by Sandi Scott
“He looks fairly normal,” Aleta joked as she slipped her arm through Georgie’s. “That’s more than I can say for these sculptures.” She looked down her nose at a barstool with a mound of clay on it.
“I know modern art isn’t always easy to embrace.” Georgie patted her sister’s arm. “I’m certainly more of a fan of the Great Masters, myself. I’m sure the only person who could see fault in Michelangelo’s David is Michelangelo, himself. But that doesn’t mean these weird interpretations aren’t worth something.”
A young man with a goth dye job, wearing black pants and a black button-down shirt held a silver platter with tall champagne glasses up to Georgie and Aleta without saying a word. They thanked him as they each took a glass.
“I’m sorry, sis, but this looks like poop on a barstool,” Aleta whispered.
“Okay, I can’t argue with you about that one,” Georgie conceded. “Let’s look at the other works. I think there are two artists featured. If I remember right, the other one works in oils.”
They slowly meandered through the huge loft space. Displaced sections of wall broke up the room into a kind of maze leading the art-goers in different directions forcing them to mingle and make eye contact.
“Now, this I kind of like,” Aleta admitted as she stood in front of a huge canvas. “I like the colors and how the black splits them up.”
Just then, a tall man in an ivory linen suit came up and stood next to them. He smiled broadly and raised his champagne flute.
“Ladies, welcome.” He had short cut black curly hair and skin the color of caramel. “I hope you are having a good time.”
“Well, yes. My sister Aleta was just admiring the painting here.”
The man turned to look at the painting, gave it a cursory glance, and turned back to the sisters. “To be honest, I’m here mostly for the good company. The art is....artistic, but I wouldn’t know a great painting from one done by my 5-year-old nephew. I just don’t have the eye.”
“Well, what does this one make you think of?” Georgie asked, pointing to the painting.
The man looked again at the painting and really considered it for a few seconds.
“It reminds me of rush-hour traffic from God’s point of view.” He raised his champagne glass. “And makes me happy I’m not stuck in it.”
Both sisters laughed and raised their glasses.
“Even that thought gives this piece value. It made you see something from a completely new perspective.” Georgie tipped her champagne glass back to sip the tart, bubbly liquid. “That reminds me of something the worst teacher I’d ever had in art school said about the purpose of art.”
“Oh, so you’re an artist?” asked the man.
“Yes, I paint portraits, mostly.”
“And you,” said the man, nodding in Aleta’s direction. “Are you an artist too?”
“Hardly,” said Aleta. “I’ll take a spreadsheet over a canvas any day.”
“Now that’s my kind of girl,” said the man. He was easily 30 years younger than the sisters were, but flirted with ease and charm. “I’m Jamal Landry.” He shook the sisters’ hands as they introduced themselves.
“Believe it or not, I own part of this place, but like you, Aleta, I’d rather look at the accounts than the art.”
“Well, we all have our passions, I suppose,” Georgie said.
“I’ll let you ladies enjoy your evening and get back to the art.” Jamal smiled broadly and walked past the sisters to mingle with others.
“Hey, where did Edward Scissorhands go with the champagne? I could use a fresh glass.” Aleta looked around but before she could spot the waiter she clutched Georgie’s arm. “Look over there,” she whispered and jerked her chin to the furthest corner of the room.
“How did we miss that?” Georgie gushed.
“I don’t know but I can now say I am glad we came tonight. For a while there I wasn’t quite sure but now I am.”
The Kaye sisters grew up calling them sweet tables, long tables stacked high and deep with dozens of miniature desserts. Over the years, as their children got married, both Georgie and Aleta let the brides-to-be plan their dream weddings. But there was no stopping them from ensuring the sweet tables would be intoxicating oases of epic sugary proportions.
“Oh my. What a clever idea.” Georgie pointed to the half a dozen glass jars filled with a variety of candies that twinkled like Christmas lights.
“Do you think that is lemon torte?” Aleta asked, pointing to dainty little triangles in lacy paper cups.
“I’m not sure but I know these are double fudge brownies with raspberry glaze.” Georgie leaned over the table clutching her chest. She reached for a plate that was only the size of a tea cup saucer. Searching for larger plates, she shrugged her shoulders, picked up a pair of delicate silver tongs and began to load up.
“Dees ates ur too mall,” Aleta whispered with her hand over her mouth.
“What did you say?”
Aleta swallowed, rolling her eyes and licking her lips.
“These plates are too small,” Aleta said, watching her sister pop the chocolate brownie in her mouth. “How do they expect anyone to enjoy all these if you can only fit two pieces on it at a time?”
“That’s so someone can take the leftovers home.” Georgie nodded her head as if this was a conspiracy theory she had all figured out.
“When are you and Nate Stephenson supposed to talk to figure out all the details of your showing?” Aleta asked as she added a tiny éclair and what looked like a miniature cannoli.
“He didn’t say. I figured I’d just try and find him at some point.”
Aleta swallowed hard and grabbed her sister’s wrist.
“Well, let’s corner this Nate fellow and get the details in order.” Aleta, who’d run her own accounting firm before retiring and passing the business on to her daughter Emily, never met a deal she didn’t want to negotiate.
“I’m keeping an eye on him. He’s talking to that man in the beret and the woman standing next to him with the huge beady-bangles hanging around her neck.” She took a smaller bite of a cheesecake bite with a cherry on top. “I don’t want to interrupt and act all desperate.”
“Right,” Aleta agreed. “That will give us more time to sample these things.” She nodded toward the table.
“I know. Let’s fill our plates and then walk around to the stuff we haven’t seen at the other side of the loft.”
Aleta nodded. Within seconds they were slowly wading through the other guests until they came to an abstract painting that caused them both to stop and stare. It was painted completely black.
“I see the darkness of the soul,” Georgie mused while licking powdered sugar from her fingers. “An alcoholic or a drug addict. How hopeless it may seem. How frightening it must seem.”
“I see a black canvas going for over twelve-thousand dollars. This is the painting of what your bank account looks like after you buy this piece,” Aleta teased.
“May I have your attention? Everyone?”
Giggling a little, both women turned to see Nate Stephenson tapping the side of his champagne glass with a fork, making a lovely ping-ping-ping sound.
The bustle of the room came to a halt and all eyes turned toward the man in the red scarf.
“I want to thank everyone for coming. Before I welcome our featured artist, I’d like to give props to my business partner and friend, Jamal Landry. His support with this gallery has been invaluable. Sigma Alpha Epsilon. True Sigs, true friends, true brothers.” Nate raised his glass to Jamal who gave a gracious nod of appreciation. “You, the art buyers who have made Wyland Art Gallery not just an art gallery but the crown jewel for established and novice artists throughout Chicago and across the state. For that I am humbled and thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
A happy pattering of applause rippled through the crowd.
“As many of you know,” Nate continued. “I have been a fan of Xio’s work since he came crashing on
to the art scene at the tender age of eighteen with his amazing exhibit, Bingdong, loosely translated meaning Frost.”
Nate gestured toward a bald-headed Asian man who had a round, kind face, and wore a lapis-colored vintage Tang suit. He smiled at Nate and bowed slightly as his talents and artwork were praised.
“Now, having developed his craft after several years under such influential artists as Antony Gormly, Susan Matress, and Bruce Nauman, we are thrilled to see the evolution of this innovative artist and welcome him into the fold of groundbreaking visionaries who touch our lives with....”
Before Nate could finish his speech, a man stumbled noisily into the center of the gallery spinning completely around off balance, before falling flat on the floor. After the initial gasp, to which Georgie and Aleta contributed, a hush fell over the entire loft. All eyes were on the man as he giggled and mumbled and rolled onto his stomach in order to push himself at least up to his knees.
“This isn’t art! Fart? Maybe!”
FINISH READING MURDER at the Art Gallery:
http://sandiscottbooks.com/books/art-gallery/
PREVIEW: Murder on the Great Lake
The following is a preview of Murder on the Great Lake, book 2 in Sandi Scott’s Pet Portraits Cozy Mysteries Series.
Chapter 1
“My goodness, Mr. Batt. Your office is beautiful.” Georgie Kaye gushed as she stepped into the room, awkwardly carrying a 24”x 36” canvas wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of red yarn. “This is the first time I’ve ever set foot in a gym and, might I just say, I am pleasantly surprised at what I see.”
“Really?” Richard Batt smiled. He towered over Georgie by at least two feet and even in the casual pair of jeans and t-shirt he was wearing his muscles bulged. “Here, let me help you with that. What did you expect my office to look like?” After jumping up from his desk, he helped Georgie in the most gentlemanly fashion, taking the canvas and laying it on his desk while motioning for her to sit.
“I don’t know. I guess I expected it to be a small room with an old desk from the Truman era with those ugly green file cabinets and a beat-up, red leather couch held together with duct tape. I think I watch too many movies.” Georgie laughed.
“You’d be surprised how many do look like that.” Richard replied laughing. “But when I first started Fit Family Gym, I wanted it to be different. I wanted it to be welcoming. People hate exercising, so I really wanted to make the gym into a fun, relaxing place to come and work your body.”
“Well, you’ve definitely done that.” Georgie looked around the office. The first thing she noticed was the color scheme. She was surprised such an intimidating man would choose yellow as his primary color, but three of the four walls of his office were a beautiful Sunflower Yellow. The fourth wall looked out into a small Zen garden with half a dozen bird feeders, and two elegant stained-glass birdbaths. A path of smooth black pebbles meandered through small, evenly trimmed patches of bright green grass and a handful of exotic bushes that, to Georgie, not only offered cover for the birds that were currently holding a town meeting in them but added texture and interesting bits of purples and blues with their leaves. Richard did have a weight set and a treadmill in his personal space, but they were secondary after the view and didn’t come across as intrusive pieces of exercise equipment but instead useful sculptures. “I think even I could work out in this room.”
Richard chuckled.
“A lot of people like the fact that I have the equipment in the various workout rooms facing natural landscapes instead of mirrors and television screens.” He boasted. “That was another thing I didn’t want. There is nothing wrong with families watching television together. But they can do that in their homes. When they come here it’s a chance to see new things. They will then, hopefully, see possibilities not only in themselves but in their surroundings as well.”
If Georgie didn’t know Richard and saw him walking down the street, she would probably clutch her purse a little tighter while keeping a bead on him from the corner of her eye. He had the tough look and strut of a bulldog. But since she did know him, she was more than aware he was a big softy, despite his hard muscles and threatening facial features, and he was a gentle giant who loved his cat, Harley.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you too long. Would you like to see Harley’s portrait?” Georgie asked.
“I’m dying to see it.” Richard smiled and pulled the red yarn bow. Gently pulling away the brown paper he stared at the oil painting until Georgie saw the glistening of tears in his eyes. “It’s so beautiful.”
“I’m thrilled you like it.” She said softly. As much as she loved drawing and painting portraits of people’s pets, she really loved to see the reaction of their owners when they were happy with her work. This, to Georgie, was worth all the hours she put into painting Harley’s picture.
“My gosh.” Richard sniffed. “You even got the darker green flecks in her eyes just right. It looks like I could reach into the canvas and pet her. This is going to look perfect at the front of the gym. You know, by my stone waterfall? I thought it would look perfect there.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Georgie replied. “I’m really proud of this one. But Harley deserves as much of the credit. She was an ideal model with a wonderful temperament. Not all Persians are like that.”
“She is a good kitty, isn’t she?” Richard wiped his eye and grinned.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, let me get your payment.” Richard strutted over to a small safe behind his desk that was also a minimalist’s dream, a simple glass top with four bamboo legs. He used a blue pilates exercise ball as a chair. After a few seconds with the safe door open he shook his head. He stood and pressed a button on the phone on his desk. An older woman in tip-top shape came into his office.
“Yes, Richard.”
“Marney, did you get to the bank yesterday?” Richard asked.
“No, remember, I had to make sure the cruise director had the guest list and had left early.” Marney replied, smiling pleasantly at Georgie. “You had said you were going to go to the bank.”
Richard snapped his fingers and shook his head.
“That’s right. I did say that, didn’t I?” He looked sadly at Georgie. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to get petty cash yesterday. I’m the chairman of the events committee for a regional association of gym owners, and I’ve been busy organizing our annual conference this weekend. It’s been a lot of coordinating speakers, setting up workshops, welcoming the vendors and making sure the attendees are happy. Tonight is our big event—a dinner cruise. In any case, I’ve had a lot on my mind and I didn’t go to the bank last night. I’m so stupid.” He slapped his forehead and slouched.
“No.” Georgie put up her hand. “It’s an honest mistake.”
With wide eyes Richard snapped his fingers.
“I know. You’ll come to the dinner cruise tonight.” He beamed. “You’ll come as my special guest, have dinner, there will be music and dancing and...”
“Will there be desserts?”
“Of course.” Richard tilted his head to the right inquiringly.
“Real desserts, right? Not tofu or flourless cakes? But real sugar, calories, and all that good stuff.” She winked at Richard.
He folded his arms over his massive chest and chuckled.
“Absolutely.”
“My sister will be so jealous.” Georgie giggled.
“Why don’t you bring her with?” Richard suggested. “If she doesn’t mind being out on Lake Michigan for a three hour tour. I’m dating myself using that phrase.”
Georgie clapped, “That sounds like a real treat.” She smiled as she smoothed out the front of her blouse. “My sister Aleta will be just as thrilled to come as I am.
Richard gave Georgie all the details of where to park at the pier and emphasized that she should make sure she and her sister were aboard the cruise ship, Catherine O’Leary, before they set sail for the open water on the lake.
“I WILL NOT WEAR THAT hat.” Aleta shook her head and pulled her lips down at the corners. “I’m not a hat person. Especially a hat with a bumblebee the size of a hamster on it.”
“Come on.” Georgie teased her sister as they went through Georgie’s closet. “We’ll be out on open water. It’s a cruise ship. Let loose a little.”
“What does being on a cruise ship have to do with letting loose?” Aleta eyeballed a bright pink blazer made out of raincoat material. “Where on earth would you wear this?”
“The question should be where wouldn’t I wear that? I wouldn’t wear it on a cruise ship.” Georgie said as she pulled from her closet a loose fitting navy blue linen shirt with silk flowers of varying sizes stitched randomly around the collar and hem with tiny rhinestone buds in the centers.
“Do tell why this is not cruise ship worthy.” Aleta probed deeper into her sister’s closet and pulled out a crisp white blouse she held up to herself.
“The mojo just isn’t right. It gives off the wrong kind of vibe. This, on the other hand, is perfect.” Georgie held up the blue linen blouse against a pair of wide legged, off-white linen pants and topped it off with a pair of purple platform shoes that gave Georgie an extra three-inch height advantage over her sister.
“I’m going to steal this blouse.” Aleta stated.
“Yes! That will look lovely. Would you like the gold lamé pants that go with it? You’ll look stunning.”
“Gold lamé? Who are you talking to? No. I don’t want the gold lamé pants that go with this. I’ve got a nice pair of navy blue slacks that will look fine.”
“Can you believe your auntie, Bodhi?” Georgie looked down at her pug dog Bodhi who had made himself comfortable in the middle of her bed, as usual. He lifted his eyes making the sea of wrinkles on his forehead that much deeper but he didn’t raise his head. “She’s such a fuddy-duddy.”
Bodhi let out a snort in reply.
Once the women were dressed, they couldn’t have looked more different. Aleta, who had been a successful financial advisor until she retired, passing the business to her daughter, Emily, always dressed impeccably. The shoes matched the purse. The jewelry was classic pearls or gold and her ensembles were simple, conservative and always impeccable. She could be compared to a single rose in a slender vase next to her sister who was like a bouquet of wildflowers in a rustic coffee tin.