Page 3 of Art of Love
I was the only person in this world she had left, and there was no question as to whether or not I’d take care of her.
I was here at the time. Living my dream as an artist. I didn’t want to pull Lana out of school and bring her here. It wouldn’t have been ideal because I was travelling with my job for half the year.
That was when Sam stepped in. She stepped in and stepped up big time. Her idea to get a place together had been a lifesaver, but I didn’t know it was going to destroy me as well.
I approached the bar, and the burly bartender behind it gave me a lopsided grin.
“What can I get you, sweetheart?” He moved closer to the counter.
“Something strong. Vodka Martini, if you do that.”
He laughed. “We sure do that? Rough day?”
“The worst.” I propped myself on a stool and rested my arms on the bar top.
He gave me a look I kind of recognized amongst good bartenders. It was one that came with a natural pause giving me the chance to continue. If I continued talking, he would probably stay and listen, but since I didn’t, he seemed to know that I didn’t want to talk about it.
He gave me a little smile and moved away to make my drink.
The place wasn’t too busy. Just what you’d expect for this time of day. It was nearly five.
There were a few guys playing pool and some on the other side of the room watching football.
The bartender returned with my drink and widened his eyes when I took it and knocked it back in one swig.
“Shit, maybe I should have used a bigger glass. I just figured you for a woman who appreciated the cocktail glass.”
“Not today.” I cleared my throat against the burning sensation and coughed. “Can I have another one, please? Double shot this time.”
He raised his brows and moved away to make the drink. He returned with an ordinary glass, which held about twice the amount a cocktail glass would hold.
“Maybe try to keep it down to this. If you want something more, I suggest beer or a light white wine.” He nodded placing the drink down.
I knew he was right, and I was probably shooting myself in the foot by drinking so much; and the day before an interview. Or rather a welcome meeting in the place I lived at more than I did my own home.
Today should have been a happy day. I should have been ecstatic to be here, but I was so sad and depressed.
I was here again in L.A for a second chance I never thought possible. Three years later trying to achieve the same dream I’d sought out all my life.
I hated thinking like this because it felt like I was blaming my sacrifice to take care of Lana for robbing me of achieving my dreams. I didn’t, not at all. I was glad I could be there for her, the way Todd had been for me. I was glad I could be an aunt to her and make sure she achieved her dreams to go to UCLA to study medicine.
But truth was truth.
I was proud of her and the hand I’d had in making sure she got to where she should be, but over the last three years, I’d worked myself to death to make it happen. I worked my fingers to the bone to make sure we could pay for college, and I forgot myself and my own dreams.
Three years ago, I was an intern at the renowned Impasso. The travelling art company run by John Le Blanc, owner and founder.
I was in my senior year of high school when I first saw one of his shows. He came to Atlanta for a month-long tour. He and his band of super talented artists. I’d always been into fine art and sculpting, but he took that to the next level. Impasso was everything. The main gallery was stationed here in L.A., where they’d kick start the new season’s show, which would start in September and end the week before Christmas. Then they’d take the show to New York and Atlanta, then over to Europe for five months.
It was an amazing conglomeration of fine art, living art, modern and contemporary, abstraction, and everything rolled into one.
That first show I saw at seventeen years old was enough for me. I’d always wanted to do art and have my own gallery one day, but I wanted to work for John.
I got my chance on my first application to Impasso. At the age of twenty-five, I’d furnished myself with all the credentials I thought would make me outstanding and the best candidate I could be for the job.
John offered me a three-year internship with the company. But it was cut short after my first year by Todd’s accident.
I picked up the drink and gulped it down. My head spun from the impact.
