by Ashlyn Chase
“I was nervous before. Now, I’m terrified.”
She patted Mallory’s hand. “You’ll be fine. Do you want to know how I know that? Because you care. I’m amazed at the number of artists who have cavalier attitudes toward their openings or, worse yet, see them as inconveniences or distractions they’d rather not bother with. This makes no sense. They spend weeks, months, or years creating the art but not ten minutes reflecting on how they’ll present themselves at its public debut. They show up, stand around, smile, chitchat, schmooze with friends, sip wine, shake hands, endure the imposition, go home, and forget about it. You can do better than that.”
“But how? That’s all I was planning to do. Smile and chitchat.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of that. Plus I’ll introduce you to some influential people. It’s tempting to hang back in the shadows or fall back on your friends and people you know. But it’s important to push yourself out of your comfort zone.”
“Oh no. I’m not good at that.”
“Relax. You’ve already accomplished your two most important jobs for the night.”
“Really? Like what?”
“You got the artwork done and delivered on time. That’s number one. And second, you’re here, you’re presentable, and you’re prepared to stay the entire time.” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait… You are prepared to stay the entire time, aren’t you?”
Shit. Her deer in the headlights look must have given her away. “Of course! I wouldn’t leave unless…well, unless there’s an emergency.” Like a monkey crashing the show.
“If for any reason you need to leave, even for a bathroom break and a cigarette, find me first and let me know how long you’ll be. That way, if someone wants to speak to the artist, I can tell them when you’ll be back. Giving a vague answer is inconsiderate of their time. And remember, anyone can show up at any time with any agenda. Your duty is to be available or accounted for the entire time. Remember, this is a commitment. And it only lasts hours, not days or weeks.”
“It sounds like you’re thinking I could be discovered and become the next Peter Max or somebody famous.”
She shrugged. “Things like that can happen. That’s why you must make yourself available to the people you don’t know. You can see your friends anytime. And if some old gasbag wants to monopolize you, be discreet, but excuse yourself and mingle.”
She giggled. “How do I do that?”
“Just say something like, ‘Oh, I must say hello to a friend I haven’t seen in a while.’ You may have seen her yesterday, but saying ‘a while’ is truthful enough to sound convincing.”
Mallory nodded but still felt like she had no business being here. Suddenly, another horrible thought occurred to her. What if she was talking to someone she didn’t know and then was discovered talking to herself! It hadn’t happened lately, but what if it did? Oh God. She wanted to drop her head in her hands and cry.
“Basically,” Helen continued, “keep the traffic moving, keep conversations basic and answers short. That way, you maximize introductory opportunities as well as the potential to add to your fan base. Always speak in everyday language anyone can understand, especially when you’re talking to someone you’ve never talked to before. Don’t try to sound highbrow.”
Mallory laughed. “There’s little chance of that. I’m your garden-variety average American girl who happens to have a bachelor’s degree in fine art.”
Helen smiled. “You’re perfect. Very relatable. People will love you, and that’s exactly what we want. Oftentimes, people buy art because they like the artist, not because they’re wild about the art. Resist the urge to tell people more than they want to hear, and avoid answering questions with insider art jargon that only MFAs can understand. The best idea is to answer all questions in thirty seconds or less. The longer your answers, the fewer people you’ll have time to talk to. If someone wants to hear your life story, tell them you’ll be happy to get into it later, after the opening, and hand them your card.”
“My…card?”
“Oh dear. You don’t have any with you?”
“Uh, no. I didn’t know I needed any.”
Helen reached into her drawer and extracted some business cards. “Here. You can give any interested parties one of mine, and I’ll get in touch with you.”
Mallory took the cards and tucked them in her dress pocket. “Thank you.” She’d thought the pockets were a great idea in case she needed something to do with her hands. Now, it seemed like stuffing her hands in her pockets and standing around would be a mistake. Jeez, this whole thing seemed like a mistake.
“Oh, I almost forgot…” Helen said. “Most importantly, avoid the tendency to be argumentative or to correct anyone who misinterprets your art or sees it differently than you do. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, especially around art.”
“Got it.”
“Any questions?”
“I feel like I have a million, but I don’t know what they are.”
Helen laughed. She patted Mallory’s hand as she rose from her desk. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t drink too much. Stay sober for the show, and party your brains out later.”
It was Mallory’s turn to laugh. It was bad enough picturing her monkey running around, but a drunken monkey? Not. Happening.
“Well, I need to go check on some things,” Helen said. “If you’d like to relax with your young man for a while, you’re welcome to stay here in my office. Or go for a stroll. It’s a nice evening. Just be back at least five minutes early. Not one minute after that.”
“I guess I’d better stay right here. I don’t want to blow it by being late.”
“No,” Helen said seriously. “You don’t.” She left the office without a backward glance.
Mallory was terrified. Her first, and possibly last, gallery show was about to begin. At least no ghosts had shown up since they’d seen Kurt. Maybe the wizard was able to break one of her two curses. She just hoped her crazy little monkey didn’t make an appearance.
She had been practicing the self-hypnosis techniques she had learned from the hypnotherapist. She just needed to remember to use them when she started to panic. Before she started to panic, if possible. Once the panic took hold and the shaking started… Pop goes the monkey.
Mallory glanced at the clock on the wall. Oh God. Half an hour. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Picturing herself in the woods, walking beside a stream, she listened to the babbling brook. She did as the hypnotist had suggested and immersed herself in the pleasant setting completely. Smelling the fresh pine-scented air, she felt the sun on her shoulders and the top of her head, then she let the warmth flow through her whole body. After that, she lost track of time and her immediate surroundings. Time was irrelevant. Gallery shows were…not irrelevant, but not the end of the world either.
“Am I interrupting?” Dante’s whisper brought her back.
She let her eyes flutter open and took one last deep breath, letting any remaining stress slip away on exhalation. Dante was sitting next to her. When had he moved?
“No, it’s fine. What time is it?”
“It’s almost time for the show to start. I just wondered if you’d like me to get you a glass of wine.”
She chuckled. “For courage?”
Dante rose, stood behind her, leaned over, and massaged her shoulders. “I don’t think you need courage. I just thought it might help to relax you.”
“I’m actually pretty relaxed already. That self-hypnosis thing actually works.”
“Yeah, I’ve used the relaxation technique he taught us at the station when I have trouble going to sleep sometimes. I’m glad you gave it a try—but I was afraid you were falling asleep just now.”
“Ha! Not much chance of that happening.” Mallory rose and turned to face him. She draped her arms around his neck. “How about a kiss for luck?”
“You got it.”
He leaned down until their lips met. His kiss was always perfect. Soft but firm. She felt safe, secure, and loved in his arms. When they finally broke apart, she smiled. “I’m ready now.”
“Glad to hear it. Go get ’em.” Dante led the way but didn’t hold her hand or make her feel like she needed to lean on him—or anyone.
Since she had been seeing him, she’d changed and hoped the changes would continue. Her self-confidence had grown. She felt less vulnerable and less defensive. She had heard that love brought out the best in people and figured that must have something to do with it. She always smiled when she thought about how much she loved Dante. How lucky she was that he was there for her that day. Things could have turned out much differently.
Walking out onto the gallery floor, she stopped in her tracks. The gallery was full. She had never expected a turnout like this. She recognized several of the Fierros, but they weren’t the only ones there. For some reason, she’d thought they would be. Okay, so I still have a ways to go with that self-esteem thing.
Gabriella came up to her and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “Don’t you look lovely!”
“Thank you.” She didn’t know what to say after that. She didn’t know what to say to anyone. She felt her panic begin to rise, but it wasn’t spiking like it ordinarily would. She took a breath and made herself go back to her relaxed state from a few moments ago. It had to last longer than a minute, right?
A pretty young woman with strawberry-blonde hair came over to her. She stuck out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Kristine. We didn’t get to meet the other day.”
“Oh, that’s right. How is your mother and the new baby?”
Kristine grinned. “They’re great. I love having a little sister I can cuddle and spoil.”
Mallory liked Kristine immediately.
“Hey, I saw this painting I thought would be perfect for Jayce’s and my living room. Can I ask you about it?”
“Sure.” She followed Kristine over to one of her recent pieces, which Jayce was currently admiring.
“I love the colors and long, gentle brushstrokes. It reminds me of sunset over the ocean. That’s one of our favorite times to go sailing.”
“You got it in one. I like to take walks along the beach at that time of day.”
“So it’s inspired by a calm evening on the sea?” Jayce asked.
“Essentially. I think my mood was pretty relaxed that day. Usually, I just paint what’s inside me at the moment.”
“Were you having a bad day when you painted that one?” Luca asked. She hadn’t even seen him listening behind her. She followed his pointing finger but had already guessed which painting he was referring to. She glanced over at the gray-and-black painting. The strokes were bold and sharp on one side, but on the other side, a face was emerging out of fog. She remembered that day vividly—the day she was fired from her job. Maybe it was the best thing that could have happened to her. She wouldn’t be here now if the photo shoot had gone smoothly.
“Yeah. I was struggling with some confusing feelings that day. Painting them out was therapeutic.”
Luca crossed his arms and stared at it. “Yeah? Well, I kinda like it.”
The gallery owner picked up on their conversation and moved closer. “Quite often, that’s what art does for us. It brings out emotions we can identify with. The artist expresses what we all feel from time to time.”
“So what’s got you upset, Luca?” Dante asked.
Luca shrugged. “I don’t know. Stuff? The world?”
Gabriella put her arm around his waist. “This is my son, who’s in the police academy,” she said, as if that answered the question.
Helen nodded. “I imagine that job brings up all kinds of feelings. I know a couple of cops who are artists, and they talk about trying to counteract some of the aggravation they’re stuck with at the end of the day. Do you have any creative outlets?”
Luca laughed. “Not really. I’ve been in school for the past four years, and now I’m going through even more training. Maybe someday, I’ll have the time.”
Mallory didn’t know why she was surprised the sophisticated woman might know some cops well enough to be acquainted with their personal feelings. She just pictured this woman only socializing with the rich and famous. She was glad to have that stereotype busted and progressively felt more comfortable.
Then Helen excused herself. Just like she’d told Mallory to do. Quick conversations, then go on to the next. She did a nice job of modeling what that looked like.
Dante was striding toward the front door. “Hey, man! I’m glad you could make it.”
Mallory followed him with her gaze. Noah? She hadn’t expected him. Last she’d heard, the two were on the outs. She was almost as happy to see him as Dante was. The last thing she wanted to do was create a rift between brothers.
Behind Noah, a vaguely familiar young woman stepped through the door.
Oh my God. It’s the woman who got me fired! Mallory took a calming breath and remembered that the same woman put her in touch with Helen. She was wondering whether she should say hello when the woman made a beeline for Helen.
Yeah, that made sense. If they were buddies, she’d want to greet her friend and at the same time check out the work of the crazy artist she had referred. Mallory stayed in the background while the two women embraced and said their hellos.
Noah strode over to her. “Hi, Mallory. It looks like a great turnout! You must be excited.”
She grimaced. “More like terrified, but thank you for coming. A familiar face is always welcome.”
“Even mine?”
“Of course! Why would you think otherwise?”
Noah kicked at the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe because I haven’t been the most supportive brother on the planet recently. In fact, I’ve been kind of an ass.”
Since Dante was talking to Luca, he wasn’t there to elaborate.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I wouldn’t worry. Dante seems like the understanding type.”
“Yeah. He is. I just thought… Never mind. I should check out your artwork!”
“Please do. And grab a glass of champagne.”
He glanced at the waiter pouring some into fluted glasses. “Oh, the good stuff. Nice.”
Noah wandered off, and she found herself alone for the first time since she’d walked onto the gallery floor. She took the opportunity to do some deep breathing again.
Just remembering that little trick kept her relaxed. She spotted a man alone, admiring one of her ribbon paintings. She’d noticed multicolored ribbons tied to a fence, blowing in the breeze one day, and snapped a picture. Later at home, she had tried to capture the feeling they evoked on canvas.
She approached the gentleman. “Uh, hi. I’m Mallory Summers.” She offered her hand, and he shook it, smiling broadly.
“I really like this. So many artists paint gritty pictures of the city, but this looks like a chain-link fence with a twist. And it’s a pleasant surprise.”
“Thank you. That’s exactly what I was going for.”
Just then, above the murmurs, she heard, “What the… Helen!”
Oh no.
The woman from the photo shoot was staring at her dead husband. His ghost face looked like it was coming out of the fog in the dark painting.
“Sh—shoot,” Mallory muttered. Suddenly, the tremors overtook her. Oh no, oh no, oh no… “Please excuse me,” she said to the male patron. She sprinted in the direction of Helen’s office, latching onto Dante’s sleeve as she passed him.
He seemed to understand what she was doing and followed close on her heels. As soon as she entered the room, she dove behind the desk and felt her body change. She heard the door shut and a lock snick into place.
“Honey? Are you all right?”
All Mallory could say was “Eep!” One glance at her thin, hairy arms confirmed she’d taken on her monkey form. She flopped onto her back and tried her relaxation techniques, even though she was a little late.
Sounds of someone pounding on the door prevented her from relaxing.
Dante tried yelling through the door, “It’s okay. Just give her a moment.”
The muffled comment from the other side of the door was Helen demanding to know what was wrong with her artist.
“Uh… She’s having a seizure.”
“I’ll call an ambulance,” she heard Helen say clearly, even though it was coming from the other side of the closed door. Her senses sharpened…maybe because animals could hear better than most humans. Right now, she didn’t care about the benefits. She wanted her human body back.
“No! No ambulance,” Dante called out. “I’m an EMT. And…and she would be embarrassed. She’ll be fine, I promise.”
She heard a few other voices out there, notably Antonio Fierro calmly stating there were five EMTs in the gallery, including his son who was with her right now. A seizure just had to run its course. The only danger would be if she were to fall or hit something sharp, and his son was with her to prevent that.
He seemed to be calming Helen down. There were several distant murmurs, but she couldn’t pick up many exact conversations. She heard the word seizure repeated more than once.
That was sort of brilliant on Dante’s part, she thought. For one, she was probably shaking as she entered the office. For another thing, a seizure wasn’t life-threatening, and she wouldn’t look any different once she recovered. At least she didn’t think so.
Dante came around the desk and found her lying on the floor, her dress twisted about her. Straightening it beneath her little legs, he murmured, “You’re safe. I’m here.” He stroked her forehead, as if she were a frightened pet.
How could this keep happening? Why didn’t the wizard’s hex-breaking spell work? She hadn’t seen ghosts since that day, so maybe some of it worked. Maybe seeing ghosts was the hex part, and this was something else completely.