The Lonely Artist

by Skye, Autumn

  Corrine McDowan had game. She had plenty of it. I didn't need to have met her to know that. In the pictures she was always at a nightclub dancing the night away, or standing on board a yacht, or leaving a fancy restaurant. She looked as if she didn't have a care in the world. I couldn't help wondering why she'd come back here. Surely, she could find someone other than Mr. Greyson to handle her business while she went on squandering the fortune her father had left her. The profile that popped up when I searched her name said she was worth just shy of 4 billion dollars. It also said she was twenty-eight years old, four years older than myself, but when I took a second glance at the photo of her in the yellow bikini, she looked ten years younger. It made sense when I considered the fact that she could afford the best personal trainers on the planet.

  The phone rang. My stomach did a flop as I rushed to pick it up.

  “Katrina Wells. How may I help you?” I said in my most professional tone, my gut instinct telling me it was her.

  “It’s Corrine McDowan, Ms. Wells. I’m ready to interview you. I’ll see you in my office in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, Ms. McDowan, thank you,” I said, hearing the pathetic, nervous tremble in my voice and hoping she hadn’t noticed it.

  While it was difficult to judge a woman I’d never met in person, I imagined Corrine McDowan could be tough. A woman in her position would have to be and she hadn’t wasted any time in firing the director, Jacob Greyson. Of course, she was even less likely to be in an amicable mood having just blown three million dollars on a fake. It was all I could do to head down the hall towards her office rather than run out of the exit doors. I couldn’t help but ask myself who I thought I was fooling. There was no way I was getting this position.

  I ran into Janet Haroldson, the woman who acted as tour guide for the gallery’s children displays. She was matronly, long past the age of retirement, but it was plain to see she loved her job and had no plans to leave the gallery. “Hi, Janet. How are you this morning?”

  “I’m good as can be expected with all the shakeups this place is going through,” she answered. “How are you? Hanging in there?”

  “To be honest, I’m nervous as all hell. I’m on my way to Ms. McDowan’s office now for my interview. Can I ask what you know about her? Should I be worried?”

  “I’ve known Corrine, I mean Ms. McDowan, since she was a child. I’m sure you know her father is the one who started this gallery.”

  I nodded. “Of Course, his name is on the door.” The name, Caleb McDowan, was synonymous with the art world.

  “Well, Corrine has been running around this gallery practically from the minute she learned to walk. It’s only been the past couple of years, since Mr. McDowan’s death, that she’s been away, grieving, I suppose. The poor thing took the loss very hard, but I for one am glad she’s back. She’s a wonderful lady and if you’re lucky enough to land the position, you can consider yourself lucky to work at her side. She knows her stuff. She’d have never made the mistake Jacob Greyson made.”

  “Thank you,” I said, before continuing down the hall towards Ms. McDowan’s office.

  “Come in,” a female’s voice summoned, sounding neither welcoming nor discouraging when I knocked on the door to her office.

  I turned the knob and pushed open the door, taking a step inside. When I looked at he woman sitting behind the huge mahogany desk I didn’t see a face. Her head was down. She was reading something in a file that sat open in front of her and all I saw was a thick mane of raven hair, so dark the wisp that were caught in the light seemed to give off a hue of blue.

  “Ms. McDowan, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Katrina Wells.”

  “Shut the door and have a seat, please.”

  I sat in the chair opposite her desk and she finally looked up to give me an inquisitive stare with huge brown eyes that were speckled with green. Wow, I hadn’t expected her to be so pretty, or more like beautiful. The photos hadn't done her an ounce of justice. She didn’t look like a dragon lady. Yet, her expression was lukewarm, so I needed to remember that looks could be deceiving.

  “You’ve been assisting Mr. Greyson these past few months,” she stated matter of factly.

  “Yes, mam,” I confirmed.

  “He’s no longer with the gallery.”

  “I know. I’ve been filling in doing most of his duties, or delegating the workload this past week.”

  “And you believe you’re qualified to fill his position permanently?” She gave me an inquisitive smile.

  “I’d like the opportunity to show you what I can do. I think you’d be pleasantly surprised with my performance,” I said, trying to project a sense of confidence I didn’t feel at that particular moment.

  “I’m sure you’d love the opportunity, but that’s not going to happen.”

  “Oh, I see. I take it you’ve already filled the position,” I said, not even caring if my disappointment showed. What did it matter? I was obviously about to be fired. It also didn't matter if I told her exactly how I felt about it. “With all due respect, Ms. McDowan, I've already been accused of lying and all sorts of criminal activity by your investigator, Mr. Carpenter. If you're going to tell me to fuck off, I'd appreciate you just getting on with it.”

  “If I wanted to tell you to do that, I'd have done it over the phone, or better yet, had someone else do it for me. I understand Mr. Carpenter put you through the wringer, but may I continue with what I was saying?”

  “Yes, but you said I wasn't getting the position, so I assumed you had no use for me any longer.”

  “That's because I’m going to do the job myself. It’s no secret I lost a lot of money on a very bad deal this week. I hired Greyson, so I have no one to blame. It falls on me. I put too much trust in him. I gave him complete reign over this gallery. In fact, this is the first time I’ve sat in this chair in over two years. The three million dollars hit I took is what I get for having been so gullible. It won’t happen again.”

  “I understand, but I should ask what that means for me? Should I consider myself unemployed or not?”

  “Not necessarily. I could use a good curator, a second pair of eyes to help me through the authentication process. I don’t want to make a mistake like the one Mr. Greyson made. It’s all over the local news. It doesn’t paint the gallery in a very good light. It’s not an exaggeration to say the story is a huge joke in the art community worldwide. It’s more than a financial loss. It’s an embarrassment. In fact, I’m not half as upset over the money I'm out as I am with the damage this fiasco has done to the gallery’s reputation.”

  “I’d love to be your assistant. I do have a master’s degree-

  “In art history, Yes, I know. This is your resume I’ve been looking at,” she revealed, tapping her forefinger on the file she’d been reading when I entered. “It also says this is your first job since you graduated, aside from an internship. I must admit, I find that concerning.”

  “It’s true I don’t have a lot of experience, but I know art. I love art. I paint myself. I’m a portraitist. It’s not easy to support yourself as an artist, so I chose to work here. It seemed the practical route while still in my field, but painting is my passion.”

  “I’d say you made the wise choice. They say artists have horrible temperaments. I say it’s because most of them are hungry,” she chuckled.

  “You might be on to something there. I couldn’t buy a pack of ramen noodles with what my paintings have earned me so far this year,” I quipped.

  “Well, I’d love to give you a shot, but I don’t want you to take the job without fully understanding what you'll be dealing with. For one thing, I can’t promise I won’t micro manage the hell out of you until you’ve proven yourself. I’ve been out of the country for quite some time, but I’m back now and I’ll be here, in this office, going over every minute detail of your work. You’ll be my second pair of eyes. You won’t be flying solo for quite some time.”

  “That sounds fair considering the cir
cumstances.”

  “In that case, you have the job of assistant director and curator, if you want it. I hope you don’t make me regret the decision, but truthfully, you seem the best bet. I don’t have the time to fully train a new hire. You at least already have the gist of how things work around here.”

  “Oh, yes, I definitely want the job.”

  ”All right, then. Let’s have lunch and I’ll go over my expectations with you. Meet me in the lobby around one.”

  “Yes, mam. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Call me Corrine and yes, I need you to check on the new shipment of artifacts we received from Rome yesterday. I’d like them to be set up and on display by the end of next week.”

  “All right, I’ll get right on it.”

  “Good, I’ll see you this afternoon and you can let me know where we are on that.”

  “I can’t thank you enough, Ms. McDowan.”

  “Sure, you can, by doing a good job.”

  “I will,” I said.

  I ran into Janet again as I hurried back towards my office to call archives and find out how far along they were on categorizing and logging the Rome shipment.

  “How did it go?”

  “I got the job, though I got the impression that I’m on probation.”

  “That’s a formality. You’ll do great,” she encouraged.

  I wasn’t as confident, but I if she was right, I’d just been handed the opportunity of a lifetime. I only had to see that I didn’t blow it.

  Chapter Three

  Katrina

  The shipment from Rome was still going through the process of being logged, so there wasn’t much else for me to do but menial data entry tasks as I waited for lunch time to roll around. I tried not get my hopes up about the job offer I’d just received. We hadn’t discussed salary, but I imagined it would pay more than my current one. It would be a lot more responsibility, however, and as Corrine had pointed out, I was what some might consider green, fresh out of college. While some people took time off from college to work in their field, I went straight through and at twenty-five, I was only just starting my career. Was I really ready for this? What’s more, I couldn’t guess why Corrine McDowan would care to give me, someone who was practically a novice, a chance at this gig after what had just happened. No matter what, I couldn’t allow myself to become her next embarrassing mistake. Word did get around fast in the art world. Poor Mr. Greyson wasn’t likely to ever work again. No gallery or museum would touch him. If they did, he’d be lucky to get a position at the receptions desk.

  I checked my hair and makeup in the ladies room a few minutes before one and then headed for the lobby. Corrine was facing the exit doors with her back to me when I spotted her. She’d never stood from her desk once during the interview, so I hadn’t gotten a good look at her overall appearance, but now I could see how tall she was. I’m five-foot-eight and she still had a few inches on me. Her legs seemed never ending, exposed in the red skirt she wore that fell just above her knees. Again, I thought of how the photos I'd seen had only scratched the surface of her beauty when compared with being up close and personal with her.

  “I’m sorry, am I late?” I asked, as I approached her side.

  “No, right on time,” she said. “Let’s go. I have a limo waiting.”

  Wow, a limo. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but of course, one of the richest women in the country would have nothing less than a limo waiting. I, myself, hadn’t seen the inside of a limousine since prom night. I tried to hide how impressed I was when the driver opened the door and stood aside for me to climb in, but I doubt I fooled either of them. This one was top of the line, equipped with a wet bar.

  “Would you care for a glass of wine?” The aroma of her musky perfume filled the air as she sat next to me.

  “No, thank you. I try to keep a clear head when I’m working,” I said.

  “That’s admirable, but it doesn’t sound like much fun,” she replied as she poured herself a glass of Chardonnay.

  It was odd, because I would have thought fun would be the last thing on her mind. She’d apparently had so much fun in Europe that she’d nearly let the livelihood of her gallery go to the wayside. She, herself, had admitted the gallery’s reputation was its bread and butter, yet she seemed undaunted by the challenge of doing all the damage control that lied ahead. It was as if she were only pretending to care about her business.

  “So, tell me, Katrina, what do you do for entertainment purposes, if you don’t drink?”

  “ Well, first of all, I do occasionally enjoy a drink, just not while I’m working. Other than that, like I said, I paint. I also like to read a lot.”

  “What do you enjoy reading?”

  “Mysteries, mostly. They don’t have a lot of substance, I know. I guess you could say they’re my guilty pleasure.”

  “If that’s your guilty pleasure you need to get out more,” she murmured with a smirk.

  “I suppose I’m not very worldly,” I confessed.

  “If this job works out for you that will change quickly. It involves a lot of traveling.”

  “It does?”

  “Naturally. How do you think we acquire our pieces? We attend auctions all over the world. As my curator, I might actually want you to come along and evaluate before I buy. It would only make sense.”

  “Oh, of course. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Does the idea of traveling frequently bother you? Do you have any family obligations that would prevent you from fulfilling that part of your duties?”

  “No, I’m not married or anything.”

  “What about a boyfriend? This job could be hell on a relationship.”

  “I haven’t dated seriously in a while. Is there anything else about my personal life that you need to know? I don’t have any sort of criminal record. I passed all of the gallery’s background checks when I was originally hired.”

  “We’ll discuss all of that over lunch.”

  “Can I ask what you do for fun? I’m just curious, since you brought it up. I hope it’s not overstepping my bounds to ask.”

  She shrugged. Up until today, I did whatever the hell I felt like. I’m a working woman now. I guess I’ll have to settle down a bit and get serious.”

  “You inherited the gallery from your father, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I was his only living heir when he passed away. My mother died when I was young, and I was an only child. My father never remarried, so it all came to me. I wasn’t one of those spoiled brats who just lived off my trust fund, though, despite what my two year hiatus might imply. My father put me to work in the gallery and taught me the business when I was still a teenager. My love for art is real and I do know my shit. I didn’t want the day to day responsibilities of running the business full time, especially while I was in mourning, so I trusted Mr. Greyson to do it for me. That’s one mistake I won’t make again. You’d better be good, Katrina, because I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you and if you aren’t competent in this job, you won’t be able to fake it for long.” Her tone didn’t suggest that I take it as a threat. It was a fact she simply thought I should be aware of, from what I gathered.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled, not sure how to respond. I hadn’t even performed my first duty under my new management yet and already the pressure was on.

  “You look down right scared. That’s good. Fear will keep you on your toes.”

  I nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile.

  “Oh, lighten up, Katrina. I’m not all that impossible to work for once you get used to me. I just expect your performance to be up to my standards, which are fairly simple. In short, I want you to make my gallery shine rather than do anything to tarnish it. I want you to make me money, not lose it.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” I said, nodding again. Kidding or not, she was right. I needed to be at the top of my game, but she was intimidating, unintentionally or not. It was hard to keep my mind on business when I fo
und myself once again taking note of how truly beautiful she was. It was quite distracting. She probably had that effect on most people. There was nothing more mesmerizing than a drop dead gorgeous, sophisticated, ultra-rich woman. Add to that the fact that she held my livelihood in her hands and I was nearly speechless in her presence.

  It was a ten minute drive to the restaurant she’d chosen for lunch, a French Bistro that was supposed to be the best in the Dallas-Fortworth area. I’d never eaten there myself. It was well out of my budget, but the hostess unsurprisingly seemed to recognize Corrine right away. She led us to a small table for two in a dim lit corner. We were no sooner seated across from one another when the waitress came to take our drink orders. She had a glass of Merlot and I opted for an iced tea.

  “We're so glad to have you back, Ms. McDowan.”

  “I'm a generous tipper,” she said with a wave of her hand, dismissing the waitresses greeting as she walked away from the table.

  “She seemed sincerely happy to see you to me.”

  “Yes, she sincerely wants a big tip.”

  I wondered if anyone had ever told her she was kind of an asshole. Probably not.

  “You’re really sticking to that no drinking rule, huh?”

  “It’s probably best. I don’t have much of a tolerance for alcohol. It goes straight to my head.”