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More days than not, I daydream about what life would be like if I'd had the funds to take over the lease, instead of being stuck with Pompous McHandsy and his trophy Barbie girlfriend. He'd hired Cherith on sight a week after re-opening, and I'm pretty sure they were banging in the back room within an hour. Cherith, whom he refers to as his "sweet cherry" is thin and tan and always perfectly made up, wearing designer clothes and polished to perfection. She definitely fit the aesthetic he wanted to present, and he also hired her best friend, Becky, to strut around and shamelessly flirt with the guests.I don’t think he’s fucking her, too, but you never know.
I can never decide if Cherith hates me or just enjoys having someone to put down constantly. It took me a little while to grow a thicker skin around her. The cow joke still bothers me more than I let on, but after so long, I'm pretty used to it. Sometimes I think that the issue has more to do with her own self esteem than her disgust with my presence. Shortly before her cruelty started, she'd caught Mr. Vandreth being inappropriate with me after he’d had too many cocktails during a show. With his crossed, drunken eyes on my chest, he’d made sure to let everyone within hearing distance know that I was absolutely not his type.Obviously. It was just a joke.
Not that I was returning his "joking" behavior in any capacity. But somehow that put me on Cherith’s shit list.
Honestly, the only thing keeping me here is the art and the memory of the love Mr. Greggs had for this gallery.
My back is turned to the front door when Cherith gasps, staring wide eyed at the gallery entrance.
"Holy hotness, who is that?"
"Oh. My. God," her best friend responds.
Cherith licks her lips and checks to see that Mr. Vandreth isn’t within hearing distance. "The things I would let him do to me," she groans. Becky laughs and agrees, her eyes widening appreciatively.
“No freaking way… Becky,that’snot Callaghan Flynn, is it?”
“Oh my God,” Becky repeats stupidly. “He must be. Everyone’s coming to shake his hand.”
Taking the bait, I turn my head casually towards the door and nearly choke. The model from Ezra's class is shaking hands with a few of the art dealers we have in attendance.What is he doing here?I turn away quickly, my cheeks heating.
Cherith throws back her hair and laughs loudly, clearly trying to draw attention to herself, while I scramble to think of where I can disappear to. Unfortunately, Becky notices how I’m blushing and points it out to her evil best friend.
"Oh, that’s cute. As if she’d have a chance with a man like that," she says to Becky, just loud enough that I can hear in caseMr. Vandreth catches her. They continue to laugh as Cherith smooths her skin-tight, blush pink dress and checks her reflection in her phone camera while they continue to make lewd remarks about his looks and money.
If only they knew what I’d seen earlier today.
Mr. Vandreth comes up behind them and I wish he'd caught his girlfriend's comments or seen her ogling our client.I’d have paid good money for him to overhear Cherith’s comments about “trading up”.
"What are you girls giggling about over here?" he says condescendingly, as if placating a bunch of silly schoolchildren.
"Oh, just talkingBessiedown before she embarrasses herself in front of a globally recognized, prize-winning photographer. She was eyeing him like some kind of snack. It was almost sad." She turns down her lips in a pretty frown and bats her doe eyes.
You know, she'd be so much prettier if she wasn't such an outright bitch. I allow these people to belittle me, pretending it doesn’t bother me the way they boss me around and take credit for my hard work. I don’t like confrontation, and I don’t want to leave the gallery. This place means something to me, and I’ll be damned if I make it easy to let people like them push me out of what used to be my happy place. There's nowhere else in our small city that attracts the caliber of artists that the reputation of The Gregg Gallery does.
Mr. Greggs worked hard to cultivate a good reputation and attract some truly amazing artists, including a few who were relatively unknown. He had a good eye for good art and good people, and many of those artists became benefactors as theyrose to fame and success. My teacher, Ezra Beckett, is one of them.
I've worked hard to keep the reputation and quality up to Mr. Greggs standards in the five years since his passing, despite the new ownership. I still love getting to be so close to the art, meeting the great minds that make it happen, and putting together parties to celebrate an artist or a type of art. The gallery may have shifted to attracting a younger and hipper crowd and the atmosphere has changed, but I’m just too proud to walk away.
"Oh my god, Ezra Beckett is here too? He is soooo freaking yummy." Becky says.
My heart skips a beat.Ezra's here?
I turn around again, my eyes tracking to where Ezra is, finding him standing beside the model, deep in conversation with a few art collectors. My breath catches at the sight of him. He’s so gorgeous it hurts.
My eyes flit over our guest of honor’s features. I’d been too embarrassed to make eye contact today in class, otherwise I would have noticed. The model from today really is Callaghan Flynn.
Oh my stars, I've seen Callaghan Flynn's dick. I've seen it.It looked at me.
As if he can feel my terrified gaze burning into memories of his crotch, he looks up and notices me staring. His face all but lights up, a truly breathtaking smile breaking across his face. It's like the sun came out from behind some clouds, and I can't tear my eyes away from his. Until I notice that he's lowered his chin to talk to Ezra, and now they're both looking in mydirection.
Oh shit.Look away, Beth! Fuck. Maybe they didn't notice me.
They definitely noticed me. Standing in the spotlight of their gazes is like swimming the ether of a sordid fantasy that turns into a nightmare. The realistic kind where you’re standing in front of a crowd of your peers in your most unflattering underwear. I turn around and internally panic, my whole body burning with embarrassment.
Mr. Vandreth’s voice booms too loudly as he walks around the desk to greet Mr. Flynn and one of his biggest benefactors. I take the opportunity to try to escape, quickly skittering over to some guests and asking them if they need anything.
Cherith, observant as she is vain, notices my obvious discomfort and tries to capitalize on it. Pushing herself in front of Mr. Vandreth to introduce herself, she asks if either of the men would like anything to drink. The way she lists the available beverages is overly flirtatious, as if she is offering herself as an option as well.
