by Riona Kelly
"You are right," he replied. "I have no excuse. But I apologize for getting her back late."
"So long as nothing bad happened, it's forgivable. Just don't do it again. But you had a good time, Michelle. What did you do?"
"Dinner and a Flamenco show," she answered. The rest of the evening's activities were not to be reported. "What about you?"
"Same thing, only I started later, discussed business, and returned here earlier than you did."
"It was a long dance show," Roberto said in explanation.
"And in a different area of Seville," Michelle added. "We went to a more local area than where tourists go. The restaurant was wonderful, and we ate outdoors. Then the dancers were just amazing. They're so powerful and energetic. I even tried dancing with them, but I couldn't keep up on the simplest steps."
Lindy's eyebrow shot up as she shot a glance at Roberto. "Please tell me you took video."
His head drooped a little. "Sorry, no, I didn't think to do it."
"I am so disappointed in you." Lindy’s mouth turned down.
Michelle giggled. "I wouldn't have let him keep it anyway, Auntie. I was that bad."
"Well, how am I supposed to get some embarrassing material on you for blackmail purposes, young lady?"
"So, are you doing the gallery deal with Marchant?" she asked, deflecting the conversation back to her aunt.
"I'm still thinking about it. It sounds fair, and I think my paintings would do well in his gallery, but I need to give it more thought and run it past my lawyer."
"Maybe I could get a few of my paintings in with him one day if I ever get some national recognition," Roberto commented. "I should have Arturo talk to him."
"Arturo?" Michelle gawked at him. "Arturo barely gets you any commissions except for those that fall in his lap. I think you need to get a better agent. Don’t you think so, Aunt Lindy?"
"What she said," Lindy replied.
"But he is my friend, and he does a lot of the legwork for me."
"It isn't about that," Lindy said. "You need someone with contacts, and that is where an agent is valuable. They know who and where to show your work and can help you to get the best price for it."
"Do you use an agent?"
"I have three agents. One for my book covers, one for gallery paintings, and one to book conventions and art shows for me. They all specialize."
For a moment, Roberto gazed at Lindy as if she were a goddess. "Can you help me find a good agent?"
Michelle studied her aunt's face as she thought about her answer. His question put her on the spot.
Finally, she replied, "I might be able to. After this trip is over, I can talk to a couple of people. You need to be able to show some of your work in a gallery. Do you have photos of all your commissioned paintings as well as the more unique ones?"
"I do," he said.
"Send them to me. I'll see what I can do."
After breakfast, Roberto slid his chair back and stood. "Thank you. I will send them when I get home. I need to get back to the coast, so I'll leave now. Are you around here longer?"
"The rest of the day," Lindy answered. "Then, we're heading for Portugal."
Michelle's head whipped around as she gaped at her aunt. Portugal? Where did that suddenly come from? She thought they were going to go shopping then on to another town a little further northwest.
But she stood when Roberto did and walked with him to the elevator to go to the ground floor. He took her hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb, sending little tingles up her arm. She got into the lift with him. As the door closed, he punched the button for the lobby, then he pulled her toward him and wrapped her in an embrace before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
When the elevator opened on the ground floor, they still held each other and exchanged one last kiss. At last, Roberto let go, and said, "I will contact you soon, mi carita."
Then he stepped away, striding across the suddenly too small lobby. Michelle lingered, watching his receding back before she pressed the button for the top floor again.
“Portugal? Today?” Michelle sputtered as soon as she returned to their breakfast table. “I thought we were staying here another day or two.”
“To do what?” her aunt asked and refilled her coffee cup from the pot on the table.
“There are a couple of museums you mentioned. Wasn’t there a park near the plaza you said we could explore before we left?” She flopped down in the chair across from her aunt and picked up a piece of melon from the platter on the table. “Has something happened that you want to leave so soon?”
Lindy’s face got her contemplative look. “Well, I think Alain is trying to get a little too close for comfort, and I’d just like to avoid him.”
“What do you mean too close?”
Her aunt’s lips shifted to a scowl. “He tried to seduce me during the Flamenco show we went to last night. At the back of the theater, no less, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“So, you’ll just run away? Like a shy teenager?” Michelle teased.
Lindy stuck her tongue out at her. “You’re right. I did just want to get out of town rather than talk to him again. But we can stay one more day. The Museum of Arts and Traditions is quite interesting. We can see it this morning, as well as the park near the Plaza de España this afternoon. And there is the Museum of Fine Arts if you really want to see it.”
“Yeah, I think I would. I’m beginning to appreciate the finer aspects of the classical paintings more and more. Maybe they have something more by that Pablo guy.”
Lindy’s eyes widened as her brows lifted. “De Sintra? That Pablo guy?”
“Yeah. I mean, if one painting is similar to Roberto’s style, might there be more?” Michelle wished she could tell her about her excursion with Roberto to look at the painting at Alain’s, but she couldn’t admit to her aunt they had pulled that kind of deception and had nothing to show for it.
A slow smile grew on Lindy’s face. “I like the way you think, Niece. There might be something, but I think he may be too contemporary for the museum here.”
She finished her coffee and led the way to the elevator. “I need to change shoes into something more suitable for walking.”
An hour later, they stood outside the Museum of Fine Arts, and Michelle gaped at the entryway with awe. The magnificent, two-story-high entry boasted four decorated half-pillars against the marbled walls, and the arch over the entry was capped with two cherubs, one on each side. Above was an alcove with the Virgin Mary and two disciples kneeling in prayer, so she assumed. A wrought iron entry filled the top of the arch with a solid bar bottom reading Museo de Bellas Artes.
“It looks like a church entry,” she said as Lindy stepped beside her.
“Funny you should say that, but it was originally a convent. The building goes back to the sixteenth century when it was used by the Order of the Merced Calzada de la Asunción. Now, it houses the artworks of some of the finest Spanish artists from the Middle Ages to the last century. I don’t think they’ve expanded to include any of the more recent ones, but we can check the list of artists displayed when we go in.”
As it turned out, her aunt was correct; no artists past the mid-twentieth century were displayed inside. But the paintings were magnificent, and Lindy explained a lot about paints, and the lighting in them gave her a whole new appreciation for them. When she wasn’t enchanted by the paintings, she was mesmerized by the ornate and elegant gallery ceilings.
At one point, her aunt’s phone made a subdued buzzing sound, and Lindy excused herself, leaving Michelle alone to gaze in awe at a fifteen-foot-high, or so it seemed, painting depicting a medieval-looking scene. Such amazing treasures to have lasted so many years after they’d been painted; the artists now long dead, and yet, their work still so alive hundreds of years later.
For several minutes, it altered her perspective on life, and what was achieved in the short time a person might have. She wanted to be an actress, a
nd if she made it to film, then her work might survive a century or two, but would it last as long as these paintings? Would Roberto’s work achieve this kind of recognition? Or even her aunt’s? Lindy’s work covered books and was in many libraries, while her original paintings were in less limited distribution. But if Marchant wanted to display and sell them, would it elevate their value?
At that moment, she felt insignificant in the grand scheme of things. To be remembered, she needed to achieve something memorable.
When Lindy returned, they continued to go through two more galleries before they decided to take a lunch break. Lindy said a tapas bar near the main entrance had many recommendations when she’d checked on her phone, so they headed that direction. They crossed the plaza to Calle Monsalvo and went up a block or two to the small, but clean and welcoming bar.
They ordered a tapas sampler and sangria light, which only had a little alcohol in it rather than the stronger version. As they waited for their lunch, Michelle asked about the phone call.
“It was Alain. I thought I would ignore it. But I’ve ignored his last six calls, and I figured he would just keep calling. I told him I was not pleased with what happened last night. He apologized and said he had drunk too much, but isn’t that the usual excuse when a man oversteps his boundaries?”
Michelle shrugged. Maybe.
“Anyway, I told him I was seeing someone and did not appreciate his advances. Then he asked about the gallery deal, and I told him I would be in touch, which I will when I decide.” She took a big swallow of the drink as if to wash away a bad taste in her mouth.
The waiter, a young man about Roberto’s age with a cheerful smile and striking good looks, brought the tapas platter filled with an assortment of meats, fried pies, shrimp, and slices of spicy tortilla, plus marinated olives and cheesy artichoke hearts, all of which looked and smelled delightful. They gorged on the food, eating more than was wise when they had a busy afternoon planned. As Michelle finished off the last meatball, Lindy leaned back in her chair and sipped her sangria. If her aunt were a cat, Michelle thought she would be purring at this moment.
“A siesta would be good about now,” Lindy said, closing her eyes and tipping her head farther back.
“It does sound good, but the garden waits for us, and the sun does not. We have lots to see yet.”
Reluctantly, her aunt opened her eyes and sat forward. The waiter brought the bill, and Lindy tipped him well. Then they went to the larger street to hail a taxi.
Almost a continuation of the Plaza, the gardens were a sprawling creation on the former palace grounds of San Telmo, an area donated to the city by the Duchess of Montpensier, and featured exotic-looking flowering bushes, ponds, fountains, and statues. Michelle took photo after photo as they walked along the pathways. She posed a few times for Lindy to use her better camera for the shots.
At the Lion Fountain, Michelle sat next to one of the lion statues so she could get close and lay her head against it for a photo. The detailing on it was exquisite. When she stood next to it, the statue wasn’t quite as tall as she was, but close.
“I think these are life-sized statues,” she told her aunt. “They look as if the artist had magically encased the lions in stone.”
Lindy nodded. “I agree. They are quite lovely, aren’t they?” She snapped a close up photo.
“Why did they choose lions?”
“Well, I imagine it’s because the lion symbolizes power and authority. That’s why it’s a royal beast and on many banners and flags.” Lindy paused to think about it a little more.
“Do you ever think about your legacy?” Michelle asked.
“What?” Her aunt looked puzzled by the question.
“What you’ll leave behind when you die. What will people remember about you? Will your art be around for centuries? Those kinds of things.” She still thought about the old paintings and the existential thoughts that had filled her there.
Lindy’s pensive face showed she had caught the gist of Michelle’s question. “Now and then, I do. I probably was about your age when I first addressed the same questions. What will I leave behind to tell anyone I ever existed? I have been an artist ever since I can remember, Michelle. I started drawing when I was five or so. I mean really drawing, not just scribbling with crayons and a pencil, but creating art at that age. There was never a question in my mind that I would do it for a living. By the time I was a teenager, the assumption was a reality. I’d already started selling my artwork and got my first few book cover commissions by the time I was fifteen.”
Michelle’s eyes grew wider as Lindy talked, and she realized how long her aunt had worked at her craft. How long she had known what she would do.
“One day, when I was about twenty and going to school in Paris, I stood in the Louvre and marveled at all the great art of various kinds around me. Art from the masters, some of whom were acknowledged as greats in their lifetimes, and others who lived in poverty, fighting for the money for their materials to produce what their souls drove them to do and didn’t gain the recognition until after their death. And yet, centuries later, they were revered as some of the greats to have lived and created.
“It was humbling, and I almost cried as I thought, what do I have to offer that can possibly be worthy of this? And my answer was nothing. I had nothing that could even compare. But then I looked at the works of Andy Worhol and thought, I don’t need to compete with them. I am who I am, and if I am talented and produce something that touches someone’s heart, then I am successful in this life. And maybe some of those works will be passed on to others, and time will not forget me.”
“I know it won’t, Aunt Lindy. I think art is enduring, don’t you?” Michelle said, tearing up as she spoke. Her aunt had shared her same fears and found solace in what she did. Michelle realized she must forge her legacy also.
With a gentle smile, Lindy took her hands and squeezed them in reassurance. “Michelle, we don’t build our lives with the concern of what will remain after we’re gone. We do what we love as much as we can, and we find peace and fulfillment in the goal. If we are good enough or make the right human connections, then we are remembered.”
“Thank you, Aunt Lindy.” Michelle hugged her, her emotions riding at the top of her heart, and so grateful for the understanding of her ambitions and her passion.
Her aunt hugged her back and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “You may not be from my body, but you are my child. You have the soul of an artist and the compassion of a saint. You will do well in your choices, my dear girl.”
Michelle felt the tears spill from her eyes then, running down her cheeks and dampening her aunt’s blouse. She loved her so much and had needed this understanding so desperately. Her parents were so practical and didn’t understand the passion driving her. They tolerated her desire to be an actress, a stage performer, but they didn’t really understand it.
When she tilted her head up to meet her aunt’s eyes, she saw the tears glistening in them also, and they smiled at each other. Lindy squeezed her a little closer, then they turned and walked, hugging each other at the waist, toward the next section of the park where the statue of the park’s benefactor sat in a floral setting.
Michelle’s heart overflowed with love for her aunt, and for this wonderful summer trip, which she now felt was a key point in her life. While she has resented not being able to go with her friends at first, she now felt grateful for all the magic, love, and compassion of this time with her aunt. And for meeting Roberto. Somehow she knew he would be her lifelong friend.
They ate their evening dinner in a garden restaurant near the Alcazar, sitting at an outside table and looking up at the lights from the building, it suggested another time in this magical place.
“It’s all so beautiful,” Michelle said. “The buildings, the art, the whole city is magnificent. Castles in Spain... It’s like a fairy tale.”
Lindy’s eyes twinkled as she spoke. “We will have to see Avila and Segovia before
we leave Spain. So far, my dear niece, you have only seen southern Spain, the Moorish-influenced cities. Towards the north, you will see the European ones, and one of the most romantic-looking castles in the country. But Avila is a fully-walled city, so medieval it remains a perfect example of the era.”
Michelle sipped her drink and asked, “Why is Spain so different from other countries? What makes it seem so magical?”
“Part of it is because the country retains a lot of its past. Where other countries in Europe were bombed and partially destroyed during World War II, Spain was untouched. It was a neutral country, so none of the battles happened here, leaving the castles and towns safe. The other part is the people. They are happy, party people who enjoy life. Not that the people of other countries don’t, but the Spanish, they believe in it whole-heartedly. Listen around you.”
She paused, and they listened as the lively Spanish music from a strolling band drifted to their ears. The music had a beautiful tempo and called to them to come dance and come party.
“It’s a ronda,” Lindy said. “An inviting tempo calling to you to come out and be part of the world around you. This is what makes Spain special.”
Impulsively, Michelle raised her glass to a salute and said, “Viva, Spain. May I visit her often and always remember these wonderful days and nights. Thank you, Aunt Lindy, for opening my eyes.”
Lindy clicked the glass as tears glistened on her cheeks.
What adventure awaited them next in Portugal? Why had her aunt decided to divert their trip there? She had her suspicions, but so far, Lindy hadn’t given her an explanation.
Chapter 18
While the weather had been stunningly beautiful in Spain, the opposite greeted them as they neared Lisbon and the Portuguese coast. The windshield wiper clicked at a foxtrot tempo as it worked to keep the rain from becoming a solid river on the glass. Lindy slowed down even more as they began to encounter more traffic, and the reasonably short drive to the city grew into more of an ordeal.
They approached from the south, coming in on the IP5, and ahead, barely visible through the rainy haze, rose the tall towers of the Ponte 25de Abril or the Bridge of April the 25th. As Michelle squinted at the twin, tall towers, she commented, “Those look awfully familiar, kind of like ...”