Page 29 of The Marriage Pact
It felt decadent, but given the exorbitant cost of the meal they’d had last night, seventeen dollars hardly seemed excessive. Kaitlyn had looked up Gill’son her phone. “Woodland” had cost four hundred and fifty dollars a head. And that was before the bottle of champagne. Leaving the café, Kaitlyn walked in the direction of the subway, glancing up at the tall buildings around her. She could just see the top of the Macarson building, and she pictured Alex in his office, sitting at his desk, surrounded by important documents.
But what did he do all day? Make money.
The subway was an experience, busy and hot, and Kaitlyn was relieved when she got off at Christopher Street-Stonewall, stepping out of the station and crossing over to the small park opposite, where she sat on the bench in the welcome shade of the trees to eat her cake. It still felt disorienting to be in New York, plucked from everything familiar. Her phone buzzed.
Hey, sorry I left so early this morning. I hope you have a wonderful day xx.
Kaitlyn smiled, replying to Alex that she was on her way to the studio and would see him later. She was glad he’d messaged. She knew he had to work — and work hard. There was a lot for them to get used to as they navigated these first days and weeks together.
We’ll find a routine. It’ll be all right.
Having finished her coffee and cake, Kaitlyn checked her phone for directions to the studio. It was just a few blocks away, and she found it easily enough, feeling excited at the prospect ofgetting started. She had lots of ideas for new projects but was mindful of finishing her commissions first. That was something else she’d have to get used to: the fact that she no longer had to rely on art to make money. She was free to be creative rather than commissioned. It was liberating, but it would be difficult to get used to. Often, a commission was an inspiration for something more, but without the necessity of work, Kaitlyn wondered if the motivation would remain.
“I can’t believe she did that! Look at it. It’s ruined!” a high-pitched voice was exclaiming loudly as Kaitlyn entered the studio. A tall man with long blond hair, wearing a paint-splattered apron, flounced past her, almost knocking her over as he swept out of the door.
A nervous-looking woman was standing next to a large canvas, on which was splattered green and yellow paint, as though it had been daubed there by a mischievous kid.
“Did someone have an accident?” Kaitlyn asked.
The woman shook her head.
“No. It’s meant to be like that. But someone has smudged it. He thinks it was Julia Wainwright,” she said, as though Kaitlyn was bound to know who Julia Wainwright was.
It was hard to tell where the smudge was. The whole thing looked smudged, but it had obviously caused some considerable consternation.
“Who’s Julia Wainwright?” Kaitlyn asked.
The woman looked at her in surprise. “You must know Julia, the impressionist? She’s trying a new style for the exhibition. She’sgot a piece similar to Maurice’s. He’s not happy. That’s why he thinks she smudged it,” she said.
Kaitlyn didn’t know quite what to say. She’d thought the studio to be a friendly place. It had seemed as much the day before.
“I’m Kaitlyn,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m renting the corner space. I work in ceramics.”
The woman smiled. “I’m Anna-Marie. I work in textiles, but I’ve been helping Maurice with his concepts. It hasn’t been easy,” she said.
Kaitlyn could well imagine. She could hear Maurice on the phone to someone outside, shouting loudly.
“I want to speak to her. I don’t care if she’s unavailable. You put her on now,” he was saying.
Kaitlyn liked to work in peace and quiet. Her studio in San Francisco, with its view of the bay, had been a haven compared to this.
“Well… I suppose I’d better get started,” Kaitlyn said, rolling up her sleeves.
Alex had had her materials delivered to the collective. They were in boxes waiting to be unpacked, but if the likes of Maurice and Julia Wainwright were going to cause chaos, Kaitlyn wondered if she’d ever find the peace and quiet she needed to work on her art.
CHAPTER 11
KAITLYN
Maurice returned a short while later, shouting at Anna-Marie and at anyone else who got in his way. The painting, if it could be called that, was ruined, and the exhibition was to be a disaster. The name of Julia Wainwright was cursed, and there was even talk of suing for emotional and psychological damage.
“I feel as though she’s smudged my very soul. Art isn’t just paint; it’s afeeling. It’s a violation!” he’d exclaimed, sitting by the painting and weeping as Anna-Marie stood awkwardly next to him, holding a box of tissues.
Kaitlyn had envisaged a happy collective, like the one she’d seen the previous day, with artists collaborating and sharing inspiration. But one bad apple had soured the rest. No one was speaking, and the atmosphere was hushed and tense. Kaitlyn didn’t dare make a noise, trying to open her boxes of materials as quietly as possible. It was a shame, for she’d been looking forward to getting started, and Maurice’s outburst had put a dampener on the day. Having lined up her commissions in order of priority, Kaitlyn’s mind turned to the projects she might beginwhen her paid work was over. She had it in mind to create a sculpture for the wedding: two figures, as though rising out of the ocean, embracing one another, but which could be taken apart and put back together as a symbol of two people joined in love and marriage. It would be a surprise for Alex, one they could display in the apartment.
But I’ll never be able to do it if this is what it’s going to be like.
Maurice’s painting had now been tossed on the floor, discarded and pronounced as worthless. Kaitlyn hadn’t thought much of it to begin with — anyone could squirt paint at a canvas — but no doubt there was some deep metaphysical meaning behind it, one that would require a detailed explanation. For her part, Kaitlyn didn’t like to complicate her art. It was as it was, inspired by the sea. But in New York, close as they were to the sea, she didn’t yet feel any kind of connection to inspiration. In California, there were hundreds of miles of sandy beaches to explore. Kaitlyn would take a bus out on a weekend, staying in one of the little artists’ towns on the coast, and taking long walks in the dunes, watching the colors change in the sky and across the sea.
