by Chevoque
“Son, are you still there?” his father asked, concern filling his tone as the woman turned to face the building. She said something that he could barely hear, but he did make out the Gerardo motto paired with lies. She spoke in an accent he couldn’t figure out, which played with the words in an odd fashion.
“Yes, just a little issue.” A man passing her on the hectic sidewalk seemed to say something to offend her. “I’ll call you back in a moment,” he told his father and ended the call.
The woman took in whatever the man had told her and kept looking at him as he walked in Tristan’s direction. When she faced him, he understood why the man said something she disliked. It was likely the reason why people were staring. Initially, he thought all the eyes on her was because of how differently styled she looked, in the green dress and brown leather jacket with matching boots, in the depths of the summer heat.
But, she was beautiful beyond the meaning of the word. Not the generic beauty found in magazines and on TV shows. She was unique, and she was hanging on his living room wall for the last week, in the form of a portrait.
The Marked One.
He was certain it was the woman from the painting. On the upper left side of her face, across her eye and about halfway down her cheek, a birthmark marked her beauty. She had bright green eyes, which looked like shimmering peridot stones, and the artist of the portrait had captured the sadness in those very eyes nearly too perfectly, as she looked exactly like the portrait in that moment.
Her eyes locked with his for a mere second before she turned and walked in the opposite direction, disappearing in the crowd.
The man who had upset her reached him. “Hey, you, wait,” Tristan called out. The man nearly stumbled as he turned around. “What did you just tell that woman?”
“Listen, I don’t…you are Gerardo. I mean, Mr. Tristano Gerardo.” The man fell over his words.
“I asked you a question,” Tristan hissed. The man looked like he was shaking with fear.
“I can’t even remember,” the man pled with a tremble in his tone. He smoothed his words over with a half-smile.
“Let me start again. Do you work for Gerardo or one of the companies we own in this specific building?” Tristan pointed to the structure, as the man’s destination seemed to be just that.
“Yes, Mr. Gerardo, I’m the marketing manager at—”
“Now what did you tell that woman? It was clear that you said something to upset her. And I don’t tolerate judgement from any of my staff, even if you are the staff of a subsidiary. Do you see you see where I’m heading with this?” He sounded cruel to his own ears, but he couldn’t care.
“Nothing, honestly.” The man was about to start grovelling.
“You are fired,” he said as Ivan arrived with the documents he needed Tristan to sign. Ivan looked wide-eyed at Tristan and then the man. “Good, Ivan will help you with your package and make sure we give you a recommendation worthy of what you are.”
Ivan merely nodded. “For—”
“You can’t just fire me for telling a woman she looks like a—”
Tristan stepped closer to the man, who blenched backwards. “You will not finish that sentence, and you are already fired. If you can’t follow the company’s motto, you don’t deserve a position with us.” Fuming, Tristan moved back to the car. The beautiful woman’s image was stuck in his mind. He wanted to know who she was, because without a name, he already felt drawn to her.
The man shouted a few curses, but Ivan calmly continued to speak as Tristan settled in the car. “I just made it official. You don’t work for Gerardo anymore. I sent your photo to security, so they can identify you on the facial recognition system, so you won’t have to wait. You will find the information you need at the security desk. Any questions can be done telephonically or electronically to head HR. The details will be in the document you’ll receive and you have forty-eight hours to hand in your security pass, otherwise you will be arrested. Have a lovely day.” Ivan turned away. His casualness gained him a few more curses as he walked around the car to take a seat next to Tristan. “That was fun,” he cheered, closing his door. The driver slowly worked his way into the busy lane.
“Mhmm,” Tristan hummed in agreeance, looked out through the window, and hoped to spot the woman on the busy sidewalk, if luck was on his side.
“Mind sharing why you fired a man on the sidewalk? I don’t see it on today’s agenda,” Ivan merrily asked, handing him the documents to sign. Tristan kept quiet, so Ivan added, “It was fun and all, but shaking up a quick summarisation, misusing the motto is an odd reason to fire someone. He did curse you directly because of it, but it will be the best to stick with that as the reason to why he was fired if you are sued.” Ivan impatiently sighed after Tristan handed back the last document. “Tell me, please, I’m dying to know.”
Tristan faced Ivan, whose deep brown eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Pull up the security footage of the camera facing the street on the west side of the building. The one that should show the drop zone and the car as well. Then go back about five minutes.”
Ivan was a wizard on the tablet—which carried more than just his future—as he worked on getting to the footage. “You got out of the car?” Ivan was squinting at the screen.
Tristan tapped on the screen. “Find out who she is. I want to know—”
“That is the woman from the painting you bought last week,” Ivan said without even a second look. Tristan was now certain it had to be the same woman. “Wait, that man said something to her?” Ivan had been chosen as Tristan’s assistant because they shared similar values and morals, and being judgemental toward anyone didn’t sit right with either of them.
Tristan nodded. “Yes, it seemed so. I want to know who she is, what she does, and if she is employed with us. I want to know why she was so mad before the man came along. And if it helps, you can even try contacting M. Spencer, the artist.”
Ivan retraced her steps back into the building. “Sure thing. I noticed you were on the phone on the footage. Anything—”
“Shit, thank you, Ivan,” Tristan quickly called his father. Ivan tracked the woman to Break Free Cosmetics, and Tristan realised that it would be quite fitting if she worked for the revolutionary cosmetics company in the building. But he rather wanted to see her exposed, if he ever got the pleasure of seeing her again, because her face was marked into his memories now even more than before.
***
Aaliyah
Aaliyah wasn’t in the mood to meet up with Madeline after the morning she’d had. The lack of progress on getting a job was causing her to want to get back in bed and sleep until the nightmare would end. Or until a job magically appeared like a fairy godmother who could solve all her problems at once.
More than twenty interviews and all followed up to sadly inform her that she wasn’t chosen, even though she could tell in the interviews that they wouldn’t choose her anyway. She had her hopes so set on the Break Free Cosmetics interview that she hadn’t cared too much about the other rejections, but now she needed to get something and soon.
She walked into 21st Street Coffee and Tea. Artwork by Betsy Marsch perfectly decorated the brick walls. The quaint coffee and tea bar, where she and Madeline always met up, was packed, so she walked to the back, where she could hide her face from the rest of the people in the place. When Aaliyah checked her cell phone, she saw Madeline had left a message that she was around the corner. A few moments later, she entered.
Madeline was a local girl, and her passion for art was evident on her skirt. The blue accordion pleated thing held several paint drops of primary colours on the right side and nowhere else. Her bright red hair was in a messy bun, but her lively smile and bright blue eyes were not missed by any of the other customers. They admired her, and Aaliyah could only smile at the memory of how they had met.
***
“Now listen, buddy, we are going to have a really bad time if you don’t work with me,” a shrill voice
sounded on the other side of the door.
Aaliyah checked the dorm number scribbled on the piece of paper again. Nineteen years old, in another country on the other side of the world, where culture shock was the least of her problems was tough enough, but dealing with a roommate who sounded to have guy trouble was even less of a great prospect.
“Damn you to hell you piece of—” Something clattered inside the dorm room as Aaliyah knocked on the door and pushed it open with caution. There was no one other than the girl in the room, and she realised she was going to be sharing the room with someone barmy.
“Hey, I’m Aaliyah,” she whispered.
The girl rushed toward Aaliyah, hugging her wind out and looking her straight in her eyes, which few people were capable of due to the mark on her face. “You’re the SA chick! This is so cool. I freaked out when they told me. Do you have any idea how awesome this is? I’ll make sure to show you how great this country is and then you’d never want to go back.” This girl looked confident that she would make her words come true.
Aaliyah was smiling from ear-to-ear, not only because the girl was so excitable, but she went on speaking so animatedly that Aaliyah still hadn’t caught a name, even after a few moments had passed.
“Sorry, but—”
“Wait, you can help. You’re tall.” The girl dragged her toward the closet, causing her to drop her bags as she went. “Top shelf, my granddad thought it was funny to put my brushes there, because then I’d likely study if I couldn’t paint. As if, right?”
Aaliyah could see the broom hanging on the edge and she smiled. She imagined the broom must’ve been the “buddy” the girl was talking to earlier. She reached up, struggled a little to get the brush bag’s handle, and pulled it down on the third attempt.
“Yes!” the girl cheered, hugging the bag like a puppy. “I have a new best friend and someone to help me with my short girl problems.” Aaliyah was still about to say something, when the girl continued, “Oh, I’m Madeline Spencer. I was so crazy excited to finally meet you that I completely forgot to introduce myself. You must think I’m the worst person ever and that I’m awfully rude. I mean…” Madeline went on to talk for another few minutes, making Aaliyah feel right at home.
That day Aaliyah met the only person, besides her parents, who looked at her and not her birthmark. They became best friends and as tiny as Madeline was, she carried an awful lot of poison to fight the people who dared to give Aaliyah a sideways glance. The only problem in their friendship was that Madeline constantly drew or painted Aaliyah because somehow she had become her muse.
***
Madeline gave Aaliyah a sideways hug and took the seat next to her on the soft bench, rather than one of the chairs on the other side of the table. Aaliyah couldn’t tell what it was, but something was off with Madeline. Looking at the black circles around her friend’s eyes, she assumed a lack of sleep was likely the reason. Madeline then ordered a coffee creation thing Aaliyah still couldn’t pronounce, as she was certain that it was a skill taught to Americans in the teenager phase.
“You look exhausted. How was the job hunting?” Madeline had finished university a year before Aaliyah had, when she decided to do an exhibition and sold enough of her paintings to convince her grandfather she was good enough to do it as a full-time job. She had returned only the day before after doing an exhibition in New York, as the galleries in the Pittsburgh area weren’t ready for what she had to offer…or so Madeline had said to get away from time-to-time, even though she had the local galleries begging for her work.
“I will give you one guess. Go.” Aaliyah tried to play it up, but the ire was too prominent.
“Furill.” The Pittsburghese that Madeline used had momentarily confused Aaliyah, but she understood it well enough, so with a nod she gave her lustreless reply. “The bastards.” Madeline shook her head and suddenly began to dig around in the bag she carried with her.
To Aaliyah’s knowledge Madeline carried necessities, but also half her art studio in the thing to make sure moments could be captured right away if needed.
“Found it.” She hid whatever it was behind her. “Remember I said that, if I ever sold a painting of you—”
“No you didn’t! I’ll freaking kill you!” Aaliyah’s heart began pounding uncomfortably hard in her chest.
“I did, and for eight thousand dollars. It sure as fuck is worth it.” Madeline wasn’t kidding.
“Are you serious? That is…wow! That is more than one hundred twenty-five grand in Rands! Who the hell would—”
“Beats me, but the portrait was set to be sold for one thousand five hundred dollars and then those little sticker things…” Madeline motioned the stickers as if playing drums in the air, “…the buyers put next to the information plate, just filled up. The gallery brought the price up to five thousand and it sold.”
“But didn’t you say it sold for more?” Aaliyah was fidgeting with her cup of oolong tea’s ear.
“Bear with me.” Madeline received her fancy coffee creation and took a tentative sip. Aaliyah nearly shouted at her to go on. “So, after the gallery was just about to finish the deal, this man, who was the assistant of a somebody, stepped up with an offer of ten thousand, but the gallery’s policy for new artists is the max of five thousand.”
Madeline took another sip of her coffee, and the tension was all but killing Aaliyah.
“Now this assistant gave the bitchiest look ever. He called his boss and whoever that person was made the gallery owner nearly pee himself. They settled on eight thousand and…” Madeline brought it—an envelope—forward. “Here is your cut.”
Aaliyah still wasn’t pleased. “Who bought the painting?”
“They stayed anonymous, but your pretty face is now likely somewhere on a penthouse wall, buddy. Now, take your money.” Aaliyah refused to take it, so Madeline pushed the envelope into the front of Aaliyah’s dress. Their noisiness was noted by the other customers, so to keep the peace, she took the money and gained an evil smirk from Madeline. “Aaliyah, I hope you see now that you are fucking beautiful.”
“Maddy, quiet.” She eyed the other customers. “They likely bought it to make fun of me.” Madeline gave her a death stare. Aaliyah sighed and shook her head. “Promise me you aren’t selling any more of the paintings with me on.”
Madeline grinned far too evilly, “Weeelll…uhm?”
“What did you do?”
“See, this buyer.” Her hands were were all over the place, as she explained, “Well, they caused the original buyer and also many of the others…to want more.” Her smile stayed on.
“You can’t do the same painting.” Relief was hers for a moment. “Because then the person who got the painting now would just—”
“Liyah, The Marked One can’t ever be recreated.”
“You sold that one? Oh my word.” Aaliyah felt sick. She sat back into her seat and stared blankly at the table.
“Calm down. It is done. It was much harder for me to let go of it than it was for you, believe me.”
Aaliyah made a face at Madeline. She couldn’t understand what had come over her friend to include a portrait of her in an exhibition in the first place.
Madeline was unaffected by Aaliyah’s glare. “Well, my next exhibition is about you. And there are so many other portraits I’ve painted. Smaller, other mediums that can bring in money for us both. You know how this works. You get a third of my cut no matter what.”
“Nice poetry, but no more,” Aaliyah nearly begged. It was odd enough that her picture was somewhere in someone’s house, office, or wherever, and the idea was making her insecurities crawl out from where they had settled after the man outside the Gerardo building called her that awful name.
The Marked One was a beautiful piece of art, but it showed her crying. She’d only agreed to allow Madeline to capture the moment in paint because she thought no one wanted to see sadness, but apparently she was dead wrong.
“Maddy, that painting showed me
really crying.”
“I know and that is why it sold for so much. Fuck, we could’ve gotten way more.” Aaliyah sounded her displeasure with a grunt. “Aaliyah, The Marked One is a once-in-a-lifetime portrait. It opened so many doors for me and with your job hunting not going too well, I think we both know that you could use the money.”
Aaliyah thought it through and knew Madeline was right. The money in the envelope had just ensured she’d have a few more weeks to try staying in America.
She looked at Madeline. “And if someone recognises me?”
“Then you tell them, ‘Yes, I am The Marked One. I am the beautiful woman in the painting done by M. Spencer.’” Madeline was smirking all the way through and Aaliyah only shook her head. “Just say my name. That’s the best way we will become rich bitches.”
Aaliyah chuckled at her friend. “Are you sure you want me to be your subject? I mean, this city has—”
“I kind of got stuck with you.” Aaliyah rose her brows. “Four different galleries want to show my work with you as the focus. Nothing like The Marked One, but similar portraits.” Madeline sipped her coffee.
“How many and before when?” Aaliyah asked through clenched teeth, knowing Madeline well enough to know it was going to be a deadline type thing.
“Kinda before the end of the month.” Aaliyah shook her head. “It’s nothing. We will be fine. I have the four-piece thing from your second year, the black and white with the red mark on it.” Madeline thought for a second. “Oh, and the pixelated-style one could work, and the charcoal sketch, the popart-style one, and the one that is just the shape of your special mark.”
This specific one was the funniest. Madeline had traced Aaliyah’s birthmark directly from her face onto tracing paper before transferring it. They both laughed so much that she had to do it several times, because the laughing caused the outlining to be completely off.
