Page 35 of A Small Town Spring

Seventeen

“God it’s hot.I thought the city was disgustingly humid, but at least there’s air-conditioning.”Fernanda Ruiz isn’t taciturn.A tall woman in her late fifties with unnaturally black hair and a city-chic pantsuit that looks faintly silly in casual country Rosedale, she hasn’t stopped talking since she and Pete arrived at Ivy’s.She waves a hand in front of her face, and I’m glad I thought to put a couple of fans in the studio this morning.It is hot—I’m sweating through Kingston’s shirt and feel glad to have the protection of the jacket.Ivy is here, too—Fernanda’s the one who put her in touch with the gallery where her show is going up in a few weeks and she wanted to meet her in person.Everyone is all smiles, and I try to pretend this is simply a no-stakes studio visit.

“Everyone is talking about your show, darling,” she says to Ivy while we walk from the house to the garage.“Who’s doing your PR?”

“I’m talking to someone from Rosenblum Associates,” Ivy says, which is news to me.I’m not surprised she’s on top of this—Ivy’s always been better at the business stuff.Fernanda shares her approval, then Ivy says, “Well, I’ll let you three have some privacy,” giving me an encouraging nod before she turns back to the house.

Pete, thank everything that is holy for the man, leads the tour through my art.I try not to seem like a weirdo, hovering awkwardly while other people discuss my work, almost as if I’m not here.They go through the seaside landscapes first, and Fernanda makes many exclamations of adoration, which I can’t tell are put-ons or not.She sounds more organically enthusiastic about my New England architectural paintings.

“Very nice.Is that a dog?People love animals.That’s why Ivy’s hummingbirds and horses are going to sell out,” she says definitively, as if saying it will make it so.

I smile at her weakly.

Abruptly, she points.“What’s that?”

At Pete’s suggestion, I’ve left Kingston’s portrait on the easel, but covered.

I walk over and take the foam board away.“It’s something new.Not quite finished,” I say, trying not to sound apologetic.

Fernanda comes close, settling rhinestone-studded glasses on her nose.“Wait, I know this face.The book agent, Kingston Josephs, am I right?”

“Kingston James,” I correct.“It’s different, I know.”

She hums, then looks at it for a full minute in absolute silence.

I glance at Pete and raise my eyebrows in question, but he just shrugs.

“Do you have more portraits?”she asks.

“Not really.It’s a bit of a one-off.”

She hums again, and stares at it without speaking.The only sound is the whir of fans chopping up the close air.

I feel like I might go crazy if someone doesn’t say something, but then Fernanda straightens and turns around, whipping off her glasses and tucking them into her designer handbag.

“Well, shall we go to lunch?”she asks brightly.

That’s it?We’ve only been here for fifteen minutes.“Um.All right.”

Does this mean I’ve blown it?No agent?No future?I’m surprised at the strength of my disappointment.I thought I’d be fine with staying under the radar, painting the houses of my friends for small commissions.But I suppose my ego’s been biding its time all along.

“Do you want to take any pictures?”Pete asks, trying to salvage something of the encounter.

“No, I’ll leave that task to Galia and Grayson.I’ll have them come up and catalog everything.I’ll give Galia your number, Toby, and you can tell her when it’s convenient.But let’s get this done before Labor Day.There’s a hole in the Weiss Gallery’s March schedule and I think we can slot you in there.Normally you’d have to wait eighteen months for them, but the star of their spring show went to rehab and came out utterly unable to paint.Which is good for you, darling.”

I wince at the callous mention of the poor anonymous painter whose misfortune is apparently my gain.And am I supposed to know who Galia and Grayson are?“So, you want to represent me?”

“Oh, my, yes, didn’t I say that?You know you’re talented—but more—you’re sellable.Modern, but classic.Approachable, but flawless technique.In other words, eminently marketable, darling.A real find.Pete—I owe you a boon for bringing me this lovely boy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Pete says, a satisfied smile on his face.

I’m glad he seems happy, but my head is still spinning.“So, that’s it?”

“We’ll sign a contract, of course.And you—you need to paint more of those.”She points directly at Kingston’s face.“I want to see more portraits.Do this one, while you’re at it,” she swings her pointer finger to Pete, “and anyone else you can find to sit for you.”

“I usually work from photographs.”

“Even better,” she booms.“More portraits,” she repeats.“Let’s see, we’ll stage the show in February, open early March.That gives you months of production.And plenty of time to line up some press, though magazines might be tricky.But let’s see if we can squeeze in some portraits alongside your quaint houses.People like looking at beautiful people, don’t they?It’ll draw them in.”

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