The Lonely Artist Read online

  “She does sound like my type. Give me the heads up if she gives you your walking papers.”

  “That’s not funny,” I said, brushing past her now that I was fully dressed.

  “Katrina, wait,” she said with a remorseful tone.

  “I’m out of time.”

  “You know I was joking,” she called after me.

  I let the slamming door be my response. I did know she was joking, but if I let her worry for the rest of the day that she’d pissed me off she might let the subject drop. The truth was, I couldn’t discuss my relationship with Corrine because I didn’t understand it myself. I had no clue where I stood with her, if our night together was a one-time thing to be forgotten, or if there would be more. There was a very real possibility that I’d be shown the door as soon as I arrived to work that morning. I had no idea where things with Corrine and I were going, or if we were going anywhere, period.

  I made it into my new office at quarter till ten. The golden Greek vase was sitting on my desk, shimmering in the rays of the overhead lights. Jacob Greyson had left in such a hurry he hadn’t bothered to pack all his things before taking his last walk of shame down the hallway. Some of his notes and records I would need and some could be discarded. At some point, I’d have to dedicate an afternoon to reorganizing the work space, but right then, I thought it best to begin authenticating that vase, thereby making some attempt to prove to Corrine I was worth my salt. Besides, what was the point of organizing before I made sure I wasn't going to take my own walk of shame?

  I’d just sat down at my desk and booted up my computer when Corrine strode through the door, shutting and locking it behind her. If she were any other boss that would not have been a good sign, but there was no guessing what she was up to.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, why would you ask that?”

  “You locked the door.”

  “I thought we could use some privacy.”

  “You don’t want to fire me in public, is that it?”

  “Fire you? I’m hardly going to do that. How are things coming along with the vase?”

  “Oh, I’m just getting started on it.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Well, you’ll hopefully have a productive day. I have another rather large project for you soon. It’s going to take up all of your time.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m considering holding a private auction. If I go through with it, something like that would entail a huge amount of input from you. I couldn’t possibly pull it off by myself.”

  “Sounds interesting and challenging, as well.”

  “Yes, and before that there’s one other little thing, not so much as a work project, but a favor.”

  “What do you need?”

  “You paint portraits, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to do mine.”

  “I thought you said you hated having your portrait done.”

  “I changed my mind. Will you do it? I’ll pay five thousand for it. Does that sound fair?”

  “More than fair, but truthfully, I’m rarely paid for my art. It’s something I do because I enjoy it. I might not be good enough to command that sort of payment,” I confessed. I was good. I knew that the way a musician knows they can play, but I wasn't some renowned artist, the likes one would expect a woman of Corrine's means and status to use.

  “Let me decide. You could come to my place Saturday and get started if your free.”

  “Wow, okay, I’ll be there, though I could refer you to a more experience artist if you like.”

  “No, I want you,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss my suggestion. “After we’re finished working on the portrait we can talk about the auction, toss around some ideas. It could turn into an all-nighter, if you’re up for it,” she said with a suggestive smile.

  “Uh, no problem. Is that all?”

  “Why would I lock the door just to ask you to paint my portrait? Unless, you want that to be all.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at?”

  She sat in the chair facing me and crossed her legs. “I’m saying I think we should talk about last night. I don’t want things to be awkward between us. I don’t want our working relationship to suffer.”

  “Um, I was thinking the same thing. Do you regret what happened?” I asked, afraid of her reply.

  “No, not in the least, but I’m your boss. I don’t want you to regret it, or to worry that it in anyway jeopardizes your job here. Whether or not it happens again, I mean whether we do or don’t pursue a further relationship, your job isn’t on the line. So, I guess I should ask you, do you regret our night together?”

  I didn’t have to search down deep inside to come up with an answer, not if I were going to be honest, anyway. For however stupid it was for me to become romantically involved with my boss, I couldn’t deny I'd more than enjoyed our time spent together and was foolishly hoping for more. Reminding myself that I had regretted it just that very morning wasn't enough to wipe the smile of my face. “No, I’m fine.”

  “That’s good to hear.” She stood and placed the palm of her hands on my desk, leaning towards me.

  Oh, no, here we go again, I thought before rising from my chair and placing a kiss on her full lips. In a flash she came around the desk and we were in each other’s arms, with my back against the wall. It was as if all the passion of the previous night had never been released. It was still there, pent up, screaming to be let out. I raised one of my legs raising and draped it over her waist as she slowly started to move hers so that we meshed together, clinging to one another, grinding into each other and creating a beautiful friction that once again brought us to the cliff of ecstasy. I don't know how long we stood there, one body thrusting against the other, our heavy breathing filling the air, biting our lips and pursing them closed so the outside world wouldn't hear our moans of raw hedonistic pleasure.

  “Oh, fuck,” I hissed, at once frustrated with my own lack of willpower and eager to give in to the strong current of sensations she sent roaring through me. I’d never known anyone who could reduce me to such a hot wet mess so quickly. I came hard as I shook helplessly in her hands.

  When we’d both had our release, she took a step back and rearranged her skirt, giving me an impish smile. “You should get to work on that vase. I really need to give Ryan an answer soon.”

  “Yes, I’ll work through lunch if I have to,” I said, avoiding eye contact. It was silly, I knew. I was or should have been far past the point of any need to be modest with her.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. You’ll need your fuel. I intend to keep you very busy.”

  I was tempted to ask if she was threatening me or making a promise. After she left my office I brewed a pot of coffee and went to the ladies’ room to freshen up, peering into the mirror and imploring my reflection for the million-dollar question, “What the hell are you doing?”

  The woman in the glass looked as confused as I was, so without an answer I returned to my office, determined to focus all my energy on authenticating the vase that sat on my desk. Luckily, some of the work had already been done for me. In front of me sat a report from the materials dating lab the gallery used. I scanned over it. According to the analysis, the vase was definitely from the 600 B.C. period. What I needed to do was to concentrate on provenance research and trace the ownership as far back as I could. It wouldn’t take long if I kept my butt in the chair and with any luck I could sign off on the piece by the end of the next day. It was a fairly simple process. Where my previous supervisor, Greyson, had gone wrong was to attempt to skim money off the top by using a different analysis lab oversees, one who charged him much less than the trusted company the gallery normally used. He’d fixed the books to make it look like he’d paid the going rate and kept the difference for himself. Where he’d run into trouble was that the company he’d used had a reputation of authenticating anything for the right price, so he’d paid three million for a
fake, and even a very good one. The art world was full of treasures that brought out the greed in many good men, and it was even more so when the men were already corrupt. After having been so thoroughly scammed, I fully expected Corrine to double check my work before she signed any big checks. For what it was worth, I’d always gotten a bad vibe off Greyson. He hadn’t seemed to have any real passion for the work he did. At least Corrine could be rest assured I shared her love of the arts and I supposed it eased her mind that the seller of this vase was her own godfather. In this case, authenticating was a formality, but it was also my chance to show her I was worth my salt before less reliable sellers came along.

  Taking her advice, I knocked off for lunch hour around noon, though I didn’t have much of an appetite. I headed down to the café I usually ate at and ordered a tuna fish sandwich and a strawberry smoothie. I was about halfway through the sandwich when Shelia called.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Much better than I’d feared, I guess.”

  “See, I told you. I’m calling to apologize about this morning. You aren’t really mad at me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not mad. Corrine and I are good. She hired me to do her portrait, if you can believe it. She’s paying five thousand.”

  “What’s not to believe. That’s what rich women do. They have their portraits done. I always thought it was a bit narcissistic myself, but when you have money to burn…”

  “Corrine isn’t a narcissist.”

  “Well, look at you, getting all defensive over your new friend.”

  “Are you trying to pick another fight?”

  “No, just being me. I’d have figured in all the time we’ve known each other you’d be used to my sense of humor.”

  “I am, but let’s say taking shots at Corrine, or my relationship with her is off limits for the sake of our friendship. Okay?”

  “Okay, it’s understood, but seriously, I’m thrilled the job is working out for you.”

  “Thank you, but don’t expect to see me around much for a while. I’ve been warned that I’ll be putting in long hours.”

  “That shouldn’t daunt you. You’ve always been a bit of a workaholic,” she said.

  “It’s not work if you love it.”

  “That’s true. You should do great.”

  “I hope you’re right, Shelia. Can I talk to you more about it later? I have to finish my lunch and get back to the office.”

  “No problem. I mainly wanted to make sure you weren’t mad at me.”

  “I’m not. I swear. I’ll see you when I get home.”

  No, I wasn’t mad. How could I be after what happened with Corrine earlier that morning? It was obvious she was completely irresistible to me and I hadn’t decided if that was a good or a bad thing. All I knew was that I couldn’t wait to get even so much as another glance at her in the hallway. That alone would have me dreaming of the next time we were together. And the one and only thing I could say I was certain of was that there would be a next time.

  Chapter Nine

  Corrine

  I was thrilled that Katrina had agreed to paint my portrait. A portrait, a good one, wasn’t something that could be completed in one sitting. It would require several sessions, which meant at least for the time being I had the perfect excuse to see her. When I thought it over, I wasn’t sure why I believed I needed an excuse. Katrina hadn’t given me the slightest indication that she didn’t want to be with me every bit as much as I wanted to be with her, and she obviously wasn’t the type to play head games, but I nevertheless appreciated having a reason to summon her to my home outside of regular business hours. I supposed some of it had to do with me being plain old lonely. The house was too big for only me and having spent so much time in Europe the past couple of years, I’d drifted away from most of my acquaintances. I enjoyed looking forward to Katrina’s company.

  That Saturday afternoon, I dismissed the staff early and set about making lunch for two, baked fish with brown rice and a blend of stir fried vegetables, the only meal I made well. I’d just set the table on the patio when the doorbell rang.

  “Katrina, right on time. I have lunch ready and I had the sitting room set up as a studio with all the supplies you said you’d need to do the portrait. Follow me. You can leave your bag on the sofa. No one will bother it. We have the house to ourselves. I sent the servants home early.”

  I showed her out to the patio and followed right behind her carrying our two plates. We sat at table overlooking the pool. The surrounding tropical garden included planted palm trees and pink azaleas. It was a manmade paradise, enclosed behind a brick wall, but I rarely spent time in it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a dip in the pool, probably it had been before my father had died. He’d loved it sitting in the garden and it always felt wrong to be out there too long without him. It was just another reason to sell the place. I couldn’t even allow myself to enjoy the amenities of my own house, but I couldn’t bring myself to part with my childhood home, either. I’d had substantial offers from buyers. I’d considered them all, yet I’d never been able to let the place go.

  It was much less lonely with Katrina here, though. She’d certainly brightened up the place with her presence during our evening together. I was at least momentarily content to simply appreciate her company for a while.

  “This is delicious,” she said, after diving into the fish.

  “It’s my specialty dish, my only dish, as a matter of fact. I never bothered to become a serious cook.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I eat a lot of takeout. Other than that, I can make a grilled cheese sandwich and open a can of tomato soup. That’s about as far as my culinary skills will take me. Lucky for me, my roommate is a master chef.”

  “Your mother didn’t teach you?”

  “She didn't have a lot of time to play homemaker. My father left us when I was a kid. She worked as a bank teller to support me. Most of the life lessons she gave me were lectures about graduating college.”

  “Sounds rough.”

  “It wasn’t that bad. She made decent money at the bank. I never knew real poverty. I was lucky compared to some. And look at me now. I’m working for one of the most respected art dealers in the business.:”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would. What happened with Mr. Greyson was a bump in the road. You’ll make a comeback. The private auction is an intriguing idea. Tell me more about that.”

  “We’ll have to find the goods before we begin planning an event like that.”

  “You have your own gallery here. Are you sure you don’t already have enough pieces?”

  “Most of them are part of my father’s collection. They aren’t mine to sell. I mean, technically they belong to me now, but they aren’t for sale.”

  “Then we should get started hunting right away.”

  “I have Ryan on it.”

  “You seem to place a lot of trust in him,” she noted.

  “He’s an old friend,” I explained. “He was very pleased when I called him yesterday afternoon and told him you finally signed off on that vase. I made him quite an offer. In turn, he’s going to find me some gems in Greece, hopefully enough to hold the auction.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d let me have a look at your private gallery?” she asked.

  “Of course, I would. I’ll walk you through after we finish lunch.”

  “I must confess, I’ve always wanted to see it. It’s the best kept secret in town.”

  “My father used to invite guests from all over the world for private showings. Now all the artifacts he cared so much for sit and collect dust. I guess I really have let his life work go to hell.” I could hear the guilt I felt loud and clear in my own voice, and from the look of pity she gave me, I knew she’d heard it, too.

  “You have to stop being so hard on yourself, Corrine. Just say you were on sabbatical and let it go.”

  “I was drinking rum on a beach in Italy.”

&
nbsp; “Well, you’re back on track now. That’s all that matters.”

  “Ready to see the gallery?”

  She nodded with an enthusiastic smile. I took her inside and led her down into the basement to a door with a combination lock.

  “The room itself is one big giant vault,” I explained.

  “I wouldn’t have expected any less.”

  “Yes, this collection, accumulated over my father’s lifetime, is valued at over seven hundred and fifty million dollars. I literally live on top of a gold mine.”

  “It must be nerve wrecking.”

  “The armed guards keep my nerves in check,” I shrugged, pushing open the door and flicking on the fluorescent lights overhead.

  I hadn’t come down to visit the gallery since the day my father’s will had been read. I’d forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful it was. To another rich man, such irreplaceable treasures might be seen as assets, mere investments, but to my father, they’d been the second love of his life, my mother having been the first. He’d spent most of his days traveling, on a quest to acquire the world’s most magnificent gems, precious metals, and artifacts. He’d spent my entire sixteenth year away in Saudi Arabia while I’d attended boarding school in Europe. Some had called him greedy, possessed by King Midas himself, but he wasn’t. He’d simply had a passion. I think what most people never understood about Jacob McDowan was that for him, it was the hunt, not the riches that had driven him.

  We stepped into the gallery and I watched Katrina’s face light up with awe as we walked through aisles of glass cases holding artifacts, paintings, and gems. Her eyes fell on one in particular.

  “Wow, it’s true. You have one of the original Faberge eggs.”

  “The jury is still out. It’s been confirmed that there were fifty eggs fashioned for the Russian Tsar. This one is rumored to have been number fifty-one, which was never delivered to the Tsar because he was overthrown. Whether or not it was meant for him, it’s still quite a find, but the mystery surrounding it ups the value.”