As far as Francesca was concerned, her mother came from another planet. The two women had nothing in common. And now of course she would say “I told you so” when Francesca told her that the relationship was over, which Francesca hadn’t had the guts to do yet. She didn’t want to hear what she would have to say about it.
Her mother hadn’t offered to help her when Francesca bought the house and opened the gallery, and she knew she wouldn’t help her now. She thought the house a foolhardy investment and didn’t like the neighborhood, and like Todd, she would advise Francesca to sell it. If they did, they would both make a profit. But Francesca didn’t want the money, she wanted to stay in the house, and she was convinced there was a way to do it. She just hadn’t found it yet. And her mother would be no help with that. She never was. Francesca’s mother wasn’t a practical woman. She had relied on men all her life, and used the alimony and settlements they gave her to support her jet-set lifestyle. She had never made a penny on her own, only by getting married or divorced, which seemed like prostitution to Francesca.
Francesca was totally independent and wanted to stay that way. Watching her mother’s life had made her determined never to rely on anyone—and particularly not a man. She was an only child. Her father, Henry Thayer, was no more sensible than her mother. He had been a starving artist for years, a charming flake and a womanizer, until, eleven years ago, he had the incredible good fortune to meet Avery Willis, when he was fifty-four. He had hired her as an attorney to help him with a lawsuit, which she won for him, against an art dealer who had cheated him out of money. She then helped him invest it instead of letting him spend it on women. And with the only genius he had ever shown, in Francesca’s opinion, he had married Avery a year later, she for the first time at fifty, and in ten years she had helped him build a solid fortune, with an investment portfolio and some excellent real estate. She talked him into buying a building in SoHo, where he and Avery still lived and he still painted. They also had a weekend house in Connecticut now. Avery had become his agent and his prices had skyrocketed along with his financial affairs. And for the first time in his life he had been smart enough to be faithful. Henry thought his wife walked on water—he adored her. Other than Francesca’s mother, she was the only woman he’d committed to by marrying her. Avery was as different from Thalia as two women could ever get.
Avery had a respectable career as a lawyer, and never had to be dependent on a man. Her husband was her only client now. She wasn’t glamorous, although she was good-looking, and she was a solid, practical person with an excellent mind. She and Francesca had been crazy about each other from the first time they met. She was old enough to be Francesca’s mother, but didn’t want to be one. She had no children of her own, and until she got married she had the same distrust of marriage that Francesca did. She also had what she referred to as crazy parents. Francesca and her stepmother had been close friends for the last ten years. At sixty, Avery still looked natural and youthful. She was only two years younger than Francesca’s mother, but Thalia was an entirely different breed.
All Thalia wanted now at sixty-two was to find another husband. She was convinced that her sixth would be her final and best one. Francesca wasn’t as sure, and hoped she’d have the brains not to do it again. She was sure that her mother’s determined search for number six had frightened all possible candidates away. It was hard to believe she had been widowed and unmarried for sixteen years now, despite a flurry of affairs. And she was still a pretty woman. Her mother had had five husbands by the time she was forty-five. She always said wistfully that she wished she were fifty again, which she felt would have given her a better chance to find another husband than at the age she was now.
Avery was totally happy just as she was, married to a man she adored, and whose quirks she tolerated with good humor. She had no illusions about how badly behaved her husband had been before her. He had slept with hundreds of women on both coasts and throughout Europe. He liked to say he’d been a “bad boy” before he met Avery, and Francesca knew how right he was. He had been bad, in terms of how irresponsible he had been, and a lousy husband and father, and he would be a “boy” till the day he died, even if he lived to be ninety. Her father was a child, despite his enormous artistic talent, and her mother wasn’t much better, only she didn’t have the talent.
Avery was the only sensible person in Francesca’s life, with both feet on the ground. And she had been a huge blessing to Francesca’s father, and to her as well. She wanted Avery’s advice now, but hadn’t had the guts to call her yet either. It was so hard admitting she had failed on every front. In her relationship, and in her struggling business, particularly if she had to close it or sell it. She couldn’t even keep the house she loved on Charles Street unless she could find the money to pay Todd. And how the hell was she going to do that? Bottom line, she just didn’t have the money. And even Avery couldn’t work magic with that.
Francesca finally turned off the light in her office next to her bedroom. She started to head downstairs to the kitchen to make a cup of warm milk to help her sleep, and as she did, she heard a persistent dripping sound, and saw that there was a small leak coming from the skylight. The water was hitting the banister and running slowly down it. It was a leak they’d had before, which Todd had tried to fix several times, but it had started again in the hard November rains, and he wasn’t there that night to fix it. He kept telling her that she’d never be able to maintain the house by herself, and maybe he was right. But she wanted to try. She didn’t care if the roof leaked, or the house came down around her. Whatever it took, whatever she had to do, Francesca wasn’t ready to give up.
With a determined look, she headed down to the kitchen. On her way back up, she put a towel on the banister to absorb the leak. There was nothing else she could do until she told Todd about it in the morning. He was away for the weekend with friends, but he could deal with it when he got home. It was exactly why he wanted to sell the house. He was tired of coping with the problems, and if they weren’t going to live there together, he didn’t want to own it. He wanted out. And if she could find a way to pay him, the problems were going to be all hers, on her own. With a sigh, Francesca walked back upstairs to her bedroom, and promised herself she’d call her stepmother in the morning. Maybe she could think of something that Francesca hadn’t. It was her only hope. She wanted her leaky house and her struggling gallery with its fifteen emerging artists. She had invested four years in both, and no matter what Todd and her mother thought, she refused to give up her dream or her home.
Chapter 2
THE CALL TO Avery was easier to make the next morning than Francesca had expected. Once she spoke to her, she felt better. They chatted for a few minutes and laughed about her father’s latest antics. In many ways, he was charmingly adolescent, which Avery found lovable, and Francesca had learned to forgive his failings as a father. And after an easy exchange Francesca got down to business and told her what was going on. With a catch in her throat, she told her about the breakup with Todd, and her dilemma about the gallery and the house, and how upset she was.
“I’m so sorry to hear it,” Avery said immediately with compassion. “I had a feeling something like that was going on. We haven’t seen much of Todd in the last few months.” In fact, they hadn’t seen him at all, and Francesca had visited them alone in Connecticut several times that summer. She had made excuses for him, but Avery had suspected there was more to it than that. And Henry had said as much himself, but didn’t want to pry and intrude on his daughter, who was always extremely private. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready, if something’s going on,” he had commented to Avery, who agreed with him. So when she heard the news, she wasn’t entirely surprised. “And that’s tough about the gallery and the business. Are you losing money at the gallery?” She wondered if Francesca could sell it.
“Not really. But we’re barely breaking even. I don’t think anyone would buy it with no profit. Todd thinks that if I raised price
s, I’d be showing a profit in another two or three years, but he says that if I stick to emerging artists, it’s never going to be a big money-maker, and I really don’t want to start selling bigger artists. That’s a whole different deal and not what I wanted to do when I opened.” She was very idealistic about art, which was one of Todd’s complaints about their business. He wanted to get more commercial to increase what they made, and it was a compromise Francesca hadn’t wanted to make, but she realized that now maybe she’d have to, although she would hate to do it. She loved serious artists, even if they were unknown, and commercial art wasn’t her thing, even if it was Todd’s. She had just acquired a new Japanese artist, who she felt had enormous talent. He had received great reviews on his first show, and she was selling his work for next to nothing. But she didn’t feel she could charge more for an unknown. She was very ethical about what she sold, and how she sold it.
“You may have to compromise a little on your ideals, and sell a few midcareer artists,” Avery told her practically. She had learned a great deal about art from Francesca’s father, and knew a lot about the business end of it. But his art was in a whole different league, and thanks to Avery, his work now sold for huge prices. “Why don’t we talk about the house first? Have you got anything you can sell to raise the money to pay Todd his half?” she asked practically, and Francesca felt miserable. She didn’t. That was the whole problem.
“No, I don’t. I put everything I had into the house. I can barely scrape up my share of the mortgage payments every month. I’ve figured out what I can do about that. I can take in roommates. I think with three, I can make it, which would solve that problem at least.”
“I can’t see you living with strangers,” Avery said honestly. She knew her stepdaughter was an extremely private person, and as an only child she had always been something of a loner. But if she was willing to take in roommates, it would certainly help. It told Avery just how determined she was to keep the house, knowing that having roommates in her home would be a big sacrifice for her. “But I guess if you can stand it, it solves the issue of the monthly payments. What about the rest that you’d owe Todd if you keep the house?” Avery sounded pensive as she asked her, and then suddenly out of the blue she had an idea. “I don’t know how you feel about it, but you have six paintings of your father’s. They’re some of his best early work, and they’d bring a lot at auction. Enough to pay your whole payment to Todd, I think, if you’re willing to sell them. I can even call his principal gallery uptown. They’d go crazy to get their hands on his early work. There’s always a market for it.”
Francesca winced as Avery said it. Just thinking about it made her feel guilty. She couldn’t imagine selling her father’s work, and she never had before. But she’d never been this desperate before either, and she had nothing else to sell. “How do you think he’d feel about it?” Francesca asked, sounding worried. He was a little crazy, and a flake, but he was still her father and she loved him, and she had a deep respect for his work. She loved the six paintings she had.
“I think he’d understand,” Avery said gently. “Before we got married, he was always selling something to stay alive. He knows better than most people what that’s like. He even sold a small Pollock once to pay your mother money he owed her. You do what you have to, Francesca.” She was a practical woman, which was why Francesca had wanted to talk to her, more than to her parents.
“Maybe I could get by with selling five. That way I could keep one. Daddy gave those to me. I feel like a real jerk selling them to buy a house.”
“It doesn’t sound like you have any other options.”
“No, I don’t.” And she hadn’t thought of the paintings. She had absolutely nothing else with which to pay Todd. For a minute, she thought of agreeing to sell the house instead of the paintings. But she didn’t want to do that either. “Why don’t you call his gallery and see what they say? If they can get a decent price for them, I guess I’ll sell them. But only offer them five. I want to try and keep at least one.” She was extremely sentimental about them. This was going to be a big sacrifice for her, yet another one.
“I’ll do that,” Avery assured her. “They have a list of collectors for his work. I suspect they’ll pounce on them pretty quickly, unless you want to wait and sell them at auction.”
“I can’t wait,” Francesca said honestly. “Todd has been wanting to sell the house for months, and I promised him I’d pay him or let him sell the house by the end of the year. That’s less than two months away. I don’t have time to wait for an auction.”
“Then we’ll see what the gallery says. I’ll call them as soon as we hang up.” And she had another idea then too, although she wasn’t sure what her husband would say about it. She shared her idea with Francesca. “Your father’s been very excited about what you’re doing at the gallery ever since you opened. He loves emerging artists the way you do. I’m just wondering if he’d like to go into partnership with you, kind of as a silent partner, not that your father is silent about anything. But it might be exciting for him to help you with this, until the gallery starts to make a profit. From what you said, Todd wants a pretty small amount for his share.” He had been very fair about it. What he wanted was more of a token payment, barely more than what he had put into it in the first place. The house was a different story, and had appreciated considerably in four years, but he was being fair about that too. He was counting on getting more money out of the house, so he could buy an apartment. He had been very decent through the entire breakup and the untangling of their joint holdings. It was hard and a big disappointment for him too. They had never expected this to happen, but they were both sure now that it couldn’t be worked out, and they both wanted to get it over with quickly. Francesca was moving as fast as she could, given the enormity of the problem for her.
“I never thought of asking my father to invest in the gallery,” Francesca said, sounding intrigued by the idea. “Do you think he’d do it?”
“He might. It would be exciting for him, and I’m sure he’d like to help you. It’s not a big investment. Why don’t you have lunch with him and ask him?” Francesca liked the idea, and he was far more likely to help her than her mother, who had disapproved of both projects right from the beginning. She never had any interest whatsoever in art, although she had several of his now-very-valuable paintings too. She had hung on to them more out of sentiment than because of their value, but now they were a windfall for her. Thalia had at least a dozen of his early works, which were going for such high prices. She always said she would never sell them. Francesca never thought she would have to either.
“I’ll call him and ask him to lunch tomorrow,” Francesca said, sounding hopeful for the first time in two months. “You’re a miracle worker, Avery, and a genius. My father is so damn lucky to have you.”
“No luckier than I am to have him. He’s a good guy, especially now that he’s not a collector of women.” She had met several of his old girlfriends, and liked a lot of them, although some of them seemed pretty crazy to her. She was far more down to earth than any woman he had ever dated before her. And she had a fondness for Francesca’s mother too. Thalia was so outrageous in her own way, that Avery found it hard not to love her, and be amused by her. But she could also understand Francesca’s discomfort about her. Even Avery had to concede that Thalia would be embarrassing as a mother, particularly for a child who wanted a mother like everyone else’s. Thalia was definitely not one of those. And Henry was fairly eccentric and freewheeling too. They were anything but traditional parents, and Francesca had become extremely self-effacing as a result. The one thing she didn’t want when she grew up was to be like them, and she wasn’t. She was much more like Avery than like either of her biological parents. And Avery was aware too of what an odd match Henry and Thalia must have been. They were entirely different people, and she was surprised the marriage had even lasted seven years. The only good thing to come out of it was their daughter, and Henry and Thal
ia were now casual friends. But Thalia liked Avery a great deal. They all did. One had to respect her, and everyone liked her easy, friendly, intelligent ways. She was a smart, wholesome, unassuming, real person. Everything Francesca’s mother wasn’t.
“I think you’ve solved all my problems,” Francesca said with a sigh of relief.
“Not really. I still have to call your father’s dealer, and you have to talk to your father about the gallery. But I think we’re off to a good start,” Avery said encouragingly, and she was hopeful it would work out for her. She loved Francesca, thought she was a good person, and she deserved some reward for her hard work. She hated to see her lose everything because of the breakup with Todd.
“I knew you’d help me figure out something,” Francesca said, sounding happy and hopeful for the first time in months. “I just couldn’t see where to go with all this. I couldn’t find a solution.”
“You’re too close to it,” Avery said simply. “Sometimes it takes an outsider to come up with a plan. Let’s hope this all works. I’ll let you know what your dad’s dealer says, as soon as I talk to him. Your timing is pretty good. They’ll be going to Art Basel in Miami pretty soon, and if he doesn’t have any collectors waiting for your dad’s early work, he’ll see a lot of other people there. You might just have your money by the end of the year.”
44 Charles Street Page 2
