Page 4 of Nobody's Girl

“Wow.”

“Wow is right. Talk about a USP.” Desiree tucked her hand under his arm. “If only I had artists worthy of showing in this room.” She sighed dramatically and Ivo laughed. “Come see what I have got, Ivo, mon chère, I need your opinion.”

Desiree studied Ivo as he looked through the portfolios of work. He looked older than when she’d last seen him, perhaps even older than his thirty-seven years. His almost-black curls had streaks of silver in and there were violet shadows under his eyes. Even so, he was still gloriously handsome, almost beautiful, his large green eyes standing out against his swarthy, tanned skin. His body was solid, honed by a strict regime of swimming. Desiree knew Ivo hated to work out in a gym, and she had often joined him on his one of his swims. He was at his most relaxed then and Desiree loved to try and match him stroke for stroke but could never manage it.

“Which pool are we meeting at tomorrow?” She asked with a grin and he laughed.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m branching out? I’m going to try La Piscine Josephine Baker this evening.” Ivo grinned at her. “I know, I know. What can I say? Swimming relaxes me.”

Desiree shook her head. “How are you related to Walter and Adria? The King and Queen of the Lotus Eaters?”

“Exactly what they said to me before I came out.” He put the portfolios back on the desk. “Look, Desi, I have to be honest. What I’m seeing is fine work but nothing that makes me salivate. Where are the junior Rothkos or Hoppers or O’Keefes? Something with atmosphere, with a sense of story? Of the artist? These are technically flawless – and as soulless as a painting could be.”

Desiree nodded. “I know. And Ivo, a sweeter bunch of kids you couldn’t find, too, but maybe that’s the problem. Most of these kids have come from middle class families, have never known hardship. They try, but…we need someone who is…”

“Damaged?”

Desiree grimaced. “When you put it like that, it sounds bad. What I mean is someone with fire in their belly, with rage, and hurt, and pain inside of them.” She sighed. “I don’t think we’re going to find that looking in the colleges, which is depressing, because otherwise, why do we have colleges?”

Ivo nodded. “Point taken. Well, look, while I’m here, I’ll scour the city. Montmartre is the good, if obvious, place to start, but I have a feeling I’ll be more likely to find someone the more off the beaten track I go. I’m prepared to do a lot of walking.”

“And swimming.”

“And swimming.” They both laughed. “Maybe I’ll find a mermaid who channels Grant Wood. Listen, you have given me an idea, though.”

“What?”

Ivo smiled, shaking his head. “Let me knock it around in my head for a few days, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Tease. Well, okay, listen…come to my apartment tonight for an early dinner. I assume you’ll be doing your swimming late night as normal?”

“Always. Thank, Desi, I’ll see you later.”

Ivo walked out of the gallery and turned towards the river. He would spend the next few hours doing what he always did when he came here, to his favorite city. He would take a river trip, then head to Shakespeare and Company, his beloved bookstore to browse. Dinner with Desi and then a late swim…that was his heaven. His mind went back to the portfolios Desi had shown him. It bugged him that it was so hard to find new talent, but it had been a problem back in America too. His friend, Grady Mallory, had bemoaned the fact to him only last month.

“Nothing makes my senses soar at the moment, Ivo,” Grady had said. “It’s all so…blah.”

No. I’m going to find an incredible artist and Desi and I will work hard to shape him or her into the next big thing, I swear we will. Energized by his talk with Desi, he strode down the riverside to where the bateaux mouche awaited.

Sofia woke, cold and stiff under the market stall. There was a face staring at her, a kid, just the right height to peek in on her. A rustle and the cover was pulled up and Stefan’s face appeared. “Pardon, Sofia, time to get up.”

Stefan was sympathetic and let her sleep under the stall during the day while the covers were on. Sofia found the constant presence of customers and noise made her feel safer than when she slept somewhere at night – besides, at night it was easier to steal food. She would scoot along the length of the outside cafes, whipping leftover food from plates. She figured she wouldn’t go to hell for stealing paid-for-yet-abandoned food. Last night, at one of her usual haunts, she had been stopped by a waiter, a regal man in his fifties, who said nothing but handed her a parcel wrapped in aluminum foil, and nodded. “Whenever I can,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, in a small voice and he waved her away.

“Keep warm, child.”

She could have cried. It had been one of the few acts of kindness she had been shown since she came here, along with Stefan. Another was the swimming pool attendant. She had been sketching down in the Tuileries one afternoon and a young teenager came to see what she was doing. The girl looked at the sketches with wide eyes. “You are so talented,” she said in broken English. She reminded Sofia of herself – black hair, brown eyes, punky look. She offered her the sketch and the girl, Leonie, took it, smiling shyly.

“I work at the swimming barge,” she said, pointing along the river. Sofia had seen it – La Piscine Josephine Baker, an open-air lido. “I work in the evenings, just me and a security guard until 11pm. Come, use the facilities, swim, shower, clean your clothes. I wish I could give you more but I cannot.”

Since then, Sofia had gone along at night, swum when the pool was almost empty in her t-shirt and underwear, then cleaned her clothes and herself in the showers. Just the feeling of being clean made her feel as if she could conquer anything.