Secrets and Lies Page 7
I went over to one of my paintings and just kinda stood behind the people who were looking at it. I tried to absorb what the general buzz was.
“So, what do you think about this?” a tall and lanky man, dressed in khakis and a suit jacket with patches on his elbows, was asking a petite woman with perfectly coiffed brown hair.
She cocked her head a little to the side. “I’m not sure. I love the use of the light and the brush strokes are superb. I’m just trying to get the message.” The painting that they were referring to was that of a dreadlocked man playing a violin. “It seems to be a perfect blending of something that is classical and timeless with something that is urban and modern. And the expression on that musician’s face is devastating. The eyes just draw you in.”
I felt myself beaming as I listened to the two talk some more about my painting. The tall man had a different interpretation. He saw it as more of a commentary on our times – that perhaps “the artist” was trying to convey a yearning for a simpler time, which would be why the eyes of the musician looked so dark and depressed.
I walked over to another one of my paintings, that of a ballerina. There were about five people gathered around this one, silently looking at it. Finally, one said “I think that I’m in love with this painting. It speaks to me somehow.” She looked carefully at the price, and saw that it was selling for $22,000. She nodded slowly, and said to her companion. “What do you think? Wouldn’t this look awesome in the den?”
I held my breath. Her companion put his arm around her and said “I think you’re right. I love the colors on this one and there’s something about those eyes that really draw you in. I’ve never heard of this Luke Roberts, but it looks like he has a great future.”
When I heard that they were going to buy the painting, I felt overjoyed, for the first time since Dalilah told me goodbye. I didn’t think that it was possible to feel happy again, but, somehow, just knowing that these two strangers wanted my art on their walls, and they were willing to spend over $20,000 to accomplish this, was a feeling unlike any other.
At that, the woman immediately started looking at the companion painting to this one. It was very similar to the one that she was wanting to buy, but, instead of one ballet dancer, it was two – a male and a female. She stood in front of it and nodded. “I love this one, too. Look at the detail. The sinews, the facial expression, the use of light. It’s reminiscent of Robert Krogle and Melinda Morrison. Not to mention Monet.”
Her companion nodded and said “let’s get them both.”
I started breathing faster. I just got here, and the premiere was only a few hours old, and I already sold two paintings at $22,000 apiece. Which would mean that I already would be leaving with at least $22,000, assuming that these two actually did buy these paintings.
I looked over and saw Henry Jacobs himself looking at one of my paintings of a jazz musician. He was studying it carefully, and then went over to another of mine and studied that as well.
I hated that man, because of what he did to Dalilah. At the same time, he was a star-maker. I wrestled with conflicting feelings as I saw him go to one of my paintings after another, and silently prayed that he didn’t find them wanting. Right next to him was another art critic, Elaine Bush, who was well-known for her extremely popular blog. She, too, was a star-maker, especially for the younger patrons who got much of their information on-line. Jacobs was more of the old-guard, as he was the lead critic for the New York Times, and Bush was the new-guard. A good word from one of them would put me onto the A-list. A good word from both of them would put my career into the stratosphere.
I took a deep breath, knowing that I probably shouldn’t go up and talk to them. I didn’t quite know the etiquette of that situation, but something told me that if I went up and introduced myself that might be seen as intrusive. They probably wanted to look at my paintings and review them without my input.
It was just as well, because I was feeling hungry and in need of a glass of wine. I was getting butterflies and feeling like the entire experience was surreal. I mean, people – important people and unknowns alike – were looking at my work! And at least two of these people were wanting to buy! Inside, I was feeling so giddy that I had to calm down a little bit, so I headed to the bar. On the way, I passed by a string quartet who were playing strains of Bach.
While I walked to the bar, I grabbed some hors d’oeuvres off of a waitress who was walking around. The hors d’oeuvres were delicious – there was warm camembert with wild mushroom fricassee; mini tarte-flambees; salmon tartare with caviar; beef tartare; and chicken liver patee. I had to admit that I was expecting summer sausage and cheddar cheese, with maybe some mini hot dogs and some crab rangoon and egg rolls. The appetizers here, though, were well thought out, delicious and gourmet.
The open bar was just as high dollar. All of the liquors were premium – there was Keitel One vodka, Glenfiddich scotch, imported tequila, and Tanqueray gin. These were all some of the better liquors, and there wasn’t anything behind the bar that I would consider to be cheap. The wine, too, was some of the better stuff – they were all Italian imports and I recognized that most of the bottles retailed for $100 or more.
I’m impressed. Somebody spent some good money on this shindig. As I looked around the crowd, I suddenly understood why. There was a prominent Broadway director chatting with a United States Senator in one corner. In another, I recognized some top models canoodling with some very wealthy-looking men. Everywhere, people were laughing and drinking and walking around looking at the paintings.
I took a deep breath, and went right up to one of the rich guys. I held out my hand to him. “Hi, my name is Luke Roberts, and I’m...”
At that, the guy got a huge smile on his face, and grabbed me in a hug. “Oh, my god,” he said in a very thick German accent. “You’ve made my wife so happy! She just made me buy three of your paintings, and she wanted me to find the artist immediately because she wants more. What good fortune that you came up to me to introduce yourself!”
I felt a little overwhelmed by the effusiveness of the guy, so I just stood there and nodded, at a loss for words. “Well, uh,” I finally said, “here’s my card, and...”
“Give me about fifty of your cards,” he said, slapping my back. “My wife is already in love with your work, and she has lots of friends who are just as into art as she is.”
I felt a little embarrassed. I had only brought about 70 cards, but I took out a big stack and he passed them to some of the people in his group. Then he put his arm around me, and guided me over to a tall blonde woman who was dressed in a red dress and strappy gold shoes. “This is Luke Roberts,” he said.
“Oh, my,” she said, putting her hand out for me to shake. “I love your work. Where have you been all my life?” She evidently was tipsy, because she was swaying just a little. “Your art is so compelling. There’s something about them that is just so tragic, yet so deliriously happy at the same time. I can almost you’re your subjects’ thoughts, they’re so real.”
I found myself struggling for words. This was a little too much, too soon. I mean, I’m the blue-collar son of a fisherman. My friends were all working labor jobs, with the exception of Jake, who just got a job in an automotive factory. And, suddenly, I was talking to a tycoon and his wife, and they were introducing me to even more of their fancy friends.
They were asking me questions about how I composed my art, and how I got my inspiration. They were interested in how long I had been painting, and what my family was like. I couldn’t believe how friendly and gregarious these people were, and I found myself relaxing and trying to enjoy the ride.
I finally extricated myself from the group, and went up to some more people and introduced myself. I was feeling emboldened, confident and happy after the previous group was so effusive over my work. This group also knew who I was, and were more than happy to talk to me. They, too, peppered me with questions, and the whole group ended up taking a selfie.
&nbs
p; I went around to various groups for another hour or so, and everyone was friendly and interested in me. I also went around and listened to what people were saying about some of my other paintings, and I heard effusive praise from just about everyone. So far, it seemed that six of my paintings had sold, which meant that only four were left unsold. I calculated the haul in my head, and realized that, even if another painting didn’t sell that night, I would still end up with at least $70,000. The gallery would take 50%, and I would take the rest.
I was on my way!
Chapter 16
Dalilah
Nottingham and I arrived at Luke’s premiere, and I felt like I was going to pass out. There had to be some way that I could give him the slip so that I could get out there as soon as possible. It might not be as difficult as I thought, because, after all, Nottingham hardly ever noticed me. He was always so busy running his company that I was an after-thought, which, really, was a great thing for me. I was pleasantly surprised - I thought that I would have to deal with being around Nottingham much more than I had to in reality. But, he was working 18-hour days, so I was left alone most of the time, and I was so happy about that.
The horrible thing was the sex, which he demanded just about every night. There weren’t beatings anymore, which was a blessing, but he was always rough. It was clear that he was very angry with me, and he tried to take it out on me as much as he could without leaving a mark.
We arrived at the gallery, and he took my hand and the two of us made our way into the entrance. I looked around and immediately saw Luke. I felt my heart pounding out of its chest. He looked so handsome. He was wearing dress slacks and a purple button-down shirt that was open at the collar. He was standing in the middle of a group of people, holding court, and they were hanging onto every word that he said. I recognized some of the people that he was talking to, because I had seen them at the Union Club more than once. So, I knew that these people were wealthy, and the fact that they were so interested in Luke gave me hope, and my heart soared.
I surreptitiously stood behind a sculpture, and watched him from afar for awhile. Nottingham was nowhere to be seen, having abandoned me as soon as we got into the doors. I knew that I wouldn’t be alone the entire night, though, because Nottingham had warned me that he wanted me to be on his arm that night. But, right at moment, Nottingham had left me, presumably because he was going to get something to eat and drink. So, I was able to just watch Luke. I watched him go from one group to another, and each of these groups embraced him more than the last.
I walked over to his paintings, and saw that six of them already were sold. I felt tears coming to my eyes, knowing that Luke was finally on his way for sure. Prior to this evening, there was always a question. Sometimes these large premieres fall flat, and the artist is lucky to sell one or two. I didn’t think that Luke would fall flat, of course, not at all. But there was a small chance that he would. However, as I watched Luke making his way around the gallery and I saw the people admiring his paintings, I knew. I knew that he was a hit, and that it was only a matter of time until he became a well-known name.
I sighed. My sacrifice was worth it. It was 100% worth it. It made the prospect of being with Nottingham almost bearable. I couldn’t be happier for Luke. My life was still shit, of course, but he was getting what he wanted, and my heart absolutely soared.
Just then, Nottingham yanked my arm. “Come on, Dalilah, let’s go and talk to Luke. He needs to know that you’re with me, just in case he gets an idea in his head otherwise.”
Oh, god, no. No. I was so happy, and now, once again, I was full of dread. I didn’t know how I could possibly go through with this.
I soon was going to find out.
Chapter 17
Luke
I was in the middle of a group of wealthy Italians, when I heard Nottingham’s voice. It was always just vaguely familiar to me, as I rarely talked to him, but I was starting to recognize it.
“Oh, and this is the man of the hour,” he said. “I see you’re talking to my Italian friends. Giorgio, what do you think of this fine young man?”
“He’s exquisite,” Giorgio said to Nottingham. “Where did you find him?”
“I hired him to paint the woman who is now my wife.” And then he looked me right in the eye, as he casually jerked Dalilah over to the group. “Giorgio, Nino, Maria, Giada – I’d like you to meet my wife, Dalilah Nottingham.”
All at once, I felt that I was in the middle of a nightmare. Prior to this moment, the entire evening felt like a wonderful dream. But, just like that, it turned on a dime, and I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
I felt a little bit in a state of shock as the Italians fussed over her, and embraced her in big hugs. I stepped out of the group, and I watched her. She didn’t meet my eyes. I felt my breaths coming faster and faster, and my heart started pounding. It was like it suddenly hit me that she was there, and, worse than that, she was apparently Nottingham’s wife.
Nottingham’s wife. That was it. That was why she dumped me. Her words rang in my ears. I’m a mercenary. I go where the money is, and it certainly isn’t here. She also told me that she wanted somebody wealthy. Which Nottingham certainly was. It was just as I had suspected.
I wasn’t good enough for her after all. She wanted to live the life of a wife of a billionaire, instead of being with a dirt-poor artist. Well, I wasn’t going to be so dirt poor anymore, but I wasn’t good enough still. I would never be good enough. I just wished that she would’ve been honest with me. Instead of giving me some story about how she lived to mind-fuck men, she should have just said that she was going to marry a billionaire and that I just wasn’t good enough.
And, just like that, my confidence was shot to pieces. Who was I to believe that I would ever fit in with these people? I would never be one of them. I would always be like some kind of pet for them. They were nice to me, and very friendly, but I would never truly be accepted by them. Just like Dalilah would never truly accept me. She pretended that she would, and that she loved me. But she didn’t. She couldn’t have loved me. It was all a big lie.
She had been slumming. Seeing how the other half lived. And she simply got tired of it. She simply got tired of it, and she reverted to type. It was always her destiny to be the wife of a bastard like that Nottingham. Just like Henry had said, a guy like me didn’t belong with a girl like her. I didn’t belong in her world, and I didn’t belong with her.
I tried to slink away, but Giorgio didn’t let me. “Luke, did you get a chance to meet Blake’s new wife?” he asked me, apparently forgetting that Nottingham had told the group that he had met me because I was hired to paint a portrait of her.
“Yes,” I said, looking at her. She was looking down at the floor, and I noticed that her hand was shaking wildly. But she didn’t meet my eyes. “As Mr. Nottingham said, he hired me to paint, uh, Mrs. Nottingham, and that’s, uh, that’s uh...” I lost my words. “If you would excuse me, I have to, uh, I have to, um...” At that, I rapidly walked away from the group.
I went outside into the cold night air. It was the middle of December, and it was freezing outside. My breath was visible in the air. I shoved my hands in my pockets, and I put my head down. I tried to calm my racing heart, and I took several deep breaths because I felt tears start. I couldn’t cry, though. At least, I couldn’t let anybody see me cry.
You have to get through this, Luke. You have to hold your head high. You can’t let her win. I was devastated, and I knew that, once I was home, I was going to feel this betrayal to my very core. I had no idea if I could recover from this, ever. But I had to get through the party. If I didn’t, then Dalilah would win.
She played me like a bass violin, that was for sure. And I kicked myself for being so fucking stupid.
Hold your head high, Luke. Hold it high, and don’t let yourself feel your devastation until later on tonight.
After about a half hour of trying to get my composure out in the cold air, I went back inside.
I made a bee-line for the bar, and ordered a scotch and water. Somebody came up to me, and introduced himself. “You’re Luke Roberts,” he said. “Somebody pointed you out to me. Your work is incredible.”
I looked at the guy and just nodded my head. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that there was somebody else who wanted to tell me how good I was. Earlier in the evening, I would be basking in the praise and feeling over the moon that somebody liked me. But seeing Dalilah with Nottingham – I felt like a balloon that completely deflated. “Thank you,” I said.
“Listen, I have a gallery down the street,” he said, giving me his card. “It’s not a large one, but we work with some established artists. I would love to feature you in some of our upcoming shows.”
I forced a smile. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Dalilah was married to somebody else, and that fact was just sinking in. “Thank you,” I said, giving him my card. “That would be great.” I turned my head, and felt tears coming to my eyes again.
Dalilah was married to somebody else.
She never loved me.
I felt like such a fool.
“Well,” the guy said, “I just wanted to let you know how talented you are.”
I nodded my head, knowing that I was being rude. This guy obviously wanted to talk to me more about my art, but I couldn’t find the words anymore. I felt like telling him that he didn’t matter. This gallery didn’t matter. The money I would be hauling in that night didn’t matter. There was nothing that mattered.
The guy, seeing that I wasn’t engaging him in conversation, awkwardly turned around and disappeared into the crowd.
I doubted that I would hear from him. An opportunity that was going to slip through my fingers because of Dalilah.
And, just like that, my feelings changed again. Dalilah. Who did she think that she was, coming here? Rubbing salt in the wound? Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? She knew how much this premiere meant to me. Why would she sabotage it like this for me? She had to have known that if she appeared here that I would be devastated. She had to have known that seeing her here would ruin my entire evening.