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He tossed his phone on the counter, content for now. It’s not like he could do much more even if he wanted to.
31
POOR DECISIONS
Saturday night Laine was sitting at the bar in the restaurant having a glass of wine and contemplating her life.
Friday’s showing here in Chicago went well and she got to talk to a lot of people. She always found she was a people person and enjoyed this part of her career.
Tonight had been more of the same. Her agent would let her know what sold if anything. It wasn’t about sales to her. Not always.
Maybe she was spoiled that way. That she had all this money to fall back on.
She loved what she did and if she never did a gallery showing again, she realized she’d be fine with that.
Could be she was getting older and the traveling wasn’t what it once was.
Years ago, she’d been on the road for almost the whole three weeks living life and trying new things.
Now she wanted to get there, get back and spend time in her studio teaching kids or adults, talking to Carson or just looking out on the water.
“Can I get you another?” the bartender asked. She was still in her dress from earlier. An emerald green fitted dress that hugged her body and hit her at the knees. Might as well look the part of a wealthy successful classy artist. It’d make her father proud.
Early on in her career she just went with how she felt. Long dresses and skirts of multiple colors. Sometimes a solid color. It was her mood that dictated her clothing choices. Which she did daily.
But for this, she wanted to step it up more. It seemed to have been working for her for the last several years.
“A club soda with lime,” she said. She wasn’t one to drink much when she was on her own. Her father had instilled that in her head often.
Not that she hadn’t gotten drunk more than a few times, but if she was, it was in her room and not in a bar where she might make poor decisions.
She was picking at the crackers and artichoke dip she’d gotten while she looked around the bar. People watching was fun.
Her drink was put down next to her and she picked it up for a sip.
“I’m so sorry to bother you.”
She turned her head and saw a woman standing there with her husband looking flush. “Yes?”
“We were just at your showing. We flew in for it. The painting I wanted was sold.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t make replicas.”
“We know,” the woman said. “But I was wondering if it’s possible to commission a piece. A personal one. I tried to get to your agent, but he was busy.”
And most likely avoiding many. Francis was like that. He’d act like he was in demand to make himself more than he was.She hated it, but he made her a lot of money over the years so she couldn’t complain all that much.
“I’m sorry about that. I can be commissioned for pieces, depending on what it is you’re looking for.”
The woman pulled her phone out and was scrolling through. “This right here. It’s a picture of my grandmother as a child in a cranberry bog.”
She took the phone out of the woman’s hand and zoomed in on the picture and immediately knew she had to do it.
“This is wonderful,” she said. “Can I ask why you want it of this?”
“When I was a child my grandmother told me stories of her growing up by one and playing. She shouldn’t have been in it, but I guess it just sounded so exciting and rebellious at the same time. My grandmother and I were close and she’s been gone for over fifteen years. Just seeing you sitting here seemed like fate to ask.”
“I’d love to do it,” she said. “Can I get your information? I can reach out to you again and we can talk some more in terms of timelines and pricing. I do have other pieces I need to complete prior.”
