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Minutes later, Brea and Oriana burst from her apartment, hurried for the elevator, and dropped to the ground floor. As they walked into the vibrant sunlight of the late-September afternoon, Oriana breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m free! For now.” She laughed and wrapped her arm around Brea’s shoulder, tucking her close. “Brea, I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am right now.”
Brea thrummed with anticipation. Oh, how she needed Oriana to tell her something good! Something that would elevate her life! Something that meant she and Kenny could stop eating packages of ramen for dinner!
“I’m out on my own,” Oriana announced, “and I’m bringing you on as my apprentice, if you accept. That means you’ll get the same salary I’ve had the past year, plus all the perks. At the end of this year, I imagine you’ll have a similar portfolio as me, plus your clients. And maybe, just maybe, that means we’ll be able to head back to Martha’s Vineyard and get the heck out of this dirty city.”
Brea stopped short on the sidewalk, too overwhelmed to walk. Oriana spun around, surprised, then laughed at Brea’s expression, which probably echoed shock and awe.
“You’re kidding.” Brea looked at her expectantly.
“Why would I kid about something like that?” Oriana said. “I told you, Brea. It’s me and you till the end. Right?”
Brea rose and threw her arms around Oriana, thinking about the wonder of the next few months. About how she and Kenny would be able to find another apartment, eat better food, and maybe get some sleep. Maybe, even before they returned to Martha’s Vineyard, they could get pregnant. Oh, she was filled with a longing she could hardly name.
“But tonight, your apprenticeship begins,” Oriana said. “If you accept it?”
“What? Of course! Of course.” Brea laughed at herself. “I mean, come on. This is exactly what I want!”
“Great. We’re off to see a painting!” Oriana pointed forward, then added, “One that I want to sell for four million dollars.”
It was difficult for Brea to imagine anything on a canvas costing four million dollars, especially because her apartment— a place that housed her and kept her alive — cost much less than that.
“What makes it so special?” Brea asked.
“You just have to see it for yourself,” Oriana said. “I think you’ll understand the magic.”
The four-million-dollar painting was held in a locked studio space in Greenwich Village, not far from Oriana’s apartment. Oriana used three different keys in four different locks to open the door, then led Brea into an white-walled studio that was empty, save for a single painting that hung on the far wall.
The painting was very modern— slashes of green and blue that seemed to create a sort-of face, although Brea wasn’t sure. In college, she’d studied art on her quest to be either an artist or an art dealer, whatever happened first, but she’d never been able to wrap her mind around most modern art. Certainly, the painting before her seemed important in some way, but that was probably because it was the only painting hanging in the entire gallery space, protected by four locks.
It all seemed like a weird game with rules she didn’t understand. But that’s what made it exciting, she supposed.
“What do you think?” Oriana asked, side-eyeing her.
“It’s really something,” Brea lied, stepping away from Oriana to take the painting in from another angle.
“Isn’t it? I met the artist at Larry's party last weekend, and he floored me when he explained the concept.”
Brea raised her eyebrows, stopping herself from asking what the “concept” was.Was it “splashes of color that sort of become a face”? Or was it something else? If Brea didn’t “get” this painting, did that mean she wouldn’t be a good art dealer?
“Anyway, someone’s coming by in about ten minutes to see it,” Oriana said.
“Oh! Wow. Should I still be here? Or should I leave?”
“You’re my apprentice now. I want you here to see how it all goes down.” Oriana lowered her voice to add, “And, to tell you the truth, I’m a bit nervous.”
Brea found this difficult to believe. Although she’d known Oriana since age four, she’d hardly ever seen her sweat. She’d always seemed so sure of herself, confident and able to demand what she wanted from the world. By contrast, Brea had always been quieter, less sure of herself and her voice. Still, Brea had always been the better artist— something Oriana had always said proudly. “Brea is a magnificent painter. Maybe one day, I’ll get to deal her art instead.”
But the fact of the matter was, Brea needed cash now. And this was a window into the art world, one she needed.
Not long afterward, a doorbell rang, and Oriana went to fetch the first potential buyer, a woman in her fifties who had a fit when Oriana said she couldn’t smoke cigarettes in the gallery space.
“Who do you think you are?” the woman demanded of Oriana as Oriana apologized and said they weren’t her rules.
“And besides,” Oriana said kindly, “we want to take care of the art above all things.”
With a sigh, the woman threw her cigarette down the stairwell, then entered the gallery, evoking a sense of sophistication and meanness, clear signs of serious wealth. When she saw the painting for the first time, she cupped her chin and tilted her head, looking at it with eagle eyes.
