The Magic In The Receiver

by Dillon, Paul

  Sophia returned with the laptop. Elena got up and walked into the orchard, the phone to her ear.

  “Morning, how did you sleep last night?” she asked.

  “With difficulty, I was thinking about you,” Ben replied.

  “Liar.”

  “I only just got up, what time is it?”

  “Nine-ish,” she paused. “Hey! Guess where I am?”

  “Where?”

  “The olive grove—under the tree where we saw the owl.”

  “I wish we’d taken a photo,” said Ben.

  “Too late, he’s not around.” She looked around the orchard. “Just a bunch of crows.”

  “Well, say ‘hi’ to them for me.”

  “I will,” she smiled. “Listen, what time are we meeting today?”

  “I thought maybe we’d grab some lunch then go over to the gallery. How about I pick you up around noon?”

  “Okay, it’s a date. I’ll see you later—I have to catch Sophia before she leaves. Bye.”

  She hung up, her mood uplifted. The orchard was taking on the aura of a sacred place; walking amid the shadowy trees at midnight, the little owl. Now, as the morning sun filtered through the branches, it became Ben’s champion—a second in his corner.

  I still have twenty-four hours to decide, she thought.

  “Hey, Elena,” Sophia was calling from the breakfast table.

  She rejoined her cousin.

  “There are available flights. Do you want to book one?”

  Elena’s stomach tightened. “Which day are you looking at?”

  “I checked for Wednesday. If you’re going back to work the following week, you’ll need some time to recover.”

  “Can we just reserve it?”

  Sophia scrolled down the screen. “Yes, I think so.”

  “You know what, let’s decide later,” said Elena. She’d just remembered her existing ticket. “Greg said he’d take care of the flight. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “Whatever you say,” Sophia closed the laptop cover. “You know I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know,” Elena put her hand on Sophia’s arm. “Hey, Ben’s picking me up at noon. We’re having lunch then going to the gallery. Do you want to come?”

  Sophia pondered the question. “Are the others coming?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Why don’t you see if you can arrange that and I’ll join you?” asked Sophia. “I’m hoping to sell plenty of inventory to your rich friends.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  Ben’s going to buy me one of Dimi’s paintings, thought Elena. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Chapter 30

  Andreas Matsakis’s gallery stood in the center of Argostoli on a pedestrian-only street, a short walk from Vallianou Square. Sophia led the party out of the cool marble interior of a nearby Italian restaurant into the oppressive midday heat.

  “It’s not far, just at the end of the block, on the opposite side,” she said.

  Elena smiled, remembering that her cousin had chosen the lunch venue after hearing about Joe Marchetti and his love of all things Italian.

  “He’ll be in the right frame of mind to invest in some art—Pasquali, the Italian’s, art,” she had said.

  That was a nice place for Sophia to say goodbye to her new friends, thought Elena. She’s become quite close with Clotilde.

  On either side of the gallery entrance, bay windows with gold-painted architrave housed minimalist displays. The elaborate molding extended above the bays, forming arches clad with a dark green marble. Carved into the fascia, and picked out in gold leaf, were the words Gallery Vallianou.

  “Please come in.” Sophia waited outside the door, her palm outstretched.

  The business specialized in ceramics. Long tables and custom stands displayed the larger pieces; glass cabinets lined the walls. At the rear, a small exhibit room housed the works of local painters.

  The manager stood near the register, talking to an elderly couple, the only customers. She excused herself upon seeing Sophia. “How was lunch, dear?”

  “Delightful.” Sophia let her guests file in. “These are the friends I told you about. It’s their final day on the island; they’re leaving for Zante this evening.”

  “I bought some Greek pastries earlier,” said the manager. “But, of course, you’ve just eaten.”

  The party split into two groups; Sophia stayed close to Clotilde, pointing out the period and style of each section.

  “Most of our collection consists of handmade, hand-painted replicas of museum pieces, but we have some creative originals based on classic styles.”

  Clotilde stopped to admire a piece.

  “This is exquisite. It’s from the Geometric period, isn’t it?”

  Is any subject beyond her expertise? wondered Ben.

  “I’m impressed,” said Sophia. “Yes, it’s a doll, a child’s toy, from about 900 BC.”

  “I’d like it,” said Clotilde. “Can you ship to the States?”

  “Of course.”

  Clotilde picked out several more reproductions from the Minoan and Corinthian periods.

  ***

  Elena was pleased for her cousin. Their trip to Fiskardo had reaped an unexpected dividend.

  Bored with the ceramics, Elena meandered to the back of the shop and into the small art exhibit. She recognized Dimi’s three paintings immediately. They hung on the wall opposite the door, the white orchid piece in between the other two. She became impatient to tell Ben that she’d met the artist the day before yesterday.

  As she waited for the others to reach the annex, Elena wiled away the moments, reliving the morning at Dimi’s studio: Mikka, the tabby cat, the red velvet couch with the woolen blanket, Dimi adjusting her pose…

  “There you are.” Sophia disturbed her daydream.

  “These are all Dimi’s work.” Elena had waited until Clotilde and Ben were in earshot. She spoke the words with confidence.

  “Yes.” Sophia addressed the others. “Dimi is one of the gallery’s favorite artists.”

  Elena pulled Ben over to the white orchids. “This is where I was … the morning before we met—at this artist’s studio.”

  Sophia and Clotilde moved closer to the picture.

  “These are interesting,” said the French girl. “There’s a bold, yet dreamlike quality to them. Tell me more about the artist.”

  “He’s a local. His work sells well, in the three to five thousand dollar range,” said Sophia. “We’ve probably sold fifteen to twenty pieces in the last two years.”

  “Do you like these?” Elena grabbed Ben’s wrist and pointed to the white orchids. “This one’s my favorite.”

  She listened to his reply with half an ear as Sophia told Clotilde more about Dimi.

  “Would you like it?” Ben studied the painting. “It can be a memento of our day in Fiskardo.”

  Despite thinking the gift too expensive, Elena wanted the picture.

  “That’s so nice, thank you.” She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

  “Steady on there, girl. I’ll end up buying the whole collection if you keep doing that.”

  “Sophia, wrap this one up.” Elena pointed at the white orchids.

  “I was going to take that,” said Clotilde.

  “We beat you to it,” said Ben.

  “No seriously,” said Clotilde. “This type of work is popular at the moment. I have some contacts in New York that might be interested. Does he have enough material for an exhibition?”

  “Of course,” said Sophia.

  “I’ll take the other two.” Clotilde pointed at the adjacent paintings.

  “Wonderful.” Sophia reached in her bag, pulling out her phone. “Why don’t I give Dimi a call; he’ll be pleased to hear we’ve sold three of his pieces.”

  Clotilde’s favorable opinion of Dimi’s work boosted Elena’s self-esteem, as though she’d discovered him herself. She mused about Dimi becoming famou
s in New York.

  “Dimi, hi, it’s Sophia. I’m at the gallery.”

  Speaking in English, for the benefit of her guests, she continued.

  “Elena is here with her friends from Los Angeles. They just bought your three pieces.” She paused for Dimi’s response. “Yes, White Orchids, Spring Tulips, and Under the Cypress Trees.”

  Elena thought about Dimi’s promise to paint the purple doors. Now that would be something I would like to own.

  “One of Elena’s friends has contacts in New York. There might be some interest in your work.” Sophia paused then looked at Elena. “Yes, she’s here—hold on.”

  Elena shook her head but Sophia held the phone at arm’s length, her finger over the microphone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Reluctantly, Elena accepted the device.

  “Hi Dimi.” She waited for his voice, he remained silent long enough for her to feel uncomfortable.

  Finally, he spoke. “I’ve been thinking about you since our little talk. I ask myself, is Elena going to stay on our beautiful island or will she go back to America?”

  What if he asks about modeling?

  “Just a minute…” She covered the microphone and turned to Ben. “The reception’s really poor in here; I’m going to step outside.”

  A puzzled expression crossed Ben’s face. Elena left the room

  “Sorry, Dimi, where were we?” The heat on the sidewalk made her gasp.

  “I didn’t realize you were with someone,” said Dimi.

  “No, it’s okay, really.”

  “Sophia told me all about you going back to Argostoli on the yacht.”

  “That’s right. I waved to you from out in the bay, near the old lighthouse. You didn’t wave back.”

  “After you left, I looked down at Fiskardo from the patio and imagined you strolling along the promenade. I hope you had a pleasant afternoon.”

  Exactly how much did Sophia tell him? she wondered.

  “So, is Elena going back or has she been transformed?”

  Dimi’s voice calmed and excited her in equal measure.

  “I still haven’t decided.” She answered as though he were a trusted friend and counselor. “But it’s looking like I’ll go back sometime next week.”

  “Maybe you need to be persuaded to stay.”

  “Dimi, I met someone, right after I left you at the villa.”

  Elena’s openness surprised her.

  “Tell me about him.”

  “There’s isn’t time, maybe later.”

  “Did Sophia ask you about sitting for your portrait?”

  Deep down, she had been waiting for him to ask.

  “Ah … yes … but I didn’t think she was serious.”

  “Perfectly serious, I think it might do you good to get away for a few days and stay at the villa.”

  “I don’t think I can get away.” She wanted to use Ben as an excuse but decided against it. “I’ve never done any modeling before, I’m not sure it’s for me.”

  “It’s only a portrait,” explained Dimi. “You might end up immortal—like Mona Lisa.”

  She thought of the velvet couch. “How would you paint me?”

  “However you want me to see you.”

  “Dimi, I have to go back to my friends; Sophia has your number, I’ll call you.”

  “Remember a lover is like a painting.”

  “Bye, Dimi.”

  A last minute thought flashed into Elena’s head.

  “Wait, how long will it take … if I say yes.”

  “A day, maybe two. We do some sketches, take some photographs, then I finish the picture later.”

  Dimi’s tone soothed her. Why shouldn’t she model for him? There was nothing in it.

  “Will I need to pose…” She hesitated. “Will it be a nude portrait?”

  “Not unless you want to. I hardly ever paint nudes, if that’s what you mean. Clothes are much more interesting; they tell a story.” Dimi’s hypnotic voice droned on, “You have to express how you want to be seen in the moment—imagine it’s two hundred years in the future and someone is looking at your portrait; how do you want them to see you? How does the island makes you feel? We can work on a pose; you have very beautiful legs, I have some ideas how to show them.”

  “Dimi, I have to go. I’ll let you know if I decide to come back to your studio.”

  She hung up.

  During the call, she had wandered twenty or thirty yards down the street.

  Buying time to collect her thoughts, she stared into a shop window. The glass reflected her image with just enough clarity to check her appearance. A manikin, wearing a short black dress, stood on a raised platform a few feet to her right. She moved in front of the figure, using the black dress as a mirror and thought about how she’d pose.

  “There you are.” Ben startled her. “Whoa, that would look good on you.”

  He thinks I’m window-shopping, she thought.

  “Why don’t you go inside and try it on; you can wear it to dinner tonight.”

  “No thanks.”

  Dimi’s call had affected her; she wanted to get away from Ben, from everybody. The pressure was building; Greg would be waking in Boston right about now.

  “I shouldn’t have accepted the painting in there. I wasn’t thinking—it’s too expensive.”

  “What’s wrong, are you okay?” asked Ben.

  “I’m fine, but I’d like to go back to the house. Can you drive me back?”

  “Well … sure, we should say goodbye first. I think they’re about done in there.”

  They walked back to the gallery. The manager busied herself with the transaction details.

  Elena returned Sophia’s phone and pulled her to one side.

  “I can’t accept Dimi’s painting,” she whispered. “Would you mind taking it back?”

  “Why, what’s wrong?”

  “I wasn’t thinking.” She looked at Ben over by the door. “If I book a ticket in the morning then I’m not going to see him again—it’s just not right to take the gift.”

  “Okay, no problem, I’ll reverse the charge on his card.”

  “Thanks.”

  Minutes later, everyone was in the street saying goodbye.

  Elena hugged Clotilde. “It was so nice meeting you, thank you for everything. I had such a wonderful time.”

  She shook Joe’s hand.

  “I’ll get your contact information from Ben; let’s keep in touch,” said Clotilde.

  “Okay, have a safe trip back to the States.”

  “We’re not going back just yet. Joe wants to spend a couple of weeks in Italy—it’s only a stone’s throw away,” said Clotilde.

  “You kept that quiet, Joe,” said Ben.

  “We might hire a boat, sail around the Adriatic.—We’ll need a skipper—I’m not driving the damn thing,” said Joe.

  “He promised me a week in Venice,” said Clotilde.

  “Don’t let him take you scuba diving in the Grand Canal,” said Ben, “You don’t want to get slapped around the head with one of those Gondola oars.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” said Clotilde.

  “Hey, I’ll see you all on the boat later.” Ben started to walk away. “I’m going to drive Elena home.”

  ***

  Parked at the hotel, the jeep was only a few hundred yards from the gallery. They walked back in silence. The change in Elena’s mood confused Ben.

  Who is this Dimi? Why does she not want the painting and why does she want to go home so early?

  The energy-sapping heat of mid-afternoon dampened his spirits even further as they entered Vallianou Square. Two young men on scooters slowed down to ogle Elena.

  “Do you want to get a cold drink?” he asked; cafes lined the eastern end of the plaza.

  “No, I’m fine thanks.”

  His best course of action was to forget the incident with Dimi and concentrate on the evening ahead. The open-top drive back to the house might revive her spirits.<
br />
  The Royal Ionian was just off the square; they reached it a couple of minutes later.

  “Last chance for a drink—ice-cold, frosted glass.” He forced a smile.

  Without replying, she pressed on to the Jeep.

  As he opened the passenger door, Ben thought about changing his plans and going to Zante.

  “Be careful, the seats will be hot,” he said.

  The parking lot didn’t have shade. A bottle of water, left in the drinks holder, promised refreshment. His fingers pressed into the thin plastic but the water was too hot to drink.

  As they got underway, he tried to make conversation. “Things went well for Sophia at the gallery.”

  His remark reminded Elena of the white orchids.

  “I’m sorry about the painting, I hope you understand,” she said.

  “It’s okay, don’t worry—it’s not a big deal. I’ll have it, it’s a nice picture.”

  “I had Sophia reverse the charge to your card,” said Elena.

  “Okay, no worries,” he paused. “When we rent the villa, we’ll go back and buy it again.”

  She did not laugh; his words disturbed her.

  The Jeep sped up the hill, heading to the edge of town. By now, Ben had become familiar with the route to Nicia’s villa.

  “Ben, I’m going to go back to Boston. I think you should go with your friends to Zante.”

  Her admission shocked him even though she had warned him earlier. The reality of driving her home for the last time hit hard.

  The Jeep reached the top of the hill, marking the edge of town. He accelerated hard on the open road.

  “Don’t be mad,” she said.

  Ben slammed on the brakes and swerved onto a dirt lot. The Jeep skidded to a halt next to an abandoned trailer, showering dust clouds into the air. He turned off the ignition, taking a big deep breath.

  “You’re not leaving today; you can’t have bought a ticket yet.”

  “No, but when you drop me off, I’m going to make a phone call to Boston,” Ben winced as she spoke. “I’ll probably agree to go home and I don’t want to ruin the rest of your trip.”

  He replayed the words in his head ‘I’ll probably agree to go home’.

  It had always been a possibility. Faced with that reality, he considered his options.