His appraising gaze sweeps over me. “Black’s a good look for you, Mr. Garrison.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sure the rich clientele will be very impressed.” Shannon considers me for a few seconds before heading toward the wine bar. “A little flirting with the geriatric set never hurt anyone.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Can I get you a drink to start off?” Shannon makes his way over to the table with a selection of wines.
“Sure, why not.” A drink would be good right now. A little alcohol induced peace.
He pours some Chardonnay and hands it to me. “White is best for this time of year.”
“How many people do… do you think will be here tonight?” I gulp my wine and welcome the burn down the back of my throat.
“I don’t have an exact count, but we did get quite a few confirmations,” she says.
“Really?”
Meadow glances around Pathways, sizing up the space. “But you never know. Some people are vacationing in the Hamptons, so we’ll just have to wait and see.”
My stomach flips over at the thought of interacting with a lot of people. What if I stutter? And if I do, what then? Laugh it off? Punch them in the face?
Shit. Why did I agree to this?
I take another sip of wine, trying to conceal how nervous I am. To calm myself, I walk around and look at my vases. Underneath the well-positioned lights at Pathways, they almost seem to glow. The 24-karat glistens in streaks of shimmering gold.
“They look beautiful.” As if I conjured up some physical support, Meadow puts her hand on my shoulder.
I pull her warmth into me. “Thank you, I hope that everyone else feels the same.”
She plants a gentle kiss on my lips, and I wish that we could be transported to another place. Another time. One where anxiety over my life’s work doesn’t exist. “I have no doubt they will.”
“Whoa! PDA! Did that actually happen?” Shannon chuckles and refills his glass. He raises it up toward us. “As they say, there’s a first time for everything.”
I lock eyes with Meadow. I want to kiss her a thousand times. But I know I have to stay focused on the showing. Instead, I stroke lightly down the side of her face, memorizing every nuance. Every curve. “This means a lot to me. Everything, really.”
A few minutes later, three women wander into the gallery. One of them is a short lady who has gone overboard with plastic surgery. All of them look like money isn’t an object judging from their diamonds to their designer dresses. I’m no expert on high fashion, but I can tell when a dress breaks the bank.
“Hi, it’s so good to see you, Edna,” Meadow says, approaching the threesome with a smile on her face.
“Thanks for the invite, this is a real treat,” Edna says. Her face barely moves, making me wonder how many injectables she’s done to get that frozen look perfected. “I’d like you to meet my good friends, Lauren and Christine.”
Meadow shakes hands with the women and looks at me. “And I’d like all of you to meet the artist, Henry Garrison.”
My heart pounds as they all turn to me in unison, their attention barreling toward me like a train. I manage to grin and say, “Hi. Thank you for coming.”
I feel myself relax when the words come out exactly right.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Henry,” Edna says. “I’m a big fan of your work. One of my friends bought a vase from you, and I’ve been jealous ever since. But tonight, I just might buy three. I like to come out on top, you see.”
The women all chuckle as if gluttony and keeping up with the Jones’s is only par for the course in their world.
“Thanks.” I chuckle only because it seems socially appropriate. The practice of buying something, especially a custom piece of art, just to outdo someone else and not because it speaks to your soul disgusts me in a way I can’t even articulate.
A couple walks into the gallery and Meadow makes a beeline to the door to greet them. My heart skips a beat. I don’t like being left alone.
“So, Henry, what’s the biggest source of inspiration for you?” Edna asks.
“Well…” I take a deep breath and turn to Meadow. She doesn’t even notice me.
Come on, Henry, you can do this.
“Well… I… I love to listen to classical music while I create, especially Bach.”
Edna’s eyes grow wide. “I love Bach! A handsome man with culture and class. Where have you been all my life?” She winks at me, but all it does is make me even more uncomfortable.
“Edna, he looks young enough to be your grandson,” Christine says. “For shame!”
Edna glares at her. “Your point being?”
“I–”
“Hush, men do it all the time.” Edna turns her attention back to me and raises her painted eyebrows. “Now, where were we?”
Meadow walks over to us. “Pardon the interruption, ladies, but I’d like Henry to meet a few newcomers.”
“Excuse me.” I follow Meadow across the room as my body floods with relief. “You saved me just in time.”
“Saved you?”
“A cougar. Or is it a lioness? Edna was trying to hit on me.”
Meadow laughs and her eyes flash fire. “You’re hot. If I were Edna’s age, I’d hit on you. Can you blame her?”
I flash a wide smile in return. She’s stingy with the compliments so I’ll take it and allow it to raise my confidence level a tad.
As the hours pass, Meadow and Shannon introduce me to very important people. At times, I feel awkward having conversations, but somehow, I manage to push through it. And best of all, I don’t stutter. My nervous energy subsides a little by the time I have my third glass of wine and have to admit that I’m really starting to enjoy myself.
A short man with thick glasses wearing a green blazer walks into the gallery, and Meadow’s smile turns into a frown. I also notice a distressed look on Shannon’s face.
I look between the two of them. “What’s the matter?”
“The devil wears green,” Shannon mutters, his nostrils flaring.
“Huh?” I don’t recognize the guy from anywhere, but then again, I don’t get out much let alone travel in the high-end art circle.
“Greg Silverman. He’s an art critic.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t stand him.” Meadow narrows her eyes, and I can tell she doesn’t like the guy. “He’s a real know-it-all.”
Greg walks over to us while Meadow tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth. “Hello, Meadow.”
“Hi.”
His beady-eyed gaze sweeps the room, taking inventory. “I’m surprised by the turnout.”
She cocks her head to one side. “I’m not. We’ve been planning this for weeks. By the way, this is the artist, Henry Garrison. Henry, Greg Silverman.”
I shake Greg’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m surprised we never met before,” Greg says. “You have a studio in SoHo, right?”
I nod.
“And you make everything yourself?”
“Of course, I start at the potter’s wheel and then I–”
Greg rudely turns his back on me and calls over his shoulder, “I’d love to hear more about your creative process, but right now, I could really use some wine.” He points to Shannon. “Can you get it for me?”
“Help yourself,” Shannon says flatly, crossing his arms over his massive chest.
Greg pours a glass of Chardonnay. “Okay, I think I’ll have a look around now.”
“Fine,” Meadow says.
Greg makes his way around the room, greeting some of the people and stopping to look at some of my vases. Something tugs at my stomach cavity. I can’t really explain it but the appearance of this person, this critic, has me tied up in knots again when I had started to do so well. I was proud of myself for the first few hours of my show. Now, I’m not so sure.
It feels like impending doom is about to darken my door. I shake my arms at the
elbows, returning a nice blood flow to my limbs.
“What an asshole.” Shannon shakes his head. “The audacity of him to ask me to pour him some wine. Do I look like the help? I am the assistant manager.”
“Never mind him, tonight was a success. We’ve made record sales already, and we still have an hour to go.”
I smile at that bit of good news. “Maybe I’ll be able to pay my higher rent after all.”
Meadow wraps her arms around me. “And this is just the beginning. With the impression you made with our clientele tonight, I have a feeling you’ll be buying the entire building soon.”
Across the room, Edna blows a kiss at me. Meadow grins. “Don’t look now. She’s coming over to claim her prize.”
“Oh no!” But instead of feeling threatened, I chuckle.
“Be nice to her, she bought four vases! Two for herself and two for gifts.”
Edna’s starting to look better to me, like I’m wearing a new pair of beer goggles and she’s an ugly chick at bar close. “That’s awesome.”
Shannon pours wine for all three of us. “Let’s have a toast! To Henry!”
“Here, here!” Meadow smiles, lifting her glass toward mine.
We all clink, and I take a sip. I can’t believe how great everything turned out. I’m so glad I came out of my shell and agreed to do the showing. Not only did it help my career, but it also helped connect me to my soulmate… even if she doesn’t know it yet.
But she will. I know it.
Chapter 17
Meadow
On my way to Pathways the next day, I still feel buzzed from last night’s champagne and the passionate night with Henry that followed. The showing was a raucous success, and I allow the relief to flow over me. It’s been so long since I had that many people at the gallery, and I want to relish in the moment.
Intimacy has been next to impossible since Jessie. But maybe it’s time for me to crack open my heart a little more. Who knows? Maybe I will take Henry up on his offer. My lips curl into a smile at the thought of that. How scary could it be to greet the day with a hot man’s arms wrapped around me? Share breakfast and a sweet morning lovemaking session? Staying the night is starting to look more appealing.
Once I arrive, I unlock the door to the gallery and turn on the lights. I can still picture the crowd of very rich and very beautiful people who occupied this very space hours ago. I think about how Henry was so sexy and confident as he shared his art with all of the curious patrons.
I pop open my laptop, glancing at my full inbox with a mixture of joy and pain. It’s going to take a long time to weed through them all, but I’m sure there will be a multitude of late sales. Once word gets around about a successful showing, those that had other commitments or just wanted to wait and see which way the wind blew before they committed to adding to their collections will contact me and throw their hat in the ring for the remaining pieces.
I’ve even seen bidding wars erupt for a hot artist like Henry. Everyone wants to be able to show off their new Garrison at the latest house party. Too bad there are only four Garrisons remaining for sale. He’s going to have to hit the studio hard and produce, produce, produce. If things go the way I hope, I can finally treat Shannon to Nobu.
Speak of the devil, I think as he walks through the door wearing a pair of designer sunglasses. I smile at him. “Hey, you.”
He rips off his sunglasses and furrows his eyebrows.
My heart flips over. Everything’s going so right, so why does Shan look like he’s just lost his best friend. “What’s wrong?”
He clucks his tongue and waves a paper in front of him. “Have you seen The Times?”
“No, I’m just checking my email. We might be making reservations at Nobu sooner than later.”
“Meadow–”
I ignore the drama over the newspaper. How bad can it be? Silverman’s a douche, certainly, but he’s usually pretty dead-on when it comes to his artist critiques. He can be tough, but he gives credit when it’s due. No one can argue with the strength of Henry’s talent.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind treating you. You earned it, Shannon. And maybe Josh and Henry can tag along. We’ll make it a double date.”
He walks over to me and shoves the paper in my face, pointing to Greg’s column. “I’m so sorry, Meadow.”
I scan the article and take a deep breath. “How bad can it be?”
He makes a choking motion with his hands. “I could kill Greg Silverman, and I think we have some more wine left over from last night to help dull the pain.”
I sigh, anticipating the worst. “That bad, huh?”
“Like I said, I’m really sorry.”
I sip my espresso and read the article:
Art Imitates Commercial at Pathways Showing
by Greg Silverman
Potter Henry Garrison’s gallery opening at Pathways was well attended, and the cheap complimentary wine was flowing along with stale brie. And thank God because it would have been difficult to endure this event sober. As for positives, I don’t have much else to impart.
Garrison’s career began with much fanfare as he emerged from the School of Visual Arts and garnered attention with a few prestigious awards. He seemed to be New York’s next ‘it’ boy in the trendy art community of SoHo. But that was several years ago. Clearly, he’s made no strides to mature or improve his work which could only be described as juvenile.
Last night’s showing put Garrison’s digression on full display. His vases did not look as if they were personally sculpted on a wheel by his hand. I suspect that his work is commercially produced. Perhaps in an overseas sweatshop. It appears Garrison is fond of little girls who toil for hours without pay for their labor. To those of you poor saps who purchased a ‘custom’ piece at five figures or more, you should flip it over and check the signature. Below Garrison’s messy script, you’ll probably also find a machine stamp that reads, “MADE IN CHINA.”
I let the paper fall from my fingers. “What the actual fuck? I never thought he’d ever stoop this low. Never!”
Shannon snaps his fingers in the air above my head. “Dick move.”
The words blur, and I realize it’s because tears prick the backs of my eyes. Tears I can’t sweep or explain away. This can’t get much worse. To accuse Henry’s work of being commercially produced in a sweatshop? It’s beyond.
I shove the newspaper away. “I can’t read anymore.”
Shannon’s face falls into an expression of gloom and doom. “I can’t blame you.”
“He annihilated Henry!”
“He’s a barnacle on the ass of the art world. Payback’s a bitch. How are we going to feed him his just desserts?”
I chew on my lower lip. “I’m not sure. I’ll think of something, though.”
“We can start by telling Henry not to buy the paper this morning.”
I drop my face in my hands. “This is gonna cost us a ton of potential customers. I’d banked on a bidding war over the last four pieces. Thank God we have a zero-return policy on the ones already purchased. No buyer’s remorse in the art world.”
“I hope not.”
“Even though Silverman is an ass, the art scene worships him. They treat his crackpot opinions like the gospel.”
Shannon heaves a heavy sigh filled with sadness and regret. “So much for Nobu.”
I pause. “Wait… do you think we’re overreacting? Maybe it won’t be that bad. It’s just one review from one critic. We can get through this.”
He rubs my back. “Sure we can, missy. Tally ho and all that shit.”
I nod and clap my hands together even though they are veiled in a thin layer of terror and perspiration. “And we did make monster sales last night. So, it’s not like all is lost.”
Shannon shakes a meaty fist at the sky. “Yeah, to hell with Silverman. That’s the spirit.”
I sip my espresso and nod. Then, I pop open my laptop. I see there are thirty-seven new messages.
I click
to open them one after the other. Most are ingenuous check-ins from virtual strangers mentioning Silverman’s review and hoping I’m okay. One even has the audacity to ask if I’d be interested in selling Pathways to him. I shake my head in shock and horror. “Damn!”
My phone chimes with new social media alerts. Pathway’s Instagram is lit up like an Irishman on St. Patrick’s Day. I glance at the screen. It’s all about Silverman and his stupid review. “This shit went viral!”
Shannon looks over at me, and for a second, I think I see the glisten of tears in his eyes. Shannon never cries. Not over heartbreak or anything else. “It’s hard to comprehend how that odious little man can have so much power.”
I feel some tears of my own sprout anew, but I shove them back into the dark crevice they came from. “We are really, really in trouble over this.”
He leans in and clasps my shoulders in a hug. “I know you. You’ve never been a quitter.”
I close my laptop screen. “I don’t know, Shannon. This is the worst review we’ve ever gotten.”
“Maybe, but don’t worry.” He clears his throat and begins to sing, “You will survive! As long as you know how to love, I know you’ll stay alive!”
I shake my head and smile. I appreciate his efforts to cheer me up, but I can’t help but feel like the walls are grinding in, squeezing me like a vice. There are countless galleries that haven’t survived the wrath of Greg Silverman. I wonder if I’m next.
I try not to think about the worst-case scenario, but it’s no use. I put everything I had and then some to build this business. To close my doors would be devastating… not to mention the fact that Shannon and I would be out of a job.
Dream over.
Chapter 18
Henry
The clay dances in my hands, moving to and fro as I massage it into a custom piece of art. I listen to Maurice Ravel’s “Boléro” while I work on a new vase. I feel so inspired.
Last night was incredible. I still can’t believe that all of those people came just to meet me and admire my creations. I knew the evening was off to a good start when I saw Meadow in that curve-hugging dress. And everything else just came together. I found myself doing something I have always been too shy to even contemplate… striking up coherent conversations with perfect strangers. And I did it with ease.
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