Page 2 of Caper Crush
“What do you like about the painting?” I ask.
“I feel like it shows movement, almost like the ripples of water.” He sweeps his hand across the canvas.
That’s exactly the effect I was going for.
I stare at him. Heactuallygets it. “And the cadmium yellow?”
“The yellow and orange give it warmth.”
“Yes. The lemon yellow and Naples ye—uh, peach—here are like a warm hug from a hot, sandy beach.” I almost said Naples yellow red instead of peach.
“It makes me feel happy,” he says.
My chest feels all full. I tear up and look away—at some black, red slashes and barbed wire painting next to mine. I shudder. It provides a good contrast. I smile at William.
“You should buy it, then,” I say. Put your money where your mouth is.
“Well, only if you don’t want it,” he says to the two other women. “Ladies first, of course.”
“Maybe we should buy it,” Coiffed Woman says.
“Only if you love it,” I say.
William shakes his head at me.
“It makes me feel happy too,” she says.
“Oh, I’m definitely feeling happier now.” Bangles Woman looks at William. “I love to meet other art collectors. Do you have an extensive art collection? Maybe you’d like to see mine.”
Coiffed Woman leaves and goes over to the gallery owner. She pulls out her credit card. I hold my breath. She signs the iPad. The gallery owner comes over and puts a little green dot next to my painting.
The coveted green dot. I’ve sold a painting. I grin, and the tension eases out of my shoulders. That’s a significant share of this month’s rent. Now Jade will be more inclined to keep representing me, and this augurs well for the Vertex Art Exhibit. My talent might finally get recognized, and some bigger gallery names might pick up my artwork. And I could actually realize my dream of pursuing a career as an artist. No more smiling through gritted teeth at comments like, “I should also pick up a hobby, like you and painting.”
Time to make my escape before I get discovered as the artist. Artists have some license to be creative, but disguising myself to eavesdrop on conversations and persuade people to buy my work might fall under certifiably crazy.
“Congratulations,” I say to them. “It was nice meeting you.”
I turn and slowly saunter out the front door.
Once I’m out of the gallery, my pace quickens.Yes! Sold!
I walk the few blocks to Canal Street, passing by a restaurant and a shop selling smoking paraphernalia. A few guys are hanging outside, and a cloying clove smell fills the air. It’s hotter today than it should be for a spring day.
I can’t take off my wig because I’ve got no way to carry it safely. It needs to be put back on a mannequin head so that its shape isn’t destroyed.
I cross over to the other side of the street where a mostly ochre-colored post office takes up the entire block, its black, terra cotta base covered in graffiti.
“Hey!”
I turn. It’s William, jogging up. He’s never seemed to me to be the type who chats up strangers.
“Oh yes, nice to see you again,” I say, but a bit distantly, as I imagine an older woman would when approached by a stranger she briefly chatted with in a gallery. “Seen enough of the show already?”
“I was only there to see that painting,High Tide 4:30, that those women bought. My uncle told me to check out the show. Miranda Langbroek is his partner’s niece.”
He doesn’t recognize me. This is brilliant.
“She’s really talented. Do you know her?” I ask. “She must be amazing.”
