by Linda Seed
“How are you enjoying the show, Mr. Delaney?” he asked.
“Call me Ryan.”
“Of course. Ryan.”
Bellini said some placating words to the artist and then led Ryan away.
After a little warm-up chitchat about New York, California, ranching, art, and the common ties of wealthy men, Bellini arrived at his point. “I’m sure Genevieve has already spoken to you about what a wise investment a Kendrick would be. With the attention he’s getting—especially with the acquisition by David Walker—the value of his work is only going to go up. You should consider it.”
Ryan was no stranger to having people try to sell him “investments.” He simply nodded and smiled. “She hasn’t spoken to me about it, actually. We like to keep business out of our personal relationship.” It sounded as though they’d had some sort of conversation to that effect, but in fact, it was just a matter of courtesy. Gen hadn’t tried to sell him a painting because she wasn’t a sleazy opportunist.
“Of course, of course,” Bellini said, smiling as though he’d expected no other answer. “And yet—it would be a shame for you to miss out on a significant opportunity for profit because of—” He waved a hand vaguely as he searched for a phrase. “—personal considerations.”
“Generally speaking, I’m not short of opportunities for profit,” Ryan said mildly.
Bellini chuckled. “I’m sure that’s true.”
He clapped a hand onto Ryan’s back as though they were old friends.
“Speaking of profit opportunities, did Genevieve tell you about the gallery space I have available?”
“She did. Katya’s showing it to her now.” Ryan was certain Bellini already knew that.
“Good, good.” Bellini nodded. “I’m sure it’s going to meet her needs. And the rent … You know, spaces in this area tend to be very expensive. Of course, not by my standards—or yours, I’m sure. But a woman like Genevieve—”
“It’s important to her to do this on her own, without any help from me,” Ryan said.
Bellini beamed. “Yes, I got that impression.”
Bellini had a point, Ryan was sure of it. Eventually, the man would get to it. Ryan wasn’t sure he had enough patience to wait that long.
“You know, I could offer Genevieve the space at a substantial discount,” Bellini said finally, after a good deal more posturing.
“Really.”
“Oh, yes. But it all depends on sales from the Kendrick show. If it does well, I’d have the … shall we say … the leeway to make things work out well for Genevieve.”
Here it came. “And how do sales seem to be going?” Ryan said. He was offering a slow pitch over the center of the plate, in the hope that Bellini would hit the damned thing and they could move this along.
“Very well, very well.” Bellini nodded. “But … so far, it’s not what you’d call a spectacular success.”
“And you need a spectacular success in order to offer Gen the gallery space.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Ryan wanted to stop dancing around it. He wanted to say: Let’s cut the bullshit. How much are you hoping to extort out of me? But guys like Bellini didn’t work that way. He had to come to it in his own way. Ryan knew guys like this. You couldn’t spend your whole life as wealthy as his family was without running into them on an almost daily basis. But it didn’t make it any more pleasant. The thing about Gen was that even though she knew this world, this New York art world, she still had a naïve optimism that people would be fair and ethical. Despite vast evidence to the contrary, she still had hope for human nature. It was one of the things he loved about her. One of the many things. It pissed him off that Bellini was trying to use him, but he was used to that. What pissed him off even more was that this asshole was going to kill another little bit of Gen’s persistent belief in the basic good of others. For that, Ryan wanted to punch the guy in the goddamned face.
“Well, good luck. There’s still time for things to pick up,” Ryan said.
“Indeed. I was hoping you could help me with that.”
“Were you?”
“Yes. You see, if you were to purchase a painting—one of the larger, more highly prized ones, of course—then that would ensure that I’ll be in the financial position to offer Genevieve the gallery space, and at a price I’m sure she’ll find workable given her … limited means. And,” Bellini spread his hands in a gesture of magnanimity, “it would certainly be a wise investment for you as well. Our Gordon is going to do great things.”
Our Gordon. As though Bellini had anything to do with Kendrick’s talent. As though Bellini had personally nurtured him. As though they’d even met.
“How much?” Ryan asked.
“Well, it depends on which artwork you …”
“Stop it. How much?” Ryan repeated.
Bellini cleared his throat and told him.
“I see,” Ryan said. He nodded. He gritted his teeth and looked at the floor in an effort to hold his temper in check. “If that were to happen, Gen couldn’t know about it,” Ryan said.
“Of course not,” Bellini assured him. “That’s the point, isn’t it? For her to believe she’s pulling herself up by her own bootstraps, as it were? But you and I …” He nodded smugly. “We know the ways of the world.”
“This has been an interesting evening,” Ryan said after a moment. “It’s certainly met my expectations.”
He walked away from Bellini and went to the front of the gallery to wait for Gen.
Ryan needed to talk it all over with somebody, but he couldn’t talk to Gen. After they arrived back at the hotel, he checked the time. It was still early on the West Coast. While Gen was taking a shower, Ryan called Daniel.
“You know Gen really well,” Ryan said when Daniel picked up the phone.
“I guess. I’ve been showing my work at the Porter Gallery for a while now, so I’ve spent some time with her.”
“You talk about things. You’re friendly,” Ryan said.
“Sure.”
Ryan sighed heavily. “Okay. Then I need some advice.” He laid out everything that had happened with Gen, and the Kendrick show, and Bellini.
“I don’t enjoy being strong-armed for money. But I also don’t want to be too cheap to help her get what she wants, you know?”
“Crap,” Daniel said.
“Yeah.”
“What did she think about the gallery space?”
“She said it was beautiful. Went on and on about the location, the light, the … I don’t know. The ‘feel’ of it, I think she said. She really liked it.” Ryan rotated his neck, trying to stretch out a little of the stress from the day. “Hell. I’m not even sure she wants to move to New York.”
“Oh, she wants to.” Daniel sounded certain.
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s been talking about it as long as I’ve known her. About how she was going to go back someday, get a gallery of her own, get back what she lost when that shithead MacIntyre screwed her over.”
Ryan sighed. “Oh.”
“Wouldn’t it be more straightforward to help her out with the lease on a gallery yourself, rather than doing all this clandestine bullshit?”
“Well, sure it would. But she’d hand me my ass if I even suggested it,” Ryan said.
“Huh. Well,” Daniel mused, “you might just want to let it go. I mean, you’re probably not too eager to have a long-distance relationship. And what else are you going to do if she leaves, break up? Move to New York?”
“We’re not going to break up,” he said.
“Okay, then. I’m just saying … it’s not really in your best interest to pony up the money.”
“I don’t care about my best interest. I care about hers,” Ryan said.
“Well … I can’t tell you what to do, man. But the triumphant return to Manhattan is a key part of what she sees for herself. It hurt her when she got pushed out. It hurt her a lot.”
“Okay.” Ryan si
ghed. So much uncertainty was rumbling around inside him. It rankled him to his very core that Bellini might be able to take advantage of him, to extort him. On the other hand, it was just money, and if it could be used to make Gen happy …
The other side of it was that if Gen set up a gallery in a space owned by Bellini, what might he want from her in the future? Ryan was certain it wouldn’t end with his purchase of an overpriced Kendrick. Bellini would want more from Ryan—more money, certainly, but probably his influence as well. He’d want to use his “Ryan Delaney of the California Delaneys” connection to whatever advantage he could. And in what ways would he use Gen? But Ryan wasn’t naïve about how things worked. He knew having a connection to someone like Bellini could work to Gen’s advantage. And she knew it, too. It was possible she could work it to achieve all of her goals. If Ryan didn’t stand in her way.
“Look,” Ryan told Daniel. “Gen’s coming, I’ve gotta go.”
“Good luck, man,” Daniel told him. “Whichever way you go, you’re going to need it.”
The following day, when Ryan took a check in a plain white envelope to Archibald / Bellini, he found Katya alone in the gallery. He placed the envelope on her desk.
“Tell your boss I stopped by, would you?” he said. “And give him this.”
Katya rose from her chair, came around to the front of the desk, sat her butt on the sleek, modern desktop, and crossed her impossibly long legs. Her little black dress was very short, and it rose even further with her gesture. Ryan didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help it. The legs were right there.
“He’ll be back soon,” she said. “Why don’t you wait for him? I’m sure you and I can entertain each other until his return.”
Was she hitting on him? She’d been a little too friendly the night before, sure—she’d been one of the women who’d slipped him her number—but what was this? What kind of entertainment was she talking about?
“Thanks, but you don’t have to entertain me.”
She got up from the desk, walked over to him on sky-high heels, and stepped up so close that her breasts brushed against his chest. She looked up at him through her dark eyelashes, her straight, black bangs brushing the tops of eyebrows that had been groomed to the point that they were barely recognizable as hair.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said.
Ryan wondered briefly if Bellini had asked her to screw him in the back room to seal the deal. For a guy like Bellini, it seemed plausible. And then Ryan realized that Gen had once been someone’s Katya. She’d worked in jobs like this for guys like Bellini. What had she been asked to do? And for whom?
Suddenly, he could see why she’d had to leave New York in the first place. Because she wouldn’t screw wealthy men in back rooms.
A surge of rage shot through him, and the muscles in his jaw bunched up as he fought it back.
“Just give Bellini the envelope.”
He took a step back from Katya’s breasts and walked out, anger pulsing hard in his chest.
Chapter Thirty-One
“So this is it, then? You’re leaving?”
Back in Cambria, Gen was perched on a barstool at De-Vine while Rose stood behind the bar, leaning her forearms on the gleaming wooden top.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“But you like the gallery space.”
“Oh God, I love it.” She sighed and plopped her head down into her hands. She shook her head, and her curls flopped back and forth. “It’s gorgeous. I can see my gallery there, Rose, I really can.”
“So what’s holding you back? Ryan?”
“It’s … a lot of things.”
De-Vine had no customers at the moment, as it was barely ten a.m. and the wine tasting traffic didn’t usually pick up until after lunchtime. Gen was grateful, because she needed Rose to help her think things through.
“Okay, then,” Rose said, nodding her head, which was covered in lilac-colored hair. “Let’s do pros and cons.”
“All right.” Gen lifted her head and straightened on her barstool.
“Pros first,” Rose prompted her.
“Okay, pros. One, I’ve been wanting to go back to New York ever since MacIntyre died. Before that, really. Two, Manhattan is where all the action is, art-wise. I can’t really be a player if I’m not there. Three, the gallery space is … oh, jeez. It’s just everything I want. Four, New York is … well. It’s New York. It’s exciting. There’s so much to do. It’s got that energy.”
“Which Cambria doesn’t have.”
“No.”
“Okay, now the cons.”
“Cons.” Gen started ticking points off on her fingers. “One, Ryan would have to decide whether to come with me or not. If he did, it would really be hard for his family. And for him. Two, you and Kate and Lacy aren’t there.” Gen started to tear up at the thought of that.
“Oh, honey.” Rose reached out and squeezed Gen’s hand.
“Three, I love Cambria. God, it’s beautiful here. I think I take it for granted sometimes, the natural beauty. I mean, living here every day, I don’t know if I always notice. But to leave …”
Rose nodded. “I know.”
“And four,” Gen continued, “I’d kind of forgotten how sleazy people can be when there’s big money involved. You know? Bellini’s all about the money, he’s not about the art. And it’s not just him. It’s the gallery culture out there. I don’t know if I can be that way. Or if I even want to.”
“But that leads to another pro,” Rose offered.
“It does? How?”
“Because you can go out there and be a force for good.” Rose crossed her arms over her chest and raised one pierced eyebrow. “You can be all about the art. Sounds like somebody needs to be.”
“Yeah. That’s true.” Gen nodded. “Yeah.”
“So. Who wins? The pros or the cons?”
“I have to decide soon,” Gen said, feeling miserable. “The gallery space won’t be open forever.”
Kendrick was the one who decided it for her.
She went out to visit him at the ranch the day after she returned from New York. She met him at the cottage and told him the good news about his sales—and it was very good news, indeed. After they talked about numbers for a little while, he took her out to the old barn and showed her what he’d been working on. The new canvases were startling in their intensity. Amid abstract bursts of color, images came to her—of birds, of the shoreline, of grassy slopes and clear skies.
“Oh, Gordon,” she said with a dreamy sigh. “These are just wonderful.”
“So, who have you got lined up for your next residency?” he asked.
“Well … no one. This was kind of a one-time deal.”
He looked at her with surprise and dismay. “Genevieve,” he said with a scolding tone in his voice, peering at her over his glasses.
She wasn’t sure what she’d done to earn his scorn. “What?”
“Why on earth wouldn’t you continue the residency?”
“Well, I … The idea was to do this, have some success—which we did—and then relocate to New York.” She sounded uncertain and defensive to her own ears.
“That was the idea, was it?” He sounded like a stern professor, about to school his naïve and impossibly immature student. “Genevieve. Come walk with me.” Kendrick led her out of the barn and onto a trail that led up into the rolling hills of the ranch.
The morning was cool and crisp, with a light breeze that sent the grass rippling in waves before them. The distant rumble of the waves crashing against the shore mingled with the sounds of birds and the burbling creek off to their left.
“Let me ask you something,” Kendrick said. “When you came up with this idea—the idea for the residency—what were you hoping for? What did you imagine might happen?”
“I told you. I thought we’d have some success—”
“But what does that mean? What did you think ‘success’ would look like? Was it just ab
out money? About selling paintings?”
“No. No, no.” Gen thought carefully about her answer. “I had hoped that if I brought you out here, this place—the beauty of it—might inspire you. I could see that you were on the verge of something. I thought if you were here, with the quiet, and the peace … if you could just be with nature for a while, it might, kind of—” She made a shoving motion with her hands. “—push you over the verge.”
He paused on the path and turned to look at her. “And how does it feel to know that it did exactly that?”
To hear that, to hear him say it that way, made something within her soar. She blinked away sudden tears. “I … God, Gordon. When you put it that way …”
“Close your eyes,” he said.
She did.
“Now, just listen.”
She heard the ocean, the breeze rustling in the branches of the trees. Somewhere above, a gull cawed, and something else—some small, winged thing— tittered in the pines. She heard water rush through rocks, and the slow, gentle hum of her own breath.
“Now open your eyes, and look.”
Carpets of tall, golden grass, shifting in color with the rhythm of the breeze. Sunlight glinting on the ocean. Sleek, feathered bodies gliding overhead. Leaves swaying gently in a private dance. The pattern of the clouds in a cerulean sky.
“This place is magic, Gen,” Kendrick said. “That’s what you see on my canvases. There’s magic here.”
She knew he was right, and she knew she had to bring this same magic to other artists. Artists like Kendrick, who needed to be pushed over the verge.
“I know what I’m going to do,” Gen told Ryan later that day, when he came to her place after his workday was done.
“About what?”
“About New York. About moving.”
He took a deep breath. “I’d better sit down for this.” He sat at her kitchen table and focused those dark-chocolate eyes on her. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“I’m staying.” She felt giddy with happiness, not only with relief because the decision had been made, but also because it was right. This was right. She was home.
