Cougar Boss

by Kerry Belchambers

  After our talk, I went online to check the school website to try and figure out what I was going to do. When I started berating myself on not having carried my books or my computer to study, the reception desk called to inform me I had a parcel.

  I knew it was a plane ticket and much as I was enjoying traveling, I wanted to go back. I had them send someone up to my room to deliver it and fifteen minutes later, I was nervously opening it to see where my beautiful pied piper desired me to go.

  The plane ticket was written New York. I was going back home. I couldn’t believe it. I called Rex immediately and he was equally as excited when I told him. He even offered to come pick me up from the airport but I told him it wouldn’t be necessary. I could either get a cab or James would be there waiting for me. The thought of James was pleasing.

  Almost two weeks ago I’d been about to get kicked out of my house. Now I was traveling the world and seeing things I hadn’t been aware were still in existence and I had a driver. It was a massive improvement.

  Saturday morning, I was at the Gallagher residence at eight in the morning. I was relieved when Francis didn’t hand me another plane ticket when he met me at the door. Instead, he let me in and I headed up to Mrs. Gallagher’s office.

  The stairs still made me feel like it was a stairway to heaven. Even though I’d been there for almost two weeks now, every time I stepped into that mansion, I still felt like an intruder.

  If that was my house, it would’ve probably been much smaller. My family didn’t need a lot of means to get by, but I doubted my older brother, Greg, would’ve agreed with me on that.

  I didn’t like thinking about him because it was depressing. In fact, I preferred not to think about home altogether. We were only two siblings and he was a great disappointment to my family, mostly to me because he’d totally failed me as an older brother and a role model.

  The thought of him made me a little sad. But the thought of seeing Mrs. Gallagher again made me happy. When I approached her door, I heard two loud voices and I stopped midway from knocking.

  One was clearly male, the other female. Before I had a chance to figure out who it was, Mr. Gallagher stormed out and walked right past me as though I was invisible to him. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or insulted by that.

  I watched him walk down the hallway into one of the rooms and took a deep breath, wondering if I should walk in or give Mrs. Gallagher sometime to cool off because their argument had sounded heated up.

  Before I could decide, the door opened and Mrs. Gallagher stepped out. She stopped when she saw me, which made me feel a little better, but her reaction totally lowered my spirits and possibly ruined the rest of my day.

  “Oh, great, you’re here. There are some notes on my desk. Get to work,” she said.

  She left me standing there, unsure of what had just happened and disappeared down the hallway to a different room.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but I would’ve been lying if I said her dismissive attitude towards me wasn’t hurtful. I’d been so excited to see her. I couldn’t believe she was treating me so coldly, regardless of the fact that she’d just come from fighting with her husband.

  I went inside the office and her desk had notes scribbled on it. They looked more like incomplete thoughts. How was I supposed to make anything out of them? Her penmanship was quite pleasant but what she’d written was incomprehensible.

  There was a name of an art gallery, but that was the only thing I could make out. I was jetlagged and fatigued but I doubted Mrs. Gallagher cared much about that. I headed back to my office and went through the contact list on the computer.

  There was nothing on there about the art gallery. I went online to look it up but it wasn’t listed. Mrs. Gallagher had said she was open to questions but I doubted she wanted to talk to anyone, much less me.

  I needed to find this art gallery. Something told me whatever I was supposed to do was going to start from there.

  My phone started ringing and I picked it up when I saw Rex’s name. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before but Rex was an artist, so he knew most, if not all art galleries.

  “Hey, I see you’re back in the country,” he said.

  “Yeah, I got back late last night. I was tired so I went straight to sleep because I had work in the morning.”

  “Are you serious? You don’t get any time to rest?”

  He sounded more offended by the knowledge than I was.

  “I don’t mind, really. You know I like being active.”

  “You need to rest and recharge.”

  “I’ll do that tomorrow. Hey listen, do you know an art gallery called Týsque Art?”

  “It’s one of the best art galleries for upcoming artists in New York, why?”

  “Can you please send me the address? I need to get there as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah, sure, but you haven’t told me why.”

  “I’m not quite sure. I think my next project has something to do with the gallery.” I looked at the incomplete thoughts again, feeling like a detective searching for clues.

  “Wait, are you sure? I’d do anything to have my stuff showcased there.”

  “When I find out what it is this place has to do with my next assignment, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay. Will you be free tomorrow or do you have to work?”

  “I’ll be home,” I said, though I wasn’t sure. I didn’t work on Sundays, but with Mrs. Gallagher, I really couldn’t tell.

  “I’ll come pick my souvenirs,” he said.

  I laughed and hang up.

  He sent me a message a minute later with the address to the art gallery and I left the mansion. James was waiting for me when I got outside and I had to admit, a twinge of joy passed through me because I didn’t have to move around in my crappy car.

  “Hello James,” I said.

  “Ms. Olivia.” He opened the door for me.

  “Thank you for picking me up last night.”

  “No need to thank me. It’s what I get paid to do,” he said.

  He was a nice guy and I liked that I could actually talk to him.

  “I need to get to this address,” I handed him the piece of paper I’d written the address on.

  “You having a good day?” he asked as we headed out of the paradise that still rejected me.

  “I was, but I’m not so sure anymore.” I wished I was talking to Rex so I could share what had happened that morning.

  “How come?”

  I thought about a better answer. “I’m going to a gallery I’ve never heard of to figure out what my assignment is. I wish it was as easy as my boss telling me,” I said, thinking about how upset she’d seemed. I’d been so shocked to see her when she’d opened the door so unexpectedly. What had they been arguing about? Were they experiencing marital problems?

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

  I doubted it. I’d done a major project on my first week, traveled through Africa on my second and I was chasing after a lead from a gallery that may or may not have had anything to do with what I was supposed to be doing. “I hope so,” I said.

  James drove the car into parking half an hour later after driving through some light traffic. The gallery was located in a tall building on the twentieth floor. I stepped through the glass doors and was met by beautiful pieces of charcoal drawings, pencil drawings and oil paintings hanging delicately on the flawless white wall.

  The room was actually quite large from inside and from what I could see, there were several exhibition halls. The art gallery was elegant and intimate and I could see why it’d be the perfect place to exhibit new art.

  “Hello, my name is Caitlin, may I help you?” a young lovely woman said.

  “I hope so, I’m Olivia Williams. I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Amelia Gallagher,” I said, hoping she had an idea as to what I was talking about.

  “Follow me please,” she said.

  I wasn’t sure yet if that was a good sign
since I still didn’t know what I was doing there, but I followed Caitlin to an office at the back end of the gallery. The door was as white as the walls so it was camouflaged, making it look like an optical illusion because if a person was not searching for a door, they wouldn’t have noticed it.

  “Jaime, Olivia Williams is here on behalf of Mrs. Gallagher,” she said when we walked into a well lit and beautifully furnished office with a great view of the city.

  Jaime was an attractive looking woman with short dark hair and bright hazel eyes. She had an easy, pleasant smile that took no effort and she was of medium height with a petite build.

  “Thanks, Caitlin,” she said.

  Caitlin nodded and left the room as Jaime got to her feet and approached me.

  “I’m Jaime Bryce. I’m the owner of Týsque. It’s nice to meet you, Olivia.”

  She was dressed in a beige official skirt and a white plain but feminine shirt neatly tucked in. Her coat was hanging on a rack near the door. She was sweet and pleasant and for some reason, I found myself somewhat drawn to her.

  “I’m Olivia Williams, Mrs. Gallagher’s personal assistant.”

  We shook hands and she showed me to a seat.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I had some ideas I was hoping to bounce off. This exhibition is a big deal because it’s the first of its kind. Especially because it’s hosted by someone as powerful as Mrs. Gallagher,” Jaime said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not fully aware of the details. That’s why I’m here, so that you can fill me in.” I wasn’t sure I could beat around the bush and wait for her to fully come out with details.

  She sat across from me on one of her guest seats. She had long slender legs which were made even more appealing by her beautiful stiletto shoes.

  “Mrs. Gallagher is endorsing the gallery for an art exhibition taking place on Friday evening next week.”

  “Wow, that’s great,” I said.

  Jaime’s eyes widened at my expression and I couldn’t help smiling.

  “It is great,” she said, almost mimicking me.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve only worked for her for a couple of weeks and I’m still learning.”

  “Don’t apologize for being honest.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  She was looking directly at me, not past me like Mrs. Gallagher used to do. Jaime made me feel noticed and it was a nice feeling, but for some strange reason, it also made me self-conscious.

  Since my make-over, I tried to look the part of Mrs. Gallagher’s personal assistant because Francis had said I projected her image to the world. With my paycheck, I’d done some shopping and even though what I’d gotten had been a bit pricey, I couldn’t say I regretted my choice.

  I’d taken Andre’s advice on how to style my hair and which products to use, so it wasn’t bothering me much as before. I had curls which were freely falling down my face now, instead of a tight bun at the back of my head.

  I’d also gotten some make up which I applied as directed, so I knew I looked better compared to the frail lost creature who’d walked into the Gallagher mansion late for an interview.

  “I’m not quite sure what role I’m supposed to play here,” I said when she didn’t look away.

  Her lips broke into a smile with such ease, it made my heart pick up pace.

  “Well, I guess you’re going to liaise with Týsque and inform Mrs. Gallagher of the progress we’ll make planning the exhibition.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “Yes, you are going to be Mrs. Gallagher’s voice.”

  “But I know nothing about art.”

  “That’s no problem. The gallery has gone through several pieces by several artists and we’ve already picked some that’ll be showcased that evening. Mrs. Gallagher will provide a piece or item that’s unique and artistic for all the other artists who’ll be in attendance, and the guests will have something that’ll inspire them to purchase the pieces exhibited.”

  This was something Rex needed to be part of. “How does an artist apply to be part of this whole thing?”

  “I’m afraid it’s a little bit too late for that. We already have some of the final pieces. We just need to add a few more from the submitted ones.”

  Oh, poor Rex. He was going to be so disappointed. Why hadn’t he applied for this? It sounded like such a great way to kickstart his career.

  “Is Mrs. Gallagher aware of the pieces your gallery has selected?”

  “Some. That’s why we’re still looking into what we’ve received. We only have a few days to do this so time is of essence.”

  “Does Mrs. Gallagher get to pick any of the artists or pieces?”

  “She does, but she’s a busy person with a lot of projects so the gallery gets to do that.”

  “The gallery, isn’t that you?”

  She smiled at me again. “I appraise the pieces with several other established artists. There are certain things we look for. We don’t just pick a piece. There is a process we have to follow and rules we have to abide by.”

  “What guarantee does Mrs. Gallagher have that you’re not going to favor one artist over the other?” This was actually quite intriguing. I wanted to know more about it.

  She took a moment to answer. “The fact that there is more than one of us should answer that question. But I understand what you mean. I do get the final say and I try as much as possible to be objective. I don’t favor artists. I believe they all deserve an equal chance.”

  She was good, I had to admit. “Do you have any pieces of your own in the show?”

  She paused and got to her feet, which made me wonder if I’d crossed a line.

  “I have a few pieces. It wouldn’t be fair to me if I didn’t do any business of my own, seeing as I’m providing a platform for the other artists.”

  She had a point.

  “Would you like to see what we’ve got so far?” she asked.

  I knew next to nothing about art, except what Rex had taught me. So even if I did see the pieces, I wasn’t going to offer any useful input. But maybe I could take some pictures and send them to Mrs. Gallagher. Whether or not she’d have time to look at them, I wouldn’t leave room for error.

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  “This way,” she said and I got up and followed after her.

  There was something about her that I liked but I wasn’t quite sure what it was.

  We went back to the gallery and she led me out. Right next door, she opened the lock and turned on the lights. It was a storage room with covered paintings on several stands, a long table with more paintings laid on top and pieces of sculptures and other types or artwork.

  “As you can see, we received quite a number of submissions. We make the application process tough in order to filter out people who aren’t serious. We figure if you really want this, you have to work hard enough to get yourself a spot,” she said.

  I walked around the stuffed room as she uncovered some of the paintings the gallery had chosen. There were all types of paintings from abstract, to photographic and landscape to still life.

  “When it comes to painting, it’s all about perception and representation. Everything in life has different intensity which can be represented in black, white and shades of grey,” she said. “When you see a painting, most people seek to understand the things depicted and then analyze their wider cultural, religious and social meanings. Others see colors assembled on a canvas in no particular order.”

  That perfectly explained me. “I wish I could see more into a canvas full of paint as you seem to,” I said when I noticed her intensity when she was looking at an abstract oil painting.

  “Maybe I could teach you,” she said.

  Was she flirting with me? I wondered as she quickly concealed her smile.

  “That’d be interesting, but shouldn’t one first have a passion for something like this?”

  “It’s not as complex as you may think. A work of art seeks to hold your attention and keep it fixed: a history of ar
t urges it onwards, bulldozing a highway through the homes of the imagination.”

  “That doesn’t sound complex at all.”

  She laughed at my sarcasm. “Julian Bell, a writer and painter writes that in his book, What is Painting. If you seek to understand the world of painting, you must show initiative and learn about it.”

  Our gazes locked at her quotation and something about her made me want to learn more about art. I looked away first as my attention darted to a painting behind her.

  “This looks easy. I can do this,” I said.

  She broke into soft laughter and said, “This is called action painting. It’s closely associated with abstract expressionism where paint is spontaneously dribbled, splashed or smeared onto a canvas rather than being carefully applied.”

  “Do you think I can do it?”

  “Sure, why not? But if you know nothing about art, how will you know what to use or how to apply it?”

  “Maybe you can teach me,” I said.

  I wasn’t sure if I was flirting back, but it was giving me a bit of a rush, especially when she responded by smiling back at me and closely studying me.

  “I’d be happy to,” she said.

  Our back and forth reminded me of how I’d quickly and thoughtlessly acted on my feelings for Mrs. Gallagher. The difference was, Jaime was pleasantly playing along, creating a calm and easy atmosphere.

  “Do you mind if I take pictures of the paintings the gallery has selected for the exhibition? I’d like to run them by Mrs. Gallagher,” I said, breaking our eye contact.

  “Not at all, we’ve put them aside together with some other types of artwork.”

  They were the paintings placed on the stands and the lighting was perfect. I used my phone to take images of the paintings and art works on different angles, taking my time because I didn’t want to send bad quality pictures. When I was done, I sent them all to Mrs. Gallagher.

  “You’re a good photographer. Maybe there is an artist in you,” Jaime said as we left the storage room.