Mergers & Acquisitions

by Jennifer Griffith

  “I mean” — Aero sipped from his glass— “yeah.” A little smile toyed at the side of his lips.

  “Well, then don’t be a stranger. New Holland Savings isn’t too far, right? Come see me sometime.” Now I’d morphed into Mae West of classic movie come-on fame, Come up and see me sometime. Great. He was going to roll his eyes at me too now, not just at Ryker.

  But he didn’t. “Sure. I’ll do that.”

  My heartbeat thrummed so hard, I swear he could see it moving the fabric of my blouse.

  “Good,” I said.

  “Good,” he said.

  When he took me back to my car at Santa Monica Beach, he came around and got my door for me— again. Talk about hopes and dreams. I’d always wanted to meet someone who treated me like a lady. Guys like that were rare— or else perhaps their efforts had been batted aside by so-called strong, independent women so often that they’d given up trying.

  “Thank you.” I stood beside him, maybe a little closer than I should have, but the smell of his aftershave and black licorice and something else manly coming from his skin kept me from inching away. “Dinner was nice. I appreciate your being there with me at the property, too. It was nice to have a—” I almost said friend. But I definitely didn’t think of Aero Jantzen that way. “— backup.”

  “You’re courageous, Jilly. I like that. I can see how ready you are to take this leap. I can’t wait to be there at your gallery’s grand opening.”

  “You’d come to that?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” He reached toward me and ran a finger across the side of my hand, sending a shiver up my arm, across my throat, and to my chest. He leaned in and kissed the place where my cheek met my ear, then whispered, “You’ll be amazing.”

  And then he waited, watching me, distracting me from getting my key into the ignition with those gorgeous eyes, making sure my car started before getting in his car. If his grandfather’s eyes were anything like Aero’s, he’d had nothing to worry about from Frank Sinatra, sultry crooner voice notwithstanding.

  I got on the freeway and headed back home, one thought beating a mantra in my head the whole way: Aero Jantzen would miss me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I couldn’t sleep at all last night, Tyanne. I’m a nervous wreck.” Three weeks later, stomach alternating between butterflies and retching, I called Tyanne from the office of my new gallery. The whole experience had been a whirlwind in the scale of Hurricane Katrina, but with less destruction, other than to my efforts to eat anything besides strawberry Pop Tarts or swig a Diet Coke.

  I hadn’t even made time to see Aero, I was so busy. Man, and I’d thought my hours at BGG were slammed. This was ridiculous, and not exactly what I’d bargained on when I gave my two weeks’ notice at the law firm. Still, it was about doing what my heart wanted, and already some rewards were trickling in.

  “You’ll be fine. This thing is going to be a bash.” Tyanne might be right, actually.

  The invitations I’d sent out with RSVP inserts had come back with twice as many yes responses as I’d dreamed— including World of Art magazine. Merely a whiff of Mars Yuber made them salivate, according to an article I read online entitled, “Red Drape Gallery Features Lost Yuber: Art World Turns on Its Ear.”

  Red Drape Gallery, the name I’d finally settled on, might be a misnomer, since the long velvet drape highlighting the Yuber was dark green. Maybe no one would get hung up on that fact and they’d just realize it referred to my star acquisition, Woman Draped in Red.

  The less artistically educated crowd were buzzing about it too— B-list celebrity art apparently had more of an appeal than I’d dreamed. Who knew so many people were out there clamoring to see a pottery teapot decorated by someone who starred in that space opera TV show from the 1990s? Not only had email responses for attendance at my preview reception for the press just before opening come back strong, but at the last minute I’d let Tyanne talk me into issuing timed tickets for the grand opening.

  “Just to be safe,” she’d said, “and to create that perception of exclusivity.” Tyanne possessed the killer instinct, so I went with her advice, even though self-doubt made me think timed tickets looked pretentious.

  It turned out— not pretentious. In fact, they seemed totally necessary instead. With the RSVPs flooding in, I’d decided to add a second day to my grand opening, since nobody wants to be shoulder to shoulder, jammed into a little room as they contemplate art.

  I’ll admit, I got a little giddy when I issued the second batch of tickets.

  However, guest overload or no, I reserved a pair, just at closing time on night one, for Aero Jantzen and his grandmother. I mailed them to New Holland Savings with a little handwritten note inserted. It read simply, Thank you. This is all your fault, you know, yours and that Swept Away ride’s.

  He would know I meant I was giving him credit. I brushed away the nerdy idea of spraying the note with perfume or leaving a lipstick kiss mark on it. Much as I’d have loved to go all mushy-flirty on him, the truth was, I’d only seen him twice in the last six weeks while I’d been putting everything together to open Red Drape, and then only in short, non-flirtatious bursts. I couldn’t exactly escalate with lipstick and perfume under those circumstances.

  The first time we’d crossed paths was when Ryker had refused to listen when my BGG colleague Hugh advised him not to sign a deal to endorse a nutritional supplement for glaucoma. Ryker had claimed he would only trust me to give him the truth— even though Hugh could read a contract better than I could, with his fifteen years’ experience, and he’d told Ryker that the supplement had been shown in laboratory testing to suppress virility.

  Ryker hadn’t cared. It came in a really nice bottle, he’d asserted, and if it helped old people see better, that was what mattered.

  At that point, Hugh had called me out of desperation, followed immediately by a plea for mercy from Aero, who was stuck at the base of an amusement park ride where Ryker was holding everyone emotional hostages.

  Great. Even though I’d been up to my ears in gallery details, I couldn’t let the glaucoma thing happen, not when Aero’s reputation might be on the line almost as much as Ryker’s, and I’d gone down to Splashdown. To Ryker, I’d tried to explain that I didn’t work for BGG anymore, but there was nothing for it. He was ready to jump off that cliff. Ryker was a pill, but I’d explained that I couldn’t let him do something so risky for his career— or for the public. With a stern voice and stare, I’d read Ryker the medical-ese on the bottle of pills, emphasizing the potential harmful side-effects. Kids who were his fans might start taking the med just because Ryker said to.

  “And then what could happen to the population? Demographic winter?” For some reason, my joke had resonated with him, and eventually, Ryker had relented, at which point I’d raced back to Pasadena.

  For Ryker, and Aero, I’d missed being at Red Drape for the placement of Mindi’s initial selections from her portfolio. While I’d been gone, placards were printed and affixed to the wall beneath the art using some kind of Hug-Tite-Sticky-Glue, impossible to remove without damaging paint. Great. Worse, the identification placards read, “Mystery Celebrity Artist.” Marvelous.

  I’d called to explain the mistake to Mindi, and to apologize and ask what she’d actually like printed on there, but she’d been in a good mood and just laughed, telling me she’d always wished she could be mysterious but that she wore her heart on her sleeve too often for mystery. Bless her heart. She’d told me to go with it— since all the other art in the gallery was being done by celebs, she didn’t mind.

  Whew, and it also lent an air of excitement and the mysterious to my gallery. So, actually, I had Ryker to thank for that happy accident.

  The second time, Aero had actually asked me to dinner, and we’d met up, but just as we sat down together, I’d received an emergency art gallery call, and Ryker had sent Aero his version of the Bat Signal. We’d laughed at our mutually ridiculous lives and parted ways, but I ached
inside. He called me later, and we talked briefly until more mayhem swirled, but over the phone wasn’t as good as face-to-face.

  Or mouth-to-mouth. Have I mentioned that I hadn’t for a second forgotten his kiss?

  Both of those events had been gallery-prep-whirlwind weeks ago. By now I figured he could be dating someone else and had likely forgotten all about me. Although I’d be hard pressed to ever forget about that kiss, a guy that gorgeous likely didn’t maintain his single status for long.

  Maybe as soon as the grand opening’s hoopla settled into a routine I’d get that calmer life I craved— and I’d make time to find out more about Aero Jantzen, if he still had any interest in spending time with me.

  The thought that he might not still be interested made a little life-leaf inside me curl up and go brittle.

  As I put finishing touches on displays and paid a few online advertising bills, my mind kept drifting back to Aero. Sure, I hadn’t spent much time with him. But if we ever did get that chance, things could go somewhere, possibly quickly— especially if I allowed the sparks between us to grow into the potential wildfire I foresaw. Every time I thought of Aero, that instinct crept in me a little higher, and not just because of his delicious kiss, even though it was so delicious that it had stayed with me all these weeks, fueling my energies anytime they lagged. No, not only because of the kiss, but also because of who I became when I was with him— a confident woman who went after her dreams.

  Grand opening day one was here, and my stomach was quivering as much as my hands trembled. So much was on the line for me, and for Woman Draped in Red. I could hardly focus, for all the nerves, but I pushed forward.

  The weather hadn’t just cooperated, though, it had sung a celebratory anthem. The autumn air had its leaf-falling tang. Nowhere on earth could be as stunning as Pasadena in the fall, as far as I could guess. The whole area was filled with mature trees. Half those trees stayed evergreen, while the other half burst into brilliant color. The sky above remained a brilliant cerulean blue and the temperatures hovered at perfection.

  Best of all, tonight I would see Aero, if he and his grandmother accepted my invitation.

  Standing in front of my bedroom mirror to put the final touches on my appearance before I met the press and the public, I touched a fingertip of perfume behind each ear. I almost didn’t care about anyone else I’d see, be they A-list, B-list or otherwise, compared to how I anticipated seeing Aero. Way back when, he’d promised to come, claiming at the time that he wouldn’t miss it, but now that the day was really here, would he show? And what would he ultimately think of my efforts to implement his idea? More than anyone else’s criticism or praise, I craved his.

  I dreaded disappointing him.

  With that anxiety making me brittle and hopeful at once, I added three extra swipes of mascara to each eye and stared at my reflection. Where was the BGG version of Jillian? Gone. No hint of the staid, boring lawyer would be on display at Red Drape Gallery this evening. My tight, professional bun was gone, and I’d let my long hair fall onto my shoulders, curling the ends into soft waves. Gone was my pair of sensible shoes, and instead I had on slingback sandals with a ridiculous heel I’d regret tomorrow. Sans blazer and no-nonsense skirt, I shimmied into the prettiest little black dress I could find at the petites store down the block. In fact, in it I could even tell I had a figure— after months and years hiding it beneath a manly suit.

  Yeah, no lawyer was to be spotted here. I was all art and creativity. But still classy. Red Drape required class— in deference to the Mars Yuber painting’s exquisite effect. As curator, I had to honor that.

  And as a girl with a serious, untested crush, I had to do what I could to catch Aero Jantzen’s attention.

  With that in mind, I set out for the grand opening.

  “Whoa, Nelly.” Tyanne stood on the arm of Grady Ingliss, one of the first to arrive at my long-awaited shindig. She looked tall and elegant, her dark skin gleaming in contrast to his light linen suit. “You look like somebody’s dream come true.”

  “Yeah, ma’am,” Grady breathed, apparently a little too enthusiastically for Tyanne’s taste, as she pushed his shoulder. “I just mean you look very nice, Miss Price. Heh-heh. Accidental rhyme. With your hair down, it’s quite fetching.”

  Fetching. Good. That’s what I was going for, when it came to Aero Jantzen, anyway. I crossed my fingers he’d want to fetch me and take me away for late night gelato in a waffle cone tonight after the grand opening ended and I locked up. I’d given him the last time slot of tickets with just that in mind. His grandma could even come along, if they liked. I just wanted to see him and spend time with him.

  Speaking of locked up, security was tight at Red Drape Gallery tonight. I’d had cameras and alarms installed and set, and a special code created to secure the door of the back room where Woman Draped in Red hung. My insurance company had insisted, and I hadn’t argued. Without the Mars Yuber painting, I didn’t have much going on— some B-lister amateur artists, a “mystery artist,” and a huge rent payment in Old Town Pasadena.

  “You two look great together,” I told Tyanne and meant it. They looked balanced, like a yin and yang circle.

  “You think?” she asked under her breath. When I nodded and Grady’s attention turned back to Tyanne and me, she quickly said, “Yes, ma’am, you’re def dressed to kill.” Tyanne then aimed her gaze high and low at the art. “Do you have anyone coming tonight from our client list?”

  She meant had I invited any A-listers. I named a few, including Ryker, not that a fifteen-year-old could be counted on for much. I kept my expectations low when it came to a kid’s reliability for attending art gallery grand openings. On the other hand, my secret expectations, ones I shouldn’t even admit to existing, were higher when it came to other matters potentially happening tonight. When Ryker was around he definitely facilitated a closeness between Aero and me, so part of me hoped both Aero and Ryker would show up. Unfortunately, Ryker also did his level best to make things as awkward as possible.

  Then again, I couldn’t say that the kiss he’d commanded had been awkward. Nothing like it. In fact, it had felt like the most natural, complete moment I’d experienced in a long time.

  My cheeks flamed with simply recalling Aero’s lips on mine, and I lifted my hand to cool them. I’d better mind my business tonight instead of floating off into Aero Jantzen dreamland. I still had to meet the press.

  Tyanne hugged me and wished me luck, and then she and Grady Ingliss melted into the growing crowd.

  A few minutes later, the first beverages were poured for the reception, the first brie cut, and the doors were unlocked. The press-pass-wearing crowd ambled in, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the first room. Bingo. That was my tactic. The first room had all the barely passable pottery. Snobbish noses turned up. Attention turned to the refreshment table, notepads for scribbling impressions were tucked into purses and jacket pockets.

  “If you’ll follow me to the consignment gallery.” I waved them on into the room featuring Mindi Dresser’s botanical drawings. “These are mainly for display, but a few will be placed up for sale, starting Monday.” I watched as interest perked up, and then when the first pair leaned in to read the name on the attribution, heads cocked to the side and whispers started.

  “Are you going to tell us who the artist is?”

  “Confidentiality agreements preclude it. I’m sorry.”

  “Lawyers,” one reporter sniffed. “I know I’ll never pry it out of you, but I’ll find out. You’ll see.”

  I lifted my chin. “Not unless the artist comes forward.”

  Slowly but surely as they made their way around the room, inspecting wildflower after wildflower, faces showed interest, notepads came out again, and pencils scrawled notes.

  “Shall we go see the main painting?” I led them back to the secluded room and security-accessed it as a bit of a show, but the painting deserved theatrics. “Here I give you: Woman Draped in Red.”

 
; Flicking the switch for the museum lighting I’d carefully prepared to highlight the work’s various details, I watched their faces as lights hit Mars Yuber’s mystery woman at exactly the right angles, making her shoulders shimmer and those eyes practically leap into the viewer’s being, divining all his hidden past, and laying him bare.

  A collective gasp rose from the group.

  “No flash photography, please. There are professional snaps of it in your press packet.”

  Some reporters scribbled, others just soaked in the experience. After a couple of minutes of letting each of them absorb the shock of seeing the art for the first time, I answered questions from the floor. Topics ranged from how I’d found her and what I’d paid, to the authentication process and to a couple of personal details. I made sure to mention Grady Ingliss’s contribution. Then I batted away a few stabs at Mindi’s identity with, “I wish Mars Yuber could be here to see this with us tonight.”

  They applauded and then filtered away. Then I began, with the help of a couple of assistants I’d hired for the evening, to allow the ticketed public access to the gallery, with practically every group who saw Woman having a similar reaction to her— gasps, silence, and then questions and reactions. Some didn’t love it, of course— art is like that— but nobody came away unimpressed.

  The proceedings and crowd and flow and reactions were all fine and good, but as the clock ticked toward eight forty-five, when the final tickets’ times were set, my kneecaps started to shake and a quiver developed deep in my stomach. This was my big day, the biggest day of my career. I should have been ecstatic at how well it was going, not losing focus and getting all Jillian Jell-O-an over the possibility of getting a few minutes’ face time with a guy I barely knew.

  Okay, who was I kidding? Aero Jantzen wasn’t just “a guy.” He was the guy. At least when it came to tonight’s event. Without him, even if I’d had the Mars Yuber and its authentication, none of this would have happened.