by Kieran York
“I actually search for extremophiles. You know, organisms able to survive in extreme environments.” Esther made crawly motions with her fingers.
“Like London?” Carrie teased.
“Well, a tad more extreme,” Esther said. “We just don’t know what the universe is capable of coding.”
Carrie added, “I don’t want E.T.s roaming around. We have enough scum creatures posing as wind-up dolls.” She continued to examine my drawings. “These are superb. Do you always draw and paint people?”
“I’ve done very few that aren’t. I love the diversity of the human face and form.”
“And for some reason, most of her work seems to be pictures of women,” Esther said with a wink.
Bethany left the room, carrying her overnight bag, to shower and change into fresh clothing.
Carrie pointed to the chair and waited for me to sit down. “Listen, Danielle, you take care not to hurt Bethany.”
I glanced over at Esther for support. There was none. “Pardon?”
“Bethany is an extraordinarily special, kind woman. I don’t want to see her hurt.”
I gave a quick nervous laugh. “Carrie, I care for Bethany. She’s a wonderful, bright, affectionate person. But we had a talk before… Well, before…” I felt my face flush. “No strings attached. We both agreed.”
“You just bedded her, luv,” Carrie said and glared at me.
“I… I…” I stammered.
She and Esther burst into laughter.
Esther was holding her sides and had to catch her breath. “Gotcha!”
I covered my eyes with my hand. “I’m going to need a midday toddy after that.”
“I have a comp for that, too,” Carrie said.
“I’ll bet,” I told her.
Carrie sat down on the nearby sofa. “Speaking of comps, let’s plan on Clouds. We can have a chin-wag, and they have the most luscious crab cakes with avocado sauce on the planet.” She pointed at Esther. “No comment about interplanetary cuisine from you, please.”
“I’ll leave the two of you to skirmish about other worlds.” I stood. “I’m going to grab a shower and dress. I hope you two get a grip by the time I return.”
“If you’re planning to shower with Bethany, we might have a long wait,” Esther said. While I glared at her, the two of them howled with laughter. I nearly danced into the bedroom in my attempt to escape.
Chapter 17
Between moments of being hassled unmercifully, I had checked voice mail. Fiona wanted a confab. Roxie said that Sadie, Clover, and Aggie were playing hard together and enjoying autumn camp. It did my heart good to know the three dogs were managing without us.
Esther, Carrie, Bethany, and I went to lunch at Clouds. Carrie was right. The crab cakes were the best I’d ever had. We then returned to my suite, and I did a quick sketch of Carrie and gave it to her. She was enormously pleased and promised not to call me a bossy boots, git, scruff, wally, or twit. Without any success, I also offered the same deal to Esther. She told me she had enough of my drawings, thank you very much.
Esther and Carrie broke away, opting to go on an afternoon shopping spree. Since I needed to stop by the gallery, Bethany suggested I give her a guided tour of my exhibit. She wanted to see the paintings through my eyes.
Entering the gallery with Bethany was so different from entering alone. She showed enormous enthusiasm for each picture, which made me feel special. I was impressed with her knowledge of classical art. When we arrived at the last painting I’d done, she was enthralled with it. A Scene had an impact on us both. I liked the larger format. I planned at that moment to use one of the two remaining large canvases for my painting of Bethany.
“Danielle,” Fiona called to me. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”
I followed her to the office where she shut the door. “What is it?”
“One. The owners want you to stay on another week. Two. They would like you to put a price on your last paintings.”
“Reunion and Scene?”
“They’ve had a great deal of interest in them.”
“Scene only went up yesterday afternoon.”
“Work with me on this, Danielle. They also have a TV interview scheduled for later this afternoon. The media is sending a production team over here.”
“I’ll stay an extra week. I’ve never left Clover so long, though.” I chewed on my lower lip, thinking about my sweet schnauzer. “But Roxie should be able to manage another week.”
“You know Roxie is great with the dogs. And you’ve said yourself that Clover loves her.”
“I’ll do the interview, of course. As for selling the paintings…”
Fiona sighed. “The gallery isn’t in business to show your paintings. They’re here in this fancy area with high overhead and luxury décor so they can sell your work.”
“I’m aware of that. But they have a couple dozen other paintings to sell. A few more that Roxie’s sending should be here this afternoon.”
“Danielle, please don’t be difficult. This is important. I heard that a museum in Amsterdam and one in Paris might be after Reunion. Come on, you are on the threshold. Don’t turn diva on me now. Getting you here has been a struggle.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Fiona, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“One of the things,” Fiona said, “that separates the Sunday painter from the true artist is the ability to understand that none of your work belongs to you. Not if your talent is truly priceless. It belongs to generations beyond.” She kept pushing. “You’re late in coming to the party. You don’t have time to fuck around. Great museums chronicle art history. Give your works a good home so you can be placed within the hierarchy of history. I’ll give you an enlarged studio photograph of each of them. Have the duplicate photos to hang anywhere you like. But get your work into museums.”
“Are you talking as my friend or my fifteen-percent agent?”
Fiona gently squeezed my shoulder. “You may not agree with me. But trust my professional decisions. You must know why I represent you by now. One thing I have always done as long as I’ve been your agent, and I’ll continue doing it. I look out for your best interest. As your friend and agent. Don’t become too attached to your work.”
“As my friend, can you understand how I feel?”
“Danielle, you’re a true artist. You aren’t some self-proclaimed exhibitionist interested in the spectacle, celebrity, and money. I do know your art matters to you. Critics are pushing you now. A reviewer compared you to a master chef who has the knack to perfect a sumptuous dinner. They say you implement all the qualities of advancing and retreating colors and your gradation of color is brilliant. Please think this over carefully. I worked with enough self-delusional imitators when I started this business. I tried not to market some of the fools. They were money-hungry frauds. They aren’t like you. You’re my prize. I’ve always believed in your talent.”
“I don’t understand why these paintings are so important to you.”
“Where you’re represented is vital. Museums and collections pave the way to greatness. They are critically important. I want you to sell those paintings for astronomical sums because they’re worth it. Prices value you. I want your work in the most prestigious museums and shows in the world. Because these painting will elevate you to where you belong. These two paintings are that great. But if you fiddle fart around, the train will leave without you.”
“Give me a moment. I want to look at them.” I went out to the floor and stood in front of each painting for many minutes, allowing myself the time to let them go. Fiona had followed and stood behind me. “I do trust you, Fiona. I do. Okay. You put a price on them.”
“Four-hundred thousand for Reunion and six for Scene.”
My mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious!”
“I can be and I am. After all, Goodbye sold for one-hundred thousand. Right now, there’s a rush to collect your art. We’ve advanced pricing on all of you
r work. Ones you painted years ago have more than quadrupled. And I expect them to be appreciating daily. Especially those two latest works. I give you my word. If they don’t bring my price, I won’t sell them. It’s nonnegotiable.”
I nodded. “fine.” Tears filled my eyes. “Fiona, it’s probably for the best. I’m not sure I could look at either of them day in and day out. It might break my heart entirely.”
“Just because Molly hasn’t contacted you might not mean she doesn’t care.”
“It’s a pretty damned good imitation of not caring,” I said as I swiped at my wet cheek. “I do wonder why I read love in her smile.”
“We all have our ways of caring. Maybe you don’t know the entire story.”
“For the first time in thirty years, maybe I do know.”
“That reminds me. Samantha Wesley called.” Fiona retrieved a slip of paper out of her breast pocket. “She’s been trying to reach you. Mystery solved. She’s the one who’s been calling but didn’t want to bother you at your hotel when you’re working. At least see what she wants.”
I took the slip of paper. Without looking at the number, I pressed it into my handbag. “What time would you like me back here for the interview?”
“Half past three. Four at the latest. And give me a promise you’ll call Samantha Wesley.”
“Of course I’m going call her. I want to ask her if she knows who purchased Farewell.”
“Would it help you to know?”
“I like knowing where my paintings are living. If they’re going to be well taken care of.” I waved my hand at her. “I can’t explain it.”
“You have the right to know where it is. When the gallery signed the purchase order and authenticity papers, there was a confidentiality clause. The identity of the buyer must remain classified. Off the record, don’t bother asking Molly’s daughter. The Franklin-Lewis Institute of Art purchased it. They’re enormously high on your work. They also have two others. One of their directors in Ireland acquired those.”
“Ah, another mystery solved. The online purchases. I promise not to mention it until they release the information.”
“Right. We like foundations to make their own announcements. Any more overnight paintings to show me?”
“I was busy last night. Gallivanting. And then busy.”
Fiona smiled her mystical, flickering smile that lit up her face when she had information. Or presumed information. “I don’t doubt that for an instant. Gives you incentive. Maybe a little inspiration. I guess you’ll paint again as soon as you stop gallivanting.”
I leaned back against the counter. “Fiona, I know you think my need to paint emanates from some elevated muse. But for me painting is an attempt to document my vision. And yes, admittedly, to replicate an emotion.”
“It’s nice you’re able to replicate by recharging your emotional reserve with…” She let her words trail off as she chuckled. She pointed toward Bethany. “What did you say her name is?”
“Bethany. Come on, I’ll introduce you. She’s fifty-four. Way too old for you, and at this time I’ve got to add, way too old for Esther.”
Fiona issued a mock gasp. “Surely not. Esther is a cougar now?”
“It would appear so. She hasn’t given me one of her astro-reports for two days. I haven’t a clue what quadrant of the sky Venus is in.”
“Obviously, Venus is directly over you.” She gave me a sly grin. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Chapter 18
The television interview seemed to meet with Fiona’s approval. I was thrilled when it finally ended. Bethany had watched patiently in the wings. From the corner of my eye, I would catch a glimpse of her from time to time. Her smile warmed me. Encouraged me.
We bid Fiona farewell, then Bethany and I went to a small Italian restaurant Fiona had highly recommended. We laughed and shared stories over a sampler platter for two containing small portions of Portobello ravioli, sausage lasagna, mussels fra diavolo, and chicken saltimbacca. For dessert, we split a tiramisu. Agreeing we overdid it on the caloric intake, we promised we would order salads for at least the next ten years.
Once we were back in my hotel suite, I made multiple sketches of Bethany. I felt happier than I had in perhaps thirty years but didn’t try to analyze the reason. We continued our conversation about our lives as I started the painting using the 44x56 canvas. My arm seemed to circle the canvas as I traced the outlines of Bethany. Her smile was entrancing, and I tried to capture it in my painting. After I began to form facial features, I stood away from the canvas a moment. Bethany got up from the sofa where she’d been sitting and looked at the painting. She glanced at me, her lips turned upward. She took her thumb and wiped paint from my cheek. Then she kissed the side of my mouth and went back to her pose on the sofa. “A perfect likeness, Danielle.”
“Give it time,” I joked. “I think I can get a little more realism.”
“But you do get mussed up, luv.”
“I wear as much paint as I put on the canvas.”
Painting her was an enchanting experience. Touching her was the same, and I shivered with memories of my fingertips on her skin. When I concluded for the night, I put down my brushes.
With the same ritual of the previous evening, we undressed, showered, went to bed, and made love. Afterward, we fell into a deep, satiated, and peaceful sleep.
Morning arrived early since Bethany needed to get up at six for work. She was conscientious about her job, and I fully appreciated that. She had told me that, for the past decades, she’d been on call, worked round the clock, and often went two or three weeks without days off.
I didn’t want her leaving my side. Our kiss goodbye lingered. She promised to call me later. I hoped she would.
To keep my mind occupied, I began painting immediately after she left. A couple hours later, I closed my eyes for a moment then opened them. Her image was beginning to appear, and my heart felt a rush. As I set down my brush, I glanced over at my purse and remembered the slip of paper Fiona had given me with Samantha’s number. Now was as good a time as any to call her.
She answered immediately. “Danielle, I’m so happy to hear from you.”
“I wasn’t sure why you were calling. Is Molly okay?”
“She isn’t aware I’m phoning. Could we get together for lunch today? I realize it’s short notice.”
“It’s fine. I’m available.”
“Let’s meet at Razzmatazz at noon. I’ll book us a table.”
“I’ll be there.” Somewhere deep within me was a hope that Molly would accompany Samantha. But Samantha had stressed Molly wasn’t aware of her call. I reined in my hope. “Noon at Razzmatazz,” I said before hanging up.
Glancing at the clock, I saw I had a couple of hours to paint before getting ready for lunch. I began daubing colors gently. Then I heard a rap at the door.
“Danielle, it’s Esther.”
I pulled back the door. “Come in. Just dragging yourself back to the hotel at midmorning?” I teased. “British women will be calling you their Yankee crumpet.”
“At least one woman is referring to you as that. I saw Bethany this morning. She scurried in, got ready for work, and announced you are wonderful. Then she scampered off to work. Wonderful, Danielle. Shocked me.”
“Wonderful?” I said as I poured Esther a strong cup of coffee. “This java is probably a little cool from when I had brekky earlier this morning.”
“It’s fine. Anything that will wake me up.” Esther sat across from the table and sipped. “That portrait is really good. Bethany makes a nice model.”
“I’ve just begun actually. It’ll probably need a couple of days’ work before it’s where I want it. I’d like to have had Bethany continue sitting for me, but she had to go to work.”
“She was so excited that you’re painting her portrait. You do realize she thinks you’re special?”
“We’re very compatible, and I’m comfortable being with her. Oh, I meant to tell you I’m staying on an
extra week. Fiona says the gallery is going to extend my show.” I added more paint to the canvas. “So, any chance you’ll stay on until the exhibit is over?”
“Let me check my retiree calendar.” She unfolded the air and turned imaginary pages. “Ah yes, I’m open and certainly it would be great to remain here. My retiree travel budget will be shot for a while, but oh well.”
“You can move up here with me. The gallery is splurging for my suite.”
“If I bunk with anyone, it really should be with my squeeze. In fact, Carrie asked this morning about my staying with her. It would be more convenient if I were there. But I think I’ll manage where I am. Independence, you know?”
“Yes, I do know you.” I added a stroke to the canvas. “Samantha called. I’m meeting with her today.”
“Samantha?” Esther bolted upright. “Can’t Molly do her own bidding?”
“Molly isn’t aware of the meeting. I took it Samantha would prefer she didn’t know about it. Maybe Samantha wants to talk about art. Fiona said she’s well-versed in the art world. I agreed to meet her at noon. Razzmatazz.”
“Upscale restaurant. Carrie would say posh.”
“Carrie is fun. I like her. And so do you.”
“And do you like Bethany as much as she likes you?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “We’re sharing time and enjoying it. Then I’m going back to Colorado, and she’ll continue to be a Londoner.”
“Danielle, she has feelings for you. I can tell.”
“If you’re implying she’s smitten, you’re wrong. She’s well aware I’ll be leaving. I do hope we can continue our friendship from across the pond.”
Esther leaned forward, her expression earnest. “She’s allowing you to forget Molly.”
“No one allows me to forget Molly,” I said with irritation. “If I haven’t forgotten Molly in thirty years, I rather doubt my mind is going to cancel her out now.” I threw down the paintbrush and crossed my arms. “Love isn’t a self-dissolving emotion.”
