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“What? No, I mean, I can’t, Giancarlo. It’s too soon. And I can’t meet with her, then. I have to be here for my father.”
“Oh, no need to worry about that, darling. I’ve arranged everything. That was my other surprise. A nurse will be there to stay with your father for the day so that you can attend the meeting without worrying about him.”
His words stunned her to silence. “Giancarlo,” she finally managed. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but it’s unnecessary. I can make my own arrangements.”
“I wanted to make it easier for you. You have so many other things to manage. Let me do this for you.”
She shook her head, more for herself, to clear her mind, but the intent was there for him, too. “No,” she said sharply. “No,” she said again, this time softening her tone. “There’s no need, really. I can have Tom or Ethan stay with him.”
“Ethan? Who’s Ethan?”
“What?” She caught herself. “Oh, Ethan. He’s a friend of my father’s. He’s been visiting him regularly.”
“Ah, I see. How nice.”
Giancarlo continued on, explaining the specifics of the exhibition, but the words washed over her. All she could think was that the pressure to produce the works on time had become reality. She bit her lip and noticed the bare finger on her left hand. The ring was now safely tucked up in the top drawer of her dresser. She still hadn’t put it on. It just seemed out of place here and, she told herself, liable to get easily caught or damaged in the mundane tasks she did every day now. Max, as if sensing her distress, licked her hand.
“You will tell her this, my darling?” Giancarlo was saying.
She caught herself. “Yes, yes of course.”
“And you have the Versace suit with you, right? That has an edgy tone. Wear that.”
The Versace. Which was that? The dark blue with the gold thread? “Uh, no. I don’t have that one with me. I have the Chanel.” She thought of the suit she’d worn. It was creased, she was certain, the journey from Italy ensuring that. She hadn’t bothered to get it dry cleaned.
“The Chanel. Yes, good. Wear that, then. It’s not quite as artistic looking, but it will speak your worth.”
Speak her worth. Would it though? Was her worth in that suit, and would it explain the nature of her artwork?
“Yes, fine. I’ll wear that.”
“Did you get the package I sent?” Giancarlo asked.
“What? Oh, yes. That’s why I phoned. Thank you for sending it.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad it’s arrived. Now, my darling, you have no reason to worry. You can work there on your art. You have everything you need, and if you need anything more, let me know. I will ensure you get it.”
She heard his words and knew they were well meant, but they made her tired. She knew she would be appreciative that all her supplies were here at some point, but now it felt like too much. Now, all she could think was she needed a quiet place, a quiet moment with no pressure and nothing to think about.
Fourteen
The lighting even in this small office was carefully calibrated for its ambience, the air subtly scented with an expensive diffuser. Original modern abstract and representational paintings hung on the walls in an eclectic mix that pointed clearly to the owner’s knowledge and expert eye. Kate had absorbed all these details of the gallery on her first visit, but now it felt as if she could study them. And so far, she liked what she saw.
Kate pointed to the images arrayed in a grid on her laptop and turned to Cassidy, the gallery owner. “These are some of the photos for my new project, but you get the idea for the theme and approach. It will be similar to the other exhibition in Rome, only the words of the poem fragments will be from the Yeats poem, ‘Wandering Aengus,’ weaving through the branches, like leaves. It will be the words wandering,” she added, smiling.
Cassidy nodded, her dark eyes alive with excitement. Her hair was wrapped in a brightly printed scarf with braids woven through them, setting off her dark skin. It was a bold look that only reinforced Kate’s impression of this confident woman.
Cassidy clicked on the first image and enlarged it. “Wow.”
“I’m thinking I’d use that image with the opening phrase of the poem,” Kate said. “I might also do ‘The Two Trees,’ as well. There’s an image further on that would suit that. A few of them, really.”
Cassidy clicked through the other images slowly, while Kate commented and described how she would approach the artwork she’d create from them. Cassidy nodded, asked a few questions, but gave Kate very little idea about her thoughts on the concept as a whole, now that she was explaining the details. Kate had only broached the subject of this other project after Cassidy had seen every slide from the pieces of the other exhibition in Giancarlo’s gallery and some test images she had for his ideas for the one in New York. Cassidy had nodded and seemed to approve, but then she’d asked Kate what other works she might have underway in case the gallery decided to go in a slightly different direction. It was only after Cassidy’s question that Kate had mentioned her idea about the use of Yeats’s poems and the dynamic she would create from them. And now, the more Kate talked about it, the more she found she was excited to create it. To bring the image of the finished piece in her head into being.
After Kate finished describing the images, Cassidy went through them again, studying each picture carefully while she murmured to herself. Kate looked up and took in again the very chic office space with the large glass divider that separated it from the rest of the gallery. Through the glass she could see the current exhibition, an array of large canvases filled with dynamic impasto swirls of magenta and purple suggesting mountains, deserts and seas. The stark minimalist white walls with discreet lighting and bare walnut wood floor set it off perfectly. The works were eye catching and stunning, and for a moment Kate wished she could manage something so beautiful.
When Cassidy finished viewing the images, she looked up at Kate and beamed a smile at her. “I love it. I think we should go with this idea, instead.”
Kate startled. “You mean instead of the Italian concept?”
