Page 78 of Painting Her Fate

“There she is!” My dad is feeling much better. He pats the edge of the bed, “take a load off. How are you?”

“I’m wonderful, and someone seems in a good mood.” I pull my sketchbook from my bag, excited to show this to him, “I made you something.” I find the page of he and I fishing and hand it to him.

“Wow! “This is so detailed. You even drew my lucky hat. Look at the bridge, oh – you even added the ducks. He looks at me over the drawing, nothing but love and contentment shown through his eyes. “Mack, take a gander at this one.” Dad hands it off to Mack who studies it in silence.

Mack is quiet in comparison to my happy-go-lucky, talkative father.

Dad’s doctor told him he should be able to go home by the end of the week which is the best news we’ve all waited on. Time to get him settled back at home and get him relaxing; the same can be said for me as well. We stand to give ourselves a well needed rest.

Straight out of the gate came questions. Dad asked how my date went

with Zander and I reassured him that it was not a date, rather a ‘thank you’ coffee. He wasn’t fooled; my dad and Mack gave me one look and they knew there was more behind the story. Curse their hawk-like sensibilities.

I reassured them Zander has been nothing but a gentleman, but I’ll leave out thefriendlymoments, there is no need for their pesky noses to dig in deeper. I’m forever forgetting my need for lessons on strategy and diversion when around these two. Makes me wonder how much I inadvertently revealed to Zander.

After spending some time with dad, I came back to my flat around two in the afternoon, grabbed a nice cuppa, then sat down at the large monitor to catch Tamara up on the latest news, and no, not about a certain man. This is a business call. A moment later her sleepy face pops on, the tight bun atop her head seems to be her trademark as of late.

When she has more time on her hands, I often will see her having a bit of fun with her locks. I can tell she’s overwhelmed, even if she will never admit it.

“Hey lovely, how's things going over there? Long weekend?”

She barks out a laugh, her bubbly mood passing itself through the screen, “You could say that. Nothing I can’t handle though.” She has a rescheduling nightmare planned over the summer. Shite, how did I forget about those? “How’s my mate?”

“I’m sorry –” I begin my pleading.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, missy. It’s covered – see?” She holds up a spiral notebook with a full page of many scribbles, cross outs, and check marks. Tamara is my personal assistant, and when it comes to the media, she knows exactly what to say to keep everyone happy, but she is only one person. I think it’s time to take my own advice I have for Zander and hire more staff. I don’t have many I can trust, so I know this will be a struggle.

“You are a magician, T. I love you.” I squint at the screen to try and read the bottom of the paper where it’s most bolded, but she moves it away too quickly. “What is the solution to the multiple showings nightmare?”

All I see is her bright, full smile, her excitement barely contained, “How would the lovely artist Miss L.J Hayes feel about partaking in one of the largest fine art galas London has seen in quite some time?”

It takes a second for her words to sink in, then it hits me, “No way,

are you serious? How did you pull that off? *Angsty* I need to make more pieces, I don’t have enough pieces, I don't think –”

“Mate, chill.” Tamara shakes her head, having a feeling I’d act this way.

“How can Ichill?” Next thing she will tell me is that it’s next month.

“Merde (shit).”

“Don’t worry.” She held up a hand. “The date set for the twenty-second of July and our foundation team is hard at work blasting the news on a global scale as we speak.” My heart is about to jump from my throat.

“Tamara, that’s less than four months from now!” Freaking out doesn’t begin to scratch the surface.How many paintings can I complete in that time? There is unfinished work across the pond needing done. No way

I’m ready for something like this.

Even with a few months there is no chance to finish everything I’d hope to. Last thing I want to do is disappoint the youth of our charity. These children are the reason I do what I do. No child should have to go through the struggles Tamara, and I faced as children. This is our chance to take charge in a world needing change. To be heard.

“It was the only date the coordinator said was open, every other weekend are weddings. Mr. Morgan loved your work and wanted to contribute his immaculate building, plus he has made a few calls to his public relations team. I also have his head coordinator at my beck and call as we need him,” she’s more than a little excited to tell me the strategic details and planning that she has worked on these past few days, “Will is great! You have support here. Everything is managed. Even Mr. McCall has been busy contacting his mates.”

I’m freaking out, my mind is racing at all the possibilities I wanted to

create before we moved on to doing something this tremendous. “Are we ready for something like this?”

“Hey, calm down.” Her tone mimicking her words, “I would like you back here in London to help me plan, but I know with your dad, it is not a possibility. We will have to do more video calls, so please keep your things charged, I know how forgetful you are at doing so.” She shakes her finger at me in a motherly way then continues with a smile, “Anyway, I set up a small interview for you, to promote the gala, and I’ve asked Emma to stop over and create your outfit.” Tamara bites the pen cap off and starts chewing on it. She knows how much I loathe any type of media; they usually misconstrue your words and somehow make you out to be a bad guy. Keep replies simple and kill them with kindness, I guess.

And always smile.

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