by Amanda Wals
When I finished coating the entire canvas in paint, I grabbed a rag, wet it, and began wiping away sections of the acrylic paint in a circular pattern, being sure to leave some of the image intact, creating an effect of round objects that were lighter in color than the rest. I grabbed my bottle of water and splashed some on the canvas. Then I cupped my hand and put a small amount of white paint in it, adding water and creating a milky thin wash. I splashed that across the canvas as well. The resulting look of the image was somewhat like it was cloudy and melting. Finally, I grabbed a brush and began working on details in crimson. The raw, hand painted background adding a new dimension to the design in a way I hadn't done before. Hours later, I leaned back against a bar stool and looked over the finished design.
"Damn." Theron spoke up, startling me. I looked over to see he and Margaret sitting on the stone steps behind me that lead up to the dining area of the studio, watching me.
"That was fun to watch," Margaret said, smiling. "Are you finished with it?"
"I think so." I said, somewhat embarrassed to be observed like that. Amy was the only person who had ever really watched me paint outside of a classroom before.
"I think you are, too." Theron said. "Most impressive. I love it."
I washed up my brushes and cleaned the paint off of my hands. I felt a sense of accomplishment for the first time in a long while. Another of the clouds over my spirits seemed to fade away a little.
It was late afternoon and I was famished. We all went out to eat at the cafe in Klima again, and I went to the beach while they returned home. I sat atop a large rock formation and looked out at the beautiful clear blue water as the sun disappeared for the night. I didn't feel at peace, but I felt as close I thought I probably ever would. I missed Amy with everything that was in me, but I felt like maybe I was giving her the chance that my mother so desperately wanted for her to have a normal life. I wondered what she was doing now. I wished she were here with me. This view would have blown her away. I wished to take her down to one of the tide pools inside the caves and make love to her there with the only light shining up from where the outside sun would shine through the pool. The familiar knot tightened in my stomach and I wept silently in the dark.
Early the next morning, I went down to the studio and looked over the painting I had done the day before. I was pleased with the results and placed it against the wall. I grabbed a fresh canvas, picked a song, and went to work on it. By evening, I'd completed another. I became prolific. My color choices became brighter than I normally used, not because I was in a better mood, but because I didn't want to use the typical earth tones that tended to be my routine color choices. I also began to work on a larger scale, the largest of them being one that measured six feet across. That one had overdone it and I settled into a more comfortable two feet by four feet format for most of them.
A few more months passed and I participated in a couple of small local shows around Greece. I even had a couple of paintings on display in one of the larger galleries in Athens. I began to make a small amount of money, nothing even close to enough to live on, but at least I was generating some income from my paintings. Still, I couldn't help admitting that I was achieving a tiny amount of success as an artist, which was something I could never have fathomed happening. Much like the rest of my pay since arriving here, I simply put the money in savings and more or less forgot about it.
* *
One afternoon, after delivering a new painting of Theron's for display at a large gallery in Athens, I walked a couple of blocks down the street to grab some lunch at a small cafe. Not knowing my way around Greek cuisine very well, I blindly ordered the youvetsi from the menu. It arrived shortly after and was edible, but not something I would typically order for myself. I sat at a curbside table under a large umbrella, picking at it disinterestedly and watching traffic pass by.
I was lost in my thoughts for a while, thinking how much Amy would love to check out the architecture around here, when I heard a feminine voice speaking to me. Her Greek accent was thick, but her English was flawless.
"It's not their best dish, is it?"
I looked up to see a very attractive, tall, slender woman with olive skin and green eyes smiling down at me. She had long, dark hair pulled back in a light ponytail and was dressed in an elegant black dress with a small black purse in her hand.
"It's fine, really. I'm just not that hungry." I replied.
"Do you mind if I join you?" She asked, politely. I couldn't think of a polite way to decline her on a moment's notice, so I gave her a small smile and motioned her to a chair.
"Thank you. I get tired of eating alone at lunch every day." She smiled again. "You don't recognize me, do you?"
"I'm sorry, I don't." I was now puzzled. Did I know her from somewhere?
"I'm Natali. I work at the gallery."
"Oh, right! I'm sorry, I should have remembered." I pondered if I had ever seen her there. I never paid much attention to the people there. I think I vaguely recalled seeing a tall, dark haired woman around.
"How do you like working for Mr. Cain?"
A waiter came up and she ordered moussaka without so much as a glance at the menu.
"It's a good job. Keeps me busy, but still allows me time to work on my own paintings. He and his wife are good people."
"They seem to be." She agreed.
After a few moments of silence, Natali asked, "So what brought you here from America?"
"I don't know. A fresh start somewhere new. I wanted something different." I shrugged.
"Somewhere new? You are in one of the oldest cities in the world!" She laughed brightly. It took me a moment to realize she was making a joke.
"Yeah, well. It's not Austin, so it's good enough for my purpose."
"Austin? Texas?" She asked, her green eyes seemed to stare through me. It made me uncomfortable, even though she was polite and friendly.
"Yeah." I replied as I picked at my pasta. It was the sauce, I decided, that made the dish unappetizing.
"You don't look like what I picture an American from Texas to look like." Smiling at me again.
"I left my chaps and spurs in the States." I quipped.
She looked me over for a moment, a couple of wrinkles appearing between her eyebrows. Then one of her eyebrows cocked to a high point.
"You are joking with me." She decided aloud. I couldn't help chuckling.
"Ah, you are!" She exclaimed, delighted. "You should smile more. You have a nice smile."
She put a hand gently on my forearm, and it finally dawned on me that she was flirting.
"Thanks." I picked at my food some more, scraping the offending sauce away.
"You really don't like that very much, do you?"
"Not really," I admitted. "I'm not used to the food here, yet. Still trying different dishes."
"Would would you eat if you could have anything?"
"That's easy. Egg rolls. Hot and sour soup. Some good lo mien." I replied.
"I know a place. If you'd like to meet me for dinner?" Her eyes met mine expectantly.
I looked back down at my plate, trying to think of how I could turn her down without hurting her feelings. The obvious answer occurred to me a half second later.
"I'm sorry, I've got to head back in a couple of hours."
"Oh. That's too bad. Maybe another time." She briefly looked down, her smile faltered a little. But it returned almost immediately.
"Maybe so. When I don't have to get back to the island so soon." I lied, aiming for politeness.
"Sounds good to me." She replied, brightly.
We finished our meal, or more accurately, she finished her meal as I picked at mine in disdain and paid for our bills separately. I turned to wave goodbye to her and instead was met with a brief hug. She gave me her business card with a home number written on the back and walked back toward the gallery.
She seemed like a nice girl and was certainly beautiful, I thought. But the idea of getting involved with an
yone just made my stomach churn. There was only one person I wanted to be with. I flipped the card over in my hand and read over it.
"Natali Panagakos," Her name was followed by some Greek lettering that I assumed meant sales representative or something similar. The only other thing I could read on the card were the words "fine arts." Fair enough, I shrugged. I slipped the card in my back pocket and walked back to the ferry.
Back on Milos, I told the Cains about the encounter over dinner. They both listened with great interest. Margaret was, of course, completely amused at my obliviousness to having been hit on by a girl until she had touched me.
"I know her family," Theron observed. "They are nice people. You could certainly do worse if you decided to pursue her."
"I'm not going to pursue her. That wouldn't do anyone any good, I don't think." I replied, thoughtfully.
"I understand." He replied as he exchanged a slight glance with Margaret, who shrugged. I didn't know what that meant and I didn't ask.
I was pretty sure that I was better off alone at this point. The relationship I'd had with Amy was irreplaceable. There wasn't any reason to bother with anyone else as far as I was concerned.
* *
Eventually, November rolled around and I realized for the first time that I had a pretty decent idea of where I could find Amy. She would likely be in Colorado for the week, as called for by family tradition. I pulled out my laptop and priced flights to the US. I chose a flight and sat with my credit card in my hand, about to put in the information to buy the ticket when I froze up. I must have lingered there for ten minutes, indecisive. What would I even say at this point? How could I approach the entire family that way? It's not like I could just knock on their door, walk in, hug everyone except my parents, and sweep Amy up in my arms. What if she didn't want me anymore? The very idea sounded absurd. I closed the laptop and went for a walk.
The afternoon of Thanksgiving Day, which meant nothing other than Thursday in Greece, I sat at my kitchen counter staring at my phone for a few long minutes. I finally picked it up and called Aunt Linda's place. On the fourth ring, someone picked up. I could hear the jovial atmosphere in the background. I swallowed hard at the sound of Aunt Linda's voice.
"Hello?"
"Happy Thanksgiving, Aunt Linda."
"Oh my god, is this Adam?!" She exclaimed.
"Yes, it is. I'm sorry I couldn't be there this year. I miss you guys." I tried to sound better than I felt.
"I'm so glad you called. We miss you, too! Holly! Holly, it's Adam." I heard Aunt Linda call to my mother. Shit, I thought to myself.
"Aunt Linda!" I tried not to shout, trying to get her attention back.
"Yes?" She sounded puzzled by my desperation.
"Is Amy there?"
"No, she's not, Adam. She stayed in California for the break. You didn't know that?" Now she definitely sounded confused. My heart sank. California? How the hell was I supposed to find her there?
"Okay, thanks. Send everyone my love." I replied.
"Don't you want to say hello to your mother? She's right he-" I hung up before I had to face that conversation.
I slumped at the counter and stared at the wall for a long while.
* *
When I left the United States, I had originally expected to be gone for just a few months at most. I had now been in Greece for three years. I had come to really enjoy living there and the idea of returning to the States filled me with a sense of dread. At one point I looked into renting a house near Theron and Margaret's home, but they were adamant that I continue living in the small apartment built off of Theron's studio. I felt that I was about as comfortable as I could ever expect to be, and although the gaping hole in my life that Amy had once occupied was still there, it had diminished somewhat. I can't say that she was ever far from my thoughts.
Over time, Natali's gentle persistence eventually wore me down and we went out on a date during one of my visits to the mainland. Before the date even started, I knew that it was a mistake. I carefully explained to her that I was just not in a place emotionally where I could handle being in a relationship with someone. I made sure that she understood it wasn't about her and that I thought she was a great person. She claimed to understand and, after a slightly awkward couple of weeks, we settled into a comfortable friendship. I had worried that she was holding out hope for me to eventually want to be with her, but she began dating another guy soon after and I relaxed.
She was a fan of my work and showed some of my pieces to a friend who worked at a gallery in Rome. Before long, I had pieces showing in a gallery there, as well. When I traveled to Rome to deliver the pieces, I stayed at the Palazzo, the same hotel Amy had stayed at when she was in Rome several years before. I pulled out my phone in the hotel room and looked through the pictures she had sent me from that very hotel. As silly as it seemed, even to me, I wondered if I was staying the the same room that she had. I sat on the balcony that night, listening to Swans' "Love of Life" album, and wished she were with me.
A few months later, I was in my biggest gallery show yet. This time in London. Theron had a big show there and had pulled strings with the gallery owner to be sure that I was included in the show. Theron gave me a thirty foot section of wall space near the entrance to his gallery and ensured that my name and art was included on the promotional materials for the gallery opening. As I selected pieces for the show, I joked that I felt like the opening act for a concert. He commented that it was a good comparison.
Theron and Margaret both found my thought process surrounding the pricing of my work for the show to be hysterically funny. Every time I would jot down a price on the list, Theron would come behind me and scratch through it, writing in absurdly ridiculous amounts instead.
"Oh, fuck off Theron! No one is ever going to pay 18,000 quid for that. I painted it in three hours.. I practically pissed on the canvas!" I exclaimed, trying to write the price back in at two thousand. Honestly, I still felt I was ripping people off asking two thousand for it.
"This isn't those piss ant little college shows you used to do. This is a real show at a serious gallery. They don't know you did that in three hours. And so what if you did? Eighteen thousand is a bargain for that painting. I think you should price it at twenty five thousand quid, myself!" Theron barked back at me.
"You have got to be kidding me. I don't know if you've been drinking the salt water out there or what, but you are out of your goddamned mind." I shook my head at him in frustration. Margaret just cackled at our bickering.
"I should be taping this." She remarked at one point, earning looks of exasperation from both of us.
They finally bullied me into agreeing to their pricing plan, arguing that they had years of experience in the art world and that I didn't understand the value of my work. By the time it was all said and done, I had set a total value of my paintings to be featured in the show at a little over 340,000 Euro. I found that number staggering to contemplate.
The three of us flew to London together the week of the show and they were both further amused by my excitement about seeing England for the first time. They had both grown up there, and found the place to be rather dull.
The night of the opening, I was dressed in a suit and tie. It was not my idea, but Margaret had insisted. The gallery was packed with people and I was slightly thrilled to see the degree of interest in my work. Theron introduced me to a couple of other very well known artists that were friends of his and I felt I did a fairly good job of hiding my sense of awe at meeting some of them. I was surprised to find that a couple of them shared my generally cynical view of the art world. But what really unnerved me was the realization that some of the art critics that attended the opening were looking over my work and taking notes.
I don't think it had hit me until that moment that my work would be viewed by serious, world renowned art critics this evening. Theron was off working the crowd, greeting some fans, and so on. Margaret noticed the look on my face and brought me a g
lass of wine. She assured me that it was going well so far and that I didn't need to be concerned about the critics. I drained the wine in about thirty seconds and a server handed me a replacement.
An older British woman approached us and claimed to be a fan of my work. I tried to be gracious about it, but was again very uncomfortable with the idea that I actually had fans. It turned out that this woman had purchased one of my paintings at a previous show in Athens and had actually come to this show to see my work, not Theron's. Margaret flashed me a huge smile when she overheard that and nodded at me as if to say she had told me so. The woman gave me an email address and asked that I send her photos of any new pieces I would consider selling that were not currently on display. I assured her that I would and she went on her way. I didn't find out until later that it was considered extremely rude by most serious artists and galleries for a buyer to request to see work that was not currently on display. I didn't see a problem with it, myself.
About an hour after the show started, I was able to ignore the critics milling about and began to get bored. Truthfully, I was surprised I lasted that long. I normally lost patience with these things in the first twenty minutes. I sipped a glass of wine, wishing it was a beer, and was chatting with Margaret when I heard a soft voice behind me that made my heart seize up.
"Your new work is beautiful, Adam."
I turned and saw Amy standing before me, a shy and hesitant smile on her face. Her eyes were tired but warm and beautiful. She was dressed in a tight, dark blue dress that ended a few inches above her knees with matching heels. The sapphire necklace that I had given her for Christmas years before dangled from her gorgeous neck. Her hair, now longer, was hanging loosely over one shoulder, exposing her neck fully on one side. She didn't look a day older than when I'd last saw her, over three years before. She took my goddamned breath away.
