff in the attic,” Dieter said, stepping closer. “I'm ready to clean out the rest of it. A lot of the stuff up there I liked, so I moved things around, but there's way more than I'm ever going to use."

  "You're serious?"

  "Yup. Come over anytime and take what you want. I trust you to give me a fair price,” Dieter said, and they shook on it. “It's not doing anyone any good up there, and I have some of Gram's things I'm ready to see to. I need to make the house my own."

  "Excellent. I'll let you know if I find anything really extraordinary and take care of the rest,” Tyler told him with a grin. Over the past few years, Dieter had sold Tyler a few pieces in addition to the trunk they'd originally found, using the money to fix up the house. But Dieter had held off on anything else.

  "Thanks, Tyler. I appreciate that."