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“Melinda painted these, right?” I have to verify.
He nods. “How did you know that? Her full name, I mean?”
“Months ago, I came across her Instagram page. I probably spent a few hours looking at and analyzing the paintings there. I even bookmarked the page to reach out to her, but when I went back a few days later, the page was gone.”
His eyes light up in surprise. “I created that page for her. It was only up for a few weeks. It got some good attention, but after a few art galleries reached out and wanted to meet Mel, she made me delete it,” he explains.
“I’ve been searching for her work ever since then,” I confess. “Her work is haunting in a way that you can’t take your eyes off of it.” As I say this, my gaze falls back to the painting of the young woman in the light.
I’m so tempted to buy it for myself. In fact, I’m surprised that no one has purchased it yet. When I say as much to the guy behind the table, he tells me that he’s just arrived. Unlike many of the other artists, he hadn’t posted images of the paintings on the fair’s website beforehand.
“Lucky me,” I say. “I want to feature your sister’s work in my new art gallery.” I get right to the point. “What’s your name by the way?”
There’s more hesitance on his part, but he finally tells us, “Ben Blake.”
“Melinda’s brother,” I comment, taking in this new information.
He nods.
I glance over at Diego, who’s watched the entire exchange mostly in silence. The pensive expression on his face tells me that though he’s been quiet he’s taking everything in.
“I’m opening a new art gallery in Williamsport.” At the mention of my home city, Ben’s eyes expand. “I would love to feature Melinda’s work in my gallery. The opening is only a few weeks away.”
I pause before making my next request.
“I know you said Melinda doesn’t like meeting people or public events,” before I can finish my request, Ben is shaking his head, yet I persist, “but I’d really love to at least meet her. Are you from around here?”
“No, she can’t,” he blurts out.
“Is she ill?” At this point, I know I’m being rude to press like this, but I feel it in my gut that this is too right to let slip through my fingers. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not that I want to violate her privacy. As the owner, I need to verify each piece that I want to feature in my gallery. I like to meet the artists or at least make an effort to do so before I can approve of their work.
“Maybe I can at least talk to her. Could you give her a call?” I prod.
He looks uneasy, his eyes moving between me, Diego, and the paintings on the table. Yet, he doesn’t want to turn me down. I can feel it. The fact that he set up an Instagram account to feature his sister’s work, and came to this fair, shows how much he believes in her work.
“Just a phone call,” I reiterate.
With a nod, he pulls out his cell phone. I watch as he dials his sister’s number.
“Mel?” he says after a beat. “Um, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.” He thrusts the phone my way.
“Hello? Melinda Blake?”
There’s a long pause on the other end.
But I hear her breathing.
“Yes?” Her voice is so low I barely hear it.
“My name is Monique Richmond. I’m an art curator and owner of a brand-new art gallery opening up in Williamsport. I love your paintings and would love the opportunity to discuss the possibility of featuring your work.”
I can almost hear the ‘no’ before it comes out. Instead of letting her finish, I push on.
“Before you turn me down, please know that I can be persistent. I’ve seen your work. You have an amazing brother who obviously believes in your talent.” I pause to look over at Ben.
He’s grinning but dips his head in shyness.
“It’s because of the Instagram page he created that I discovered you. I was mesmerized by your talent. I’ve spent months trying to find your work after the page was deleted. I remembered one of the captions mentioning that you would have a table at this year’s fair.”
