by J. P. Comeau
My condo was on the very top floor of a high-rise building in the center of the city. There were floor to ceiling windows in every room, giving me one of the best views you could find. As I walked in, the sound of the door shutting behind me set me at ease. I tossed my keys in the bowl in my foyer and immediately began disrobing as I headed toward the shower. I washed away the grease, the hot sauce, and the growing dislike of the Crystals and Brandi's of the world.
After washing down some antacids with seltzer water, I climbed into bed and turned on the television. Instead of watching the news like I usually did, I found myself staring out the window and into the night.
After growing up in a small town like River Valley, I still found it amazing how so many people in the city never closed their shades. It was as though everyone wanted to watch everyone else while still being secretive and shady, which was a bit hypocritical. I was really starting to wonder just how truly happy I was in life. Or had I tricked myself into thinking I was?
I rolled over on my side and closed my eyes, allowing my body to sink into the mattress. As I started to fall asleep, I thought about how Hillard was probably entertaining those two blondes at his place by that point. He didn't waste any time. I probably would have had more fun with the help of some bourbon to numb my thoughts, but I still didn’t regret my decision. Things felt like they were changing, and I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad one.
3
Julianna
I walked into the art gallery wearing my favorite pair of Prada loafers, black khakis, and a black and red Ralph Lauren blouse. My hair was swept up into a bun, which I kept professional and not messy. I also made sure that my makeup was on point without being overdramatic, reminding myself I was going to work, not to a bar. As the curator for the gallery, in lively Sacramento, I had to look very put together and polished.
This evening was one of our big art showings, featuring works from artist Gregory Williams. It was going to be a long day filled with art hangings, rearranging, prop handling, and getting the gallery ready in general for the crowd. There were bottles of champagne to be stacked, flowers to be placed, and lots of cleaning to do. The owner of the gallery was very particular. The entire place glowed, covered in a white sheen with clean-cut lines, and nothing to pull your eyes away from the art except for the hand poured letter T in the center of the floor. T was for Telltale, the name of the gallery.
“There you are,” the owner, Helen, said as I walked toward her down the main hall to the offices. “I need you to bring up these paintings from the storage room as soon as possible. Come to my office after you’re finished, and we’ll discuss what needs to be done next.”
I followed Helen down into the storage room and took note of the pieces she was speaking about. Truth be told, I had been doing this job for years and knew exactly what needed to be done. Helen was a bit neurotic, though when it came to big openings. She panicked and usually wasn't much help, staying in her office checking and rechecking the schedule to makes sure everthing was going as planned. But I appreciated her. She worked with my daughter's schedule when the divorce started and even offered to have some of her big Russian friends, "take care of it for me." I would have laughed, but there was something about the way she said it that made me think she was dead serious.
As usual, I was in awe of the art that was chosen, even though I had a hand in choosing it. All of Gregory's pieces were stunning, but there were a select few that really stood out to me. Those were the ones I wanted to make the centerpieces of the show. I was lucky with that one; usually, artists came in with a specific way they needed the work to be hung, making it all part of the show, but not Gregory. He trusted in our expertise.
I pulled the cart around and began to slide the pieces into their separate racks for transport out to the floor. As I carefully slid one of the pieces on and shut the small latch, the sound of footsteps behind me brought me pause. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a silhouette in the doorway. I stopped and turned, putting my signature Telltale smile on. "Hello."
The man was tall and slender. He was wearing a pair of straight legs black denim jeans with an untucked white oxford shirt, unbuttoned three buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There were small chips of paint speckled here and there over his tattoo-covered arms.
“I’m Gregory,” he said, quickly putting out his hand. “They told me I could find you here with my paintings.”
I immediately stuck my hand out and sized him up, but not too obviously. “Yes, I’m Julianna, the curator for your show. You’re extremely talented, Mr. Williams. I’m sure these paintings will do very well tonight at your opening.”
“Please call me Gregory,” he put one hand on his hip and waved his hand at me.
He seemed a lot more down to earth than other artists we had showcased in the past. He was calm, not too flashy, not too gothic, just an average guy. I nodded at him. "Of course. You don't have to help me, I'll bring them up, and we can talk about your thoughts on hanging."
He nodded, looking around, seeming kind of lost. His eyes shifted back to me, and his face scrunched, his hand coming to his chest. “Sorry if I seem nervous, it’s just that, well… I am. I’m not good in this type of environment. You know, stuffy people sipping champagne while pretending to be impressed by paint on a canvas.”
There was a slight pause of silence before we both burst into laughter. It immediately took the tension out of the room. Gregory said what I always wanted to say.
“Yeah, some of the people who come to these showings can be a bit stuffy," I said. "Really, just be you. I know that sounds like the advice a mom would give their kid, but these people are already walking in wanting to know you because you have a name in the art world. You could be anyone you wanted, and they would still want to be around you. You really are talented, too.”
I walked over to a painting of his. In the foreground was a city, intricately painted and small. Behind it was a vast dead forest, the cagey limbs towering over it with a crimson sky above. “I absolutely love this one.”
“Oh, that’s one of my favorites too,” he said, walking over and running his hands over the canvas. “I grew up in the Midwest and am kind of a former outdoorsy guy turned city kid. I just think that people get too wrapped up in the digital world and city life. That’s kinda where I got the idea to put the trees like that. Is it too cliché?"
I giggled and shook my head. “It’s refreshing. So many artists intentionally try to be overly deep with their artwork, and there’s really no reason to be that way. Most of the time, the meaning gets lost to the ones that purchase it.”
“I’m not sure if Helen told you, but this is my first showing. I’ve never done this before.” He put his hands in his back pockets and surveyed his work. "I've sold a lot of work, but until now, it's all been through the site and agent. I was terrified of an opening. Helen talked me into it."
I was impressed by that. I knew that it was a dream for artists to have their own opening, but he wanted his art to speak for itself. “No, she didn’t tell me that, but you have nothing to worry about. Have you at least been to other art openings, just to get an idea of what to expect?”
"Oh yeah," he laughed, putting his hand on my arm. "It's kind of a requirement for us. Besides, I once had the same dream as all other artists to have that big gallery opening, but I'm not good with politics, and that really is what it is, politics. I wanted to immerse myself in my art and not have that worry in the back of my mind whether I was painting the right thing for the gallery or the buyers. I wanted it to just come naturally."
I walked over to another of his paintings, a large canvas with a bunch of fruit in a bowl. “Ah, the classic fruit bowl painting. This is my kind of art.” I held it up and admired it before putting it in the trolley. “We actually do get some people who weren’t born with silver spoons in their mouth. As for the ones who were, just be casual and yourself. Trust me. Nobody is worth feeling insecure over, plus they’re here to see
your work and give you their money.”
Gregory nodded with a smile and helped me load some more artwork on the trolley. I didn't stop him, I could tell it helped with his nerves. “What about dirty jokes,” he said with a smirk.
I laughed and shook my head. “Probably not the best crowd for that, although Helen and I would probably get a kick out of it. It’ll be refreshing to break the cycle of typical artist, you know the ones who tend to act smarter than they really are. You seem like a really laid back, easygoing kind of guy. Just go with that, and you’ll be fine.”
We took the trolley out into the showroom and pulled the pieces out. I told Gregory about my vision for the show, and for once, an artist wanted to listen to me. He was all about it. “I hope you don't mind, I can't watch, it'll make me too nervous. I’m gonna go get ready for the opening."
"No, no, of course not," I said, handing the instructions over to the staff. "This is the boring part anyways."
He put his hands together and bowed to me before hurrying from the showroom. I felt like I did when I curated my first few openings, still excited for the art, in awe of the talent, and motivated. It was a nice feeling. Everything for the last few months had felt like it was bearing down on me. Now all I had to do was get everything ready so I could go have dinner with Caley and Annie before heading back here for the showing. Seeing them was going to be the highlight of my night.
The restaurant was busy as it always was. It wasn't like there were a million places to eat in River Valley. I loved our small town and the fact that despite my broken dreams of marriage, Caley would get to grow up there just like I had. She was much more outgoing then I had been as a kid, and I hoped she would escape the bullies. I hadn't been so lucky growing up.
The smell of Italian food made my stomach grumble as I walked in, looking around for the girls. Annie put her hand up, sitting in the back corner booth.
“There you are,” I said as I slid into the booth. “How was your day, Caley?”
I looked at my daughter and smiled, brushing my hand over her beautiful blonde hair. She was the spitting image of me when I was her age. The only thing Cam was her nose, and her big full lips.
“Good," she sighed, rubbing her cheek. "I missed you, Mommy. You look pretty.”
I kissed her cheek and grinned. "Not as pretty as you."
"Prettiest girl I've ever seen," Annie said with a grin. "Except me, of course."
Caley giggled loudly. I smiled at Annie and tucked my purse next to me. It was always hard to have dinner with them on nights like this. Afterward, I had to go back to the gallery for the opening, and Annie was going to stay with Caley. As soon as I was there with them, though, I didn't want to leave. “What are you two going to do tonight?”
“We’re gonna have a sleepover, aren’t we Caley?” Caley smiled and nodded. “I have popcorn, and you get to pick out a movie to watch. I also have the new Disney channel, and I know how much you love Disney!”
“I’m gonna be a princess,” Caley said as the waiter walked over with a pitcher of water and glasses.
Annie poured water into a kids' cup for Caley, who immediately put it to her lips and began drinking.
The waitress was no older than sixteen and smiled through her braces as she took a pen from her apron. "What can I get you tonight?"
I always ordered for us. "We'll have a large pizza, half broccoli, half extra cheese, two side salads, and an order of garlic knots, please."
The waitress nodded. "Perfect. Let me know if you need anything else. It shouldn't take too long."
Annie watched the waitress walk away and wrinkled her nose. "Who's eating the broccoli?"
“Caley, since she doesn’t like the side salads here,” I said, handing Caley her crayons and coloring sheet.
Caley stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “They have weird lettuce. It's not crinkly. Lettuce is supposed to be crunchy!”
Caley was so serious and matter of fact about the whole lettuce situation that Annie and I couldn't help but burst into laughter. Annie shook her head. "She is seriously going to be a politician when she grows up. She will tell it to the public straight."
"Or just a handful," I laughed. “She likes iceberg, and they have romaine, which I think tastes much better, but picky britches will not touch it. She used to call it leaves when she was younger. But she needs her veggies, so she gets to eat them on her pizza."
The waitress returned with the side salads and the basket of garlic knots, handing each of us a plate. I tucked a napkin in the front of Caley's shirt and did the same to mine, just to make sure I didn't get anything on my blouse. I really didn't want to have to go back home to change.
“Are you excited about the gallery showing tonight,” Annie asked, pouring the dressing on her salad.
I nodded as I bit into a garlic knot. “This one should be really good. The artist is talented, but not pretentious, which is rare in this industry.”
Annie lifted her brow in surprise as she shoved a fork full of lettuce in her mouth. We were both starving. At that point, I hadn't even realized that I had worked all the way through lunch. I used to take Cam his lunch at least three times a week, sit in his office, and eat and chat. But after everything came out about the affair, well, most of the time I forgot to eat altogether. It was a stupid reaction to have to lunch, but at first, it just brought on too much emotion. After a couple of weeks, it just became habit.
The food came to our table with perfect timing. I had eaten far too many garlic knots but was still starving. Caley was hungry too, I could see it in her facial expressions. She was moody. I thought it was funny that she was developing a palette at such a young age, and all starting with the "crunchiness" of lettuce.
The waiter sat down the pizzas. The aroma from the cheese permeated my senses, so much so that I had to stop myself from drooling. Annie laughed while putting a slice of cheese onto her plate.
“You’ve never been able to hide your emotions,” she said. "You wear them right there on your sleeve…or your drool in this instance."
I sneered at her and quickly put a piece on Caley’s plate, cutting it into squares like she liked it. She immediately began eating it, not even taking time to grimace at the broccoli on top. Then I quickly slid two pieces of cheese onto my own plate and took a bite. “And you are so good at hiding your emotions. Please. Remember when you got the new iPhone? You practically assaulted the cashier when he handed the box over.”
Annie shrugged and laughed a little bit. “Eagerness must run in our family.”
“What’s that word mean?” Caley asked, struggling to swallow a piece of broccoli. "Eagerness."
“It’s like when you get really excited and can’t contain yourself,” I explained. “Like when you see the playground, and you just take off across the park.”
Caley smiled, displaying a massive chunk of broccoli stuck in her teeth. It was hard for me not to laugh. I pressed my lips together and looked down at the table, letting a snort escape.
“What’s so funny,” she asked in her sweet little voice with her tiny brow furled just like me.
I took out the floss sticks that I always carried in my purse, leaned forward, and swiped it out.
She narrowed her eyes, watching as I wrapped it in a napkin. "Broccoli in my teeth. That's exactly why vegetables are dangerous."
Annie burst out laughing, and my mouth fell open. "I don't even think I can argue against that point. There have been so many times in life where vegetables and teeth have embarrassed the hell out of me."
Caley gasped. Annie clapped her hand over her mouth. "I mean heck. Sorry, Caley. I owe the swear jar."
Caley pumped her fist. I chuckled as I took another bite of pizza. "But yeah, like I was saying, the guy seems really cool. He let me coordinate all of it, and he's really not into portraying some dramatic image."
“That’s good,” Annie said, wolfing down a garlic knot. “That’s one of the only things I hate about gallery openings. Some people r
eally need to shut up.”
“Shut up,” Caley yelled while giggling.
I quickly held my finger up, reminding her that we don’t say things that aren’t nice. “Just because Aunt Annie says it, doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to say it.”
Caley nodded in agreement.
“Do your impression of that last artist you had, the one who pretended to know everything there was to know about art and yet couldn’t pick out a Monet from a lineup.” I laughed at Annie’s request, remembering the artist she was referring to.
I swallowed the food in my mouth and then held up my hands. “Now, if you take a look at my paint strokes, you’ll see that it’s similar to French Impressionism while being progressive with some modern colors. You know, like this vibrant stroke of cerulean.”
I made my voice sound extremely stuffy and uppity, as though I should be in a puffy shirt, holding a cigar.
“You’re funny, Mommy,” Caley said while breaking apart a garlic knot.
I smiled at my daughter, appreciating the fact that she found her mother to be funny. I was thankful that having a close relationship with my own mother as a child encouraged me to be the same with my daughter.
“Speaking of fun,” I said while pouring another glass of water for myself. “Aside from watching a movie, do you two have any other plans for tonight?”
I knew that Caley had shown a significant interest in arts and crafts lately, and even though I was into art myself, that was more up Annie’s alley. Growing up, Annie was always the one who had sticker books and created scrapbooks. I was hoping that Annie would break out her craft supplies to encourage Caley to pursue her new hobby. It would at least give her something to do besides think about how her father never called.
“I actually went to the craft store today and bought a Disney scrapbooking kit,” Annie said, practically reading my mind.
Maybe it was her sixth sense, but the two of us had always instinctively known what the other one was thinking.
