Page 33 of Love Is an Art
“Thirty minutes until the auction starts!” The announcement breaks this … whatever this is.
“All gone,” he says.
“At least it’s washable.” I turn to face the easel. “It looks good, right? Maybe I need to relax more when painting.”
“It’s great,” he says.
We flag down the help person and give her our latest masterpiece,Dalmatians Gone Wild, for the auction.
“Should we check out the other artwork?” he asks.
“Let’s.” And I can look for Scammer Guy. Maybe he’s hiding among all these black-clad people. But he was quite tall. “I hope Miranda’s painting sells for a lot.”
We grab two glasses of wine from a passing waiter and join the flow of people checking out the artwork on display. In front of us is a pink, plastic cube. The neighboring piece is that sculpture made out of Tonka trucks. We wait for the people in front of us to finish looking at it.
“I had a Tonka truck as a little boy,” Zeke says. “I remember one time when I was five, and I wanted to sleep over at my friend’s house. My parents said no, so I was planning to go anyway, and I packed up a pillowcase with my pajamas and put it all in my Tonka truck.”
“Did you get far?”
“As far as the front door.”
“What happened?” We pause in front of a painting of a field of impressionistic flowers.
“They said I could watch a movie with my older sister instead, and I agreed that was a good substitute. I considered it a win–win for me and my parents. I negotiated for a better option than if I had conceded no sleepover.”
“You were that devious at five?”
“I’m afraid so. At least subconsciously. My parents always said I was pretty good at getting my way.” He smiles at me. With that dimple, I understand why.
There’s Scammer Guy.In front of my work. Here’s my chance.
“Do you mind if I go speak to Jurgen, that guy?” I ask Zeke, pointing at Jurgen. I watch Zeke’s face for his reaction.Will Zeke reveal that he knows him? Are they friends?“He was pointed out to me as someone I should talk to about my career. And he appears to be looking at my painting.”
“That guy?” He frowns.
A frown. As if he doesn’t want me to go talk to Jurgen. But that could also be because I’m suggesting I go talk to another guy while we’re on a date. But it is for work.
Zeke’s forehead clears. “No problem. You do what you have to do. My boss texted me while I was getting the drinks. I responded, but I should check if he has any follow-up. I’ll grab that chair over there.” He points at a chair set up for the auction.
That’s definitely supportive of my artist career. I feel touched. And it’s so handy to date a workaholic because they can amuse themselves. I don’t understand why more people don’t see the appeal. But the “that guy?” was weird.
“Are you friends with that guy?” I ask.
“No.”
His reply is decisive. Not sure what that vibe was. But he definitely talked to Jurgen at the art opening. I walk over to Scammer Guy.
“I see you’re looking at my painting,” I say to Jurgen. Most people have given it wide berth. He’s wearing a purple, velvet smoking jacket today. He appears to want to draw attention to himself, which seems odd for someone scamming others.
“Is this yours?” he asks.
“Yes.” I look eagerly at him to hear what he’s going to say. I’m genuinely curious. Is he a scammer? Is he going to say it’s good?
“You have a lot of potential. So much emotion already in this.”
My eyes widen. “What emotion do you see?”
“Frustration. Passion. Who represents you?”
