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I am a bit panicked by the new situation. Margot is smiling at me. I feel like saying, ‘I don’t like the new Olivia. Bring back the old one.’ But it’s not my place to say. Olivia has gone and that is her decision. Perhaps there was a family emergency or maybe she has been head-hunted by another gallery. Should I get in touch and offer her more money… holidays… healthcare… retirement? I wrack my brains for ideas to win her back.
Margot writes Olivia’s email for me, and I leave the gallery.
I’m a little nervous as I walk with Luisa to the café Dolce Vita. It’s easy to find. There’s a sign out on the sidewalk with the café name hand-painted in curly, decorative script.
“Ah, Papa. This is just like home,” Luisa says as we find a table in the window to wait.
Soon Olivia appears. Luisa waves to her through the glass and I stand to greet her when she comes in. I say that we have only just arrived and ask Olivia what she would like to drink. I know what Luisa would like, so I make the order at the counter, then return to find Olivia chatting with Luisa as if they are long-lost friends.
“You look so grown up, Luisa!” Olivia says, smiling brightly.
“Because I am, Olivia. Did Papa tell you? I scored highest in my year for math, science, and technology, and I’m on the robotics team. Oh, and I won the chess tournament and that was for the whole school, not just my year.”
“That’s wonderful!” Olivia’s eyes are wide and sparkling. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I like your hair BTW.”
“Thank you. I…” Olivia’s voice trails off as she reaches up to touch her long fringe as if it’s a surprise to her that it is pink.
“So, Papa says you’re not working for him anymore,” Luisa says causing me to jump. The drinks arrive. Chamomile tea for Olivia, hot chocolate for Luisa, and a short black for me. “Did he make you leave?”
“No, Luisa! He didn’t make me leave,” Olivia says, laughing, darting her attention my way which relaxes me. I smile back. “No. I had a personal reason for leaving.”
“What reason? Why did you leave?” Luisa probes.
“Luisa. Sometimes people don’t want to…” I try to rein in my headstrong child’s inquisitive nature. “Sometimes people just do what they do. And maybe it is polite to sit quietly and listen and not to ask so many questions. Olivia. I apologize for my daughter being so nosey.” Luisa drinks her hot chocolate looking a little bashful but impish.
“It’s fine,” says Olivia. Then she sits back in her chair and follows with, “And perhaps I can say why I left my job.”
“Really?” Luisa and I both say at once.
“Yes. I left my job because I am making art now. Not selling the art of other people.”
“Wow. That is so cool, isn’t it Papa,” Luisa exclaims with enthusiasm.
I must look dumbstruck. This is not the reason I was expecting. But then I notice Oliva’s hands. They are clean to a point, but I can see residue of color: paint, pastels, and charcoal, embedded in the skin and nails. They are artist’s hands. They are hands that make art. They are hands that create.
I notice something else about Olivia. On the surface, apart from her hair, Olivia doesn’t appear that different from how she was in Florence only a few weeks before, but there are subtle changes. She holds herself differently. Her shoulders don’t hunch. She looks at me directly. She challenges. There’s a strength in her demeanor. She is no longer mousey and timid. Confidence radiates from her. There’s a light in her eyes.
Luisa says, “Can I see it? Can we come to your house to see your paintings, Olivia?” She turns to me. “That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, Papa?” I nod patiently.
“I’m sure Olivia will show us when she is ready and when the work is ready. Being an artist is a brave way to live. You must show your heart in what you do and that is risky when you put it on display for the world to see.” Olivia holds my gaze and I look into the sparkling blue eyes of the girl I kissed on the bridge. My heart leaps causing a tremor in my hand. I put down my coffee cup, unnerved by the sudden awareness.
“So, if you are an artist, why did you work at the gallery?” I love Luisa’s direct inquiring mind. The question doesn’t faze Libby at all.
She considers her answer then says, “That is a very good question. I think I was always going to be an artist, but I got lost along the way.” She smiles at my daughter. “It’s a gamble. I have some savings so I can survive in the short term, but a lot depends on what other people think of my work. It would be wonderful to sell something and know that someone has one of my pictures in their home. And it would be wonderful to get enough money so I can live and keep making art. That’s my dream. It might work out or I could come back to the gallery and ask for my old job back if it doesn’t.” Libby is laughing. “I have to give it a shot.”
“I wish you every success.” I offer a nod of respect. “But if things don’t go according to plan, I will be more than happy to have you back at the gallery.”
Chapter 27
Olivia
SeeingGianniwaswonderful.Surreal but wonderful. I was so anxious about meeting up with him. But now I am no longer his employee it’s easier to relax and be myself. I had forgotten how we used to be when we were younger. There was more than a flicker of him at twenty-one with the eighteen-year-old version of me. I felt awkward and shy, but it didn’t take long before I forgot he used to be my grumpy boss. And Luisa was so funny, asking all the questions grownups wouldn’t dare ask. She even likes my hair and told me I am pretty, for an old person, that is.
Gianni and Luisa wanted to see my work but, no. I couldn’t let that happen. Gianni was sure to see what the pictures all mean. It would be too revealing. Too raw. I’m not sure I would ever feel comfortable about Gianni seeing my artwork. It’s too close and personal. It would be as if he walked into the bathroom and caught me in the shower. Eeek.
In my messy lounge, I work on a large oil painting: a dream-like landscape of terracotta rooftops in soft ochres and earthy tones; a couple walks hand in hand. My phone rings. I wipe my hand on a damp rag that reeks of white spirit, to check who is calling. It’s Mrs Peabody. I pick up. She wants to know how I’m doing. I fill her in. She’s as excited as I had hoped she would be.
