AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This one has absolutely no waistline and goes on without a problem. Yes, I wore it a couple of weeks ago, but hopefully that will just seem like normal rotation. It doesn’t smell weird or anything.
Since I am the first one at the gallery, I take a few minutes to walk around. It’s so nice and peaceful here. Since it’s still early in the week, there shouldn’t be too much to do, just catching up on paperwork. Shipping as usual. Packing and communicating with some of our more high-maintenance artists.
I should be able to design a cooperative show, I realize as I stare at a painting by a artist from Nashville. Maureen Schindler has been getting a lot of attention. She tends to work in shades of blue and green, swirling abstracts that mimic natural shapes. I know for a fact that these colors are extremely popular in Florida right now. If we did a two-gallery show, that could generate some interesting buzz in the trade magazines, bring Dusty some attention.
I know that artists get prickly about the idea of color trends, but they exist. There’s nothing wrong with bringing beauty into a room, I think. And if a person happens to think that lavender is the beauty of the moment they want to live with, who am I to judge? Everything doesn’t have to be a giant, dark spectacle of medieval torture, does it? Sometimes what you really want to live with is a slice of clear sky.
Continuing my solo walk, I read through the cards we place on the wall, small autobiographical notes for the individual artists. The card for Schindler catches my eye, and I take a closer look.
This is strange… Actually, I’m fairly certain this is wrong. This is Julie Mack’s biography. It even mentions her hometown of Davenport, Iowa.
Oh no, Didi, I plead silently. What did you do? This opening was just last week.
“You’re here early,” comes a voice.
I spin around, reflexively trying to hide the card with my body. Martha strides toward me, resplendent in a red and pink polka dot shirt dress.
“I guess the subway gods were looking down on me,” I smile. “I caught the express.”
“Always the humble one,” Martha smirks.
We smile uncomfortably at each other for a few moments before Martha’s features turn stony again.
“I need you to call Dusty,” she informs me with a dismissive shrug. “I got an interesting message from Holly… Please take care of it.”
“Take care of it?” I repeat. “What is there to take care of?”
“Counting on you, thanks!” Martha sings out as she pivots and strides back toward her office. “Oh, and send Didi to me when she comes in, would you? We were supposed to meet yesterday and she was a no-show.”
Martha disappears, closing her office door behind her. I guess our manager-employee development time is over.
Confused, I dial Dusty’s personal cell number. She picks up after four rings, almost letting it go to voicemail.
“Don’t be mad!” she squeaks.
I let my hand open in the air and then drop it against my thigh.
“Dusty? What are you talking about?”
“Well what would you do if you were me?” she answers, clearly panicked.
“What are you talking about?” I repeat.
“If you’re going to yell at me, I’m going to hang up,” Dusty informs me.
Obviously, I am approaching this all wrong. Dusty is my responsibility, so I need to find a way to communicate with her. I try another angle.
“Okay, calm down,” I begin again. “Just take a breath, Dusty. I don’t know what’s going on, okay? Start at the beginning and explain it to me like I’m stupid.”
“I quit,” Dusty says quickly.
My breath catches my throat.
“You quit? How on earth… Did something happen?”
“No! Well, yeah… Remember the gallery opening?”
“Of course I do,” I answer, keeping my voice as even as possible. I do not want to scare her off by letting her hear how annoyed I am.
