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He was quiet as we started to eat, and I figured he was trying to wrap his head around what I’d said. “So, let’s play a game. If you sold five paintings and they were, say, twenty grand a piece. That would be one hundred thousand. Douglas would get, say, six percent,” I computed that in my head. “So six thousand for hosting you. We would get our customary ten percent, so that’s ten grand. You would put in half the cost of the opening, so, say, another six, and that would leave you with about seventy-eight thousand.”
He was staring at me, not moving a muscle, and I wondered if I had just given him a heart attack. “This is all hypothetical, but I could see that happening. The last one of these I did, the artist sold almost three hundred thousand, and his pieces were all under twenty grand each.”
He swallowed the mouthful of food and gaped. “Seriously?”
I nodded, smiling sweetly at him. “So if we say you do one hundred in sales, and you walk away with seventy-eight thousand, what are you going to do with it?”
I knew what was going to come out of his mouth. He was going to say, move to a larger place with a better studio. As remarkable as that would be for him, it would remove him from being near me. Once his contract was up with us, I wouldn’t have a reason to see him.
He studied me for a moment and took another bite of his food, chewing it slowly before he answered me. “Donate it, or most of it.”
My brows popped up. That was the last thing I expected to hear come out of his mouth, “Donate it?”
He nodded. “I know, you think I’m stupid for doing that, but that’s what I want.”
“Well, it is your money, Alex, so you may do anything that you want with it.”
“And I will donate it, or at least most of it after taxes are paid. I just want enough to live on for a few months, and the rest will go.”
I was floored by what he suggested because I didn’t understand. How could someone make that kind of money and give it all away? It wasn’t like he was already wealthy, or was he?”
“Wait, are you like independently wealthy already and don’t need the money?”
He chuckled. “No, I am far from wealthy. I don’t need much, and I’d prefer to give it to someone else that needs it more.”
“Okay. Where are you going to donate it? I could help you find a good foundation or organization if you need assistance.”
“No, I already know.”
“Where?”
He cocked his head to the side. “How about after lunch, I show you?”
“Alright.” Geez, what was up with the secrecy? Was he going to donate to open space? Cleaning trash? Getting drugs off the street?
We finished lunch, and while we chatted, Alex was a lot quieter than he had been when we first arrived. Had our talk about the price of his work intimidated him? Made him wonder what else his friend had lied to him about? I didn’t know, but I knew that his mind was elsewhere.
I snapped up the bill when it arrived at our table, and Alex glared at me, “Hey, I asked you to lunch.”
“Yes, and this was a business lunch, so I’m picking up the tab since I work for you.”
He chuckled. “Then isn’t it like I am paying for it anyway?”
I laughed as I put my business credit card into the book. “Yeah, I guess so.”
After we left, Alex and I walked back to my office building, but instead of going in, we went straight to the parking lot behind it. Alex drove for about fifteen minutes and then pulled over to the side of the road. We were in a lower-income residential area, where the houses were decently maintained but small and cramped. “See that house?” He pointed to a small white house with black shutters with a small porch on the front.
“Yes, who lives there?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“Bear with me.” He put his vehicle in drive and pulled away from the curb. We drove another few minutes, and he again pulled over and pointed out a house. “See that one?”
“Yes, do you know who lives there?”
“Nope, not now.” He stared at the house for a long time and then drove away. We were on the road for another ten minutes before he stopped in front of one more place.
