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“That little twerp out there is stealing you blind.”
The woman didn’t seem the least perturbed by Jecca’s accusation or the man pounding on the door. “I know,” she said. “As soon as I find someone else, I’ll fire him, but I don’t have time now.” She stood up and picked up her multi-thousand-dollar handbag.
Jecca felt like a fool for sticking her nose into it. “Anybody would be better than he is,” she muttered.
The woman looked at her. “Could you manage the gallery?”
Jecca didn’t think the woman was serious. “Easily,” she said.
“Then the job is yours.” She nodded to the door, and Jecca stepped back.
The little man burst in, his round face shiny pink with anger. “This . . . this two-bit nothing knocked me down before I could stop her. Andrea, I’m so sorry. I’ll call the police immediately.”
“You do, and I’ll show them the account books. Finch, you’re fired. Go home.” She turned to Jecca. “The job is yours. Now will both of you get out of my way?” She walked past them and left the gallery.
There were a few angry verbal exchanges, but finally, the little man slammed his keys on the desk and left. Suddenly Jecca realized that she had a new job and an entire gallery to look after—and she had no idea how to go about it. But then she’d practically grown up inside the family hardware store, and selling was selling.
When two customers came in, she was able to describe the paintings on the wall so well that she sold two of them. However, she couldn’t sell her own. “Very sweet,” one man said. “My grandmother would have liked them,” was the kindest thing she heard.
She stayed late that night, hoping Andrea would come back and tell her things, like salary and whether or not she got commissions, but she didn’t show up.
Fearing that it was all a joke, Jecca kept her waitressing job at night and opened the gallery at 10 A.M. On the third day, she had her head on the desk, half asleep, when Mr. Boswell came in. He was one of Andrea’s father’s lawyers, and as he said, he had the unfortunate position of being in charge of Andrea’s affairs. “I look over whatever she does with her father’s money, but I have no real control over her.”
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Jecca and Mr. Boswell hit if off well. She showed him what she’d done in the last three days, the sales figures, how she’d rearranged the furniture as well as the paintings, and she’d made sketches of how she thought the gallery should look. Mr. Boswell said, “I do believe that through no fault of her own, when Andrea hired you, she at last did something right.”
Together, she and Mr. Boswell drew up a contract that spelled out everything about her job, from salary to how many of Jecca’s own paintings she could exhibit.
But in spite of being hung in a gallery that got a lot of foot traffic as well as Andrea’s very rich friends, over the years, Jecca had sold only eight paintings. Not being able to support herself from her work was the only bad thing in her life.
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p; Kim saw the look in her friend’s eyes and said, “I think it’s margarita time.”
“Great idea,” Jecca said and they went down the stairs.
Three
Jecca stretched out on the chaise lounge and looked across the little pond to the rose garden. It truly was a beautiful place and she was glad Kim had found it for her. She was a bit nervous about the other two women who were living there, as she still hadn’t met them, but so far, everything was perfect.
Kim had left an hour ago, as she needed to check on her shop and go somewhere with her little sister. She’d told Jecca there was food in the refrigerator and to help herself. Tomorrow they’d go into town.
“And see your new studio,” Jecca had added. Kim had recently bought a house and Jecca hadn’t seen it yet.
“It’s really just a converted garage,” Kim began. “It’s just—”
Jecca’s look cut her off. She was not allowed to disparage her achievements just because Jecca’s life had not gone the way she’d planned.
Kim smiled. “I would truly love to show you my workshop and the recent changes I made in my store. And I want to hear any ideas you have about display or future work.”
“I don’t think I—” This time it was Jecca who broke off. “Point taken. I’m still an artist even if I don’t sell.”
“I would say that it’s what’s inside you, but you’d laugh at me.”
“Yes I would,” Jecca agreed. “You better go or you’ll be late.”
Kim stood up, the two empty margarita glasses in her hand. “I thought Mrs. Wingate would be back from work by now.” She glanced at the light in the window upstairs. “With only Lucy here, you might as well be alone.”
