He shrugged and tried to look disinterested. Javi noticed a slight flush color her cheeks when he glanced at her and wondered if he had inadvertently offended her. He looked away to stare at his paper again.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Thanks.”
He continued staring down, sneaking quick glances at her. “No problem. Why are you going to New York?”
“She blushed again and he clenched his jaw, trying not to stare. “Susan Rhodes invited me, and I’ve never been. She kind of implied that she might introduce me to Lydia Collins, which would be huge. She’s your agent, too, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s why. And I’ve never been. I really want to go.”
“It’s crowded and the people are snotty.” And I want to walk through the sculpture garden at the Museum of Modern Art with you.
“Well, I want to visit at least once.”
“You going to try to see Reed?” If that asshole takes you to MoMA, I will never speak to him again.
“I’ll ask,” she said, “but I’m not counting on it. It would be great to ask him some questions for my thesis, but I’m sure he’s busy.”
Javi did nothing but grunt and continue looking at the paper. He had no idea what he was supposed to be reading, but he knew he was going to end up calling both Lydia and Reed before she left.
“Can I bring my stuff in? Is there a good place to store it?”
Javi waved toward the back wall, and the door to the small office where he kept some of his personal work. “You’ve seen the back office. Just put your stuff there while you’re working. There’s some old desks there. You can use those, if you want. There’s plenty of room. It’ll be out of my way.”
“Okay,” she breathed out, and a gorgeous smile finally crossed her face. “Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”
Her smile knocked the breath out of him, but he managed to choke out, “Yeah. It’s fine.”
“I’m so grateful. This is—it’s the first time I’ve been really excited about a project since… well, I’m really excited about it.” Her eyes darted away from his suddenly intense gaze.
Javier Lugo, you are a masochistic idiot.
He just stared at her, wishing he could convince himself to look away.
“You’re welcome, Kate.”
Part Eight: The Agent
CHAPTER TWENTY
Manhattan, New York
July 2010
“Your portfolio is… interesting.”
“Is that a good ‘interesting’ or a bad ‘interesting?’”
Lydia Collins glanced up from Kate’s portfolio and then down again, flipping another page over as she perused the young photographer’s work.
“I can’t decide whether I like that you aren’t intimidated by me,” she mused, flicking a piece of lint off her cream suit. It may have been blistering hot in New York that July afternoon, but Lydia’s jacket was free of wrinkles, her smooth skin was polished, and not a piece of her dark hair was out of place.
“I am intimidated by you. I’m just good at faking it.”
They sat in the small conference room of the agent’s office downtown as she thumbed through Kate’s student portfolio with focused concentration. She smirked a little at the girl across from her. Kate sat as still as she could. She knew she had the nervous habit of tapping her foot, but she was attempting to curb the habit, so as not to appear uncomfortable.
After a while, Lydia closed the portfolio and scrutinized her, as if examining a piece of art for purchase. Dee and Chris had always spoken warmly about their friend, but like everyone else from their group at Foothill, they all spoke about the woman with a kind of detached respect, as well.
Lydia Collins, Kate realized, was the one who got things done. She was the business woman. And Kate may have been an artist, but she was enough of her father’s daughter to realize that if she really wanted to be a successful photographer, and not end up working for a surf magazine or shooting weddings, she needed a Lydia Collins.
“You need me,” Lydia stated bluntly, as if reading Kate’s mind. “I think Chris and Dee were right about you. You’re very good. You might be great; that remains to be seen. You’re very young, but that can be an advantage, too. And you’re pretty. As much as it may irritate me, that matters, too. I need to know what kind of life you want.”
“Excuse me?” Kate asked, attempting to be polite as her heart raced in excitement.
“You don’t need to be excused, you need clarification. Be precise.”
Kate rolled her eyes, which made the agent’s mouth lift in an almost imperceptible smile. “Fine, Ms. Collins. What do you mean by asking me what kind of life I want?”
“That’s an excellent question, Kaitlyn. I like it so much, I’ll even let you call me Lydia. I need to know whether or not you would be willing to relocate, for one. Southern California isn’t a bad base to have, though, so we could work with that if you wanted to stay there.”
“I hadn’t really—”
“I need to know if you are willing to travel on a regular basis. I need to know what your goals are. Basically, I need to know where you would like to be professionally ten years from now, because that affects what kind of choices you and I make for your career in the next few years.”
Kate stared at the brusque woman with her mouth gaping a bit in shock. “Does that mean you want to represent me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you joking?”
She frowned. “I have a dry sense of humor, Kate, but it’s not that dry.”
“Oh my God!”
“Yes, well… yay.” Lydia said, curling her upper lip into what might have been a smile.
“I can’t believe this,” Kate breathed out.
Lydia looked at her, frowning a little. “You’re not a… hugger, are you?”
“Normally I am, but I can wait on that if you’d like.”
“That would be best. You’re staying with Susan, correct?”
“Yes. Should I call her or something?” Kate’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“No, but Susan has always been a hugger. Save it for her.”
Kate could no longer hold in her excitement and she broke into a huge smile. “Lydia, I—”
“You’re excited. I’m excited. We’re all very excited. Now, where do you see yourself in ten years? You never answered me.”
Kate stared at the tiny intimidating person, truly panicked for the first time since the meeting started. “Do I have to tell you right now?”
Lydia finally laughed a little. “No, but you do need to start thinking about these things soon. I’m not going to ask you to sign any papers right now, since you’re a friend of the family, so to speak, but you do need to sit down and think about your future.”
The agent’s expression turned serious. “You have time. Finish your thesis. Graduate. You know a lot of working artists. Take advantage of their experience. Talk to them. If you have a significant other, talk to him or her, but you do need to make some decisions.”
Kate nodded seriously, suddenly cognizant of the huge turn her life could take with only a few words. She felt as if a whole new world had opened up for her since she saw the snapshot in Professor Bradley’s office, and she tamped down the feeling of panic that started to swell, choosing to focus on her excitement at finding an agent who wanted to represent her. She looked at Lydia and held out a hand to shake. “Thank you, Ms. Collins—Lydia. This is huge for me.”
“Well…” Lydia shrugged a little. “Since we’re being up front, I’ll tell you—I’m bored. And when two of my favorite artists give me a personal recommendation, along with an old friend who I respect a lot, I pay attention.” She sat back and relaxed a little in her chair. “I’m genuinely looking forward to working with you, Kate.”
“Really?” she smiled. “Susan and Vanessa recommended me?”
“I don’t represent Susan. She’s just a close friend. Vanessa and Javier Lugo recommended you.�
��
“Javi recommended me?” Kate was shocked, and she noticed Lydia raise a curious eyebrow.
“Indeed he did. He said you reminded him of Reed O’Connor, which is a fairly extraordinary statement for him. The jury is obviously still out on that one.”
“Really?” She knew she didn’t currently sound like the brightest bulb in the box, but she was shocked—and more than a little touched—that the sculptor had spoken so highly of her.
“I was surprised myself. Javi usually doesn’t like anyone. I might have recommended he get his head examined if he hadn’t started bitching about having to shave for publicity photographs immediately afterward.”
Kate smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”
“Does it?”
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks as Lydia’s mouth curled into a smile. Her eyes suddenly looked lively with interest, but she let the subject drop. They spoke for the next hour about jobs that might be options for Kate in the future. Lydia told her stories about some of the strangest photo shoots she had ever arranged, including one that featured no less than two dozen print models, a white tiger, and a standard poodle that had been dyed pink. Kate was laughing so hard she thought her stomach might hurt the next day.
Lydia said, “I thought Reed was going to strangle the poodle… or his assistant, one of the two. It would have been too bad about the dog.”
Kate couldn’t help the snort of satisfaction that erupted when she imagined Brandon Wylie wrangling a pink standard poodle in Times Square as cars passed by him, honking loudly.
Lydia watched Kate with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m looking forward to this; it’ll be good to have some fresh blood around. We tend to get too caught up in our old gang sometimes. Too much history. Too much routine.”
“I think it’s wonderful.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. You. Dee and Chris, Javi and Susan and Vanessa, and—well, Reed O’Connor and Sam Rhodes, of course. It’s like you guys were some amazing artistic family or something.”
She saw Lydia’s eyes cloud over a little and she began to shuffle papers on her desk. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”
“So, does Mr. O’Connor still do fashion photography?” asked Kate, grabbing the opportunity to ask about him.
Lydia glanced at her before looking back at her desk. “No, he only does his portrait work. He was brilliant at fashion, though. And it’s very good experience for a photographer, even if it’s not your passion. You should really consider—”
“Do you think I could meet him?”
Lydia spoke in a carefully level voice. “I very much doubt it.”
Kate took a breath before continuing. “I’m sure you’ve heard I’m doing my thesis on his work, and how it’s related to modern interpretations of beauty. I’d really like—”
“I very much doubt it, Kate.” Lydia repeated with a warning in her tone. “He doesn’t do interviews, and he rarely meets with people he doesn’t know. He values his privacy.” Lydia took a breath before continuing softly, “I know you’ve been asking about him. About them. I want you to know that I am not going to talk to you about Reed, Sam, or their relationship. As far as I’m concerned, it’s none of your business. I don’t care what Dee and Susan say.” Lydia’s voice was unyielding, and Kate felt her breath pick up a little.
“But, I don’t want to publish anything. I’m just trying to understand—”
“It’s none of your business, Kate.”
Kate felt the frustration build on both sides of the mahogany desk as they stared at each other. Finally realizing she wouldn’t be able to persuade the stubborn woman, she slumped a little in her chair.
“Everyone else talked to me,” she said in a sullen voice.
Lydia cocked her head and her eyes were fierce when she responded, “Well, I’m not everyone else. You’ll figure that out soon enough. And to tell you the truth, you sound a little childish right now.”
“I just don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t!” she broke in. “Do you think this is some sort of—of soap opera? Some mystery or game? Why is this so important to you?”
Kate sat speechless, trying to put into words the strange connection she felt with the two artists. “I—I’ve studied Reed O’Connor’s work for years. And there’s something… I just want to understand it. And him. I want to understand—”
“What, Kaitlyn? What are you trying to understand?” Lydia no longer looked angry, but she did appear to be a little exasperated. “Why is knowing about them so important to you?”
“I just…” Kate felt her throat start to close and tears pricked her eyes. “Everyone—Chris, Dee, Javi, Vanessa, Susan—they all talk about them like they had this extraordinary love. The kind of love that inspires masterpieces.”
She finally saw Lydia’s eyes soften, and the agent said, “They did, Kate. They…” Lydia looked toward her office door as if she wanted to escape.
Kate felt the tears gather in her eyes, but she was determined to at least try to articulate what she was feeling. “That’s the kind of love people look for their whole lives. The kind of passion we’re all trying to capture when we pick up a camera, or a paintbrush, or a piece of clay. It’s all just trying to capture what they had. And they lost it! And—and I need to know how they lost it, Lydia.” A tear slipped down her face. “I need to know why,” she said almost desperately.
She heard the door to Lydia’s adjoining office open quietly, and the agent looked past her with alarm painted across her face. Kate brushed the tears from her cheek and turned to look over her shoulder. Then she gasped when her gaze met a pair of sad, blue eyes in a now-familiar face.
“It’s okay, Lydia,” he said as a soft smile touched his lips. “Hello, Kate.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Manhattan, New York
July 2006
Lydia rushed down the sidewalk, ignoring the sweat that dampened her jacket and ran into her eyes. As she turned the corner nearing Reed and Sam’s studio, she replayed the phone call she had just received from Susan.
“Lydia, do you know what the hell is going on?”
“What are you talking about? I’ve been in Boston for the past three days.”
“So you don’t know why Sammy showed up here this morning looking like shit and not talking?”
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat, and a dull dread began to fill her chest. “Have you tried calling Reed?”
“Of course I have! I can’t get ahold of him. No one is answering at the apartment or the studio. I don’t have his assistant’s number.” She heard the other woman sigh on the other line. “We need to figure out what the hell’s going on. Are you in the city? Do I need to have Javi fly up there?”
Lydia dropped the files she had been holding and stood up, reaching for the spare keys the couple kept in her desk drawer. “I’m on my way right now. I’ll call you in an hour.”
“I’m worried about him, Lydia. You know how he gets—”
“I know.”
Lydia unlocked the studio door, noticing the light hadn’t been turned on in the small reception area. The assistant’s desk appeared as messy as it ever was, and her heels echoed on the tile floor. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she walked to the back door leading to the workroom.
She opened it and immediately saw Reed sitting in the small kitchen located in the far corner of the studio. He wore a pair of jeans and a white undershirt, but his feet were bare as he sat cross-legged on the ground with his back against the cabinets. One hand was buried in his messy black hair, and the other clutched something close to his chest.
“Reed?” she called, as she crossed the barely recognizable studio. Broken and cut canvases and torn photographs mingled together, littering the floor. She saw dents in the walls, and Reed’s light kits lay smashed in the corner near a raised platform covered with a rumpled white sheet. One of the lights flickered sporadically in the dim space.
�
�Reed?” she called again. As she drew closer, she saw him rock slightly, and draw his knees up toward his chest. Her stomach clenched at the sight of him. Something was horribly wrong. He didn’t look like the confident, controlled man she knew. He looked… broken.
“Reed.” She put a soft hand on his bare shoulder. ”I need to know if you’re okay.” Lydia had her suspicions about what had happened based on the cuts evident on the canvases strewn around the room, but she wanted to make sure. “Are you hurt?”
Tortured blue eyes finally lifted to meet her own. They were red, and several days’ worth of dark stubble covered his face. Reed was barely recognizable.
“I fucked up, Lydia.”
She knelt down, drawing his tall frame into her small arms as he clutched her waist. She felt his tears soak her collar, though he didn’t make a sound; his right hand still grasped something tightly to his chest. She pulled back, and he grabbed a towel from beside the sink to swipe across his face.
She held his hand in hers, trying to unfurl his long, callused fingers to make sure they weren’t broken. His knuckles were covered in white powder where his fist had met drywall, and his cuticles, which were always cracked, were torn and bleeding. He finally relaxed his grip, and Lydia saw small pieces of a photograph flutter to the ground.
Her breath caught in her throat when Lydia realized they were pieces of the beautiful photograph Dee had taken of them in college. It was one of the few pictures they’d ever taken together, and the only one she knew Reed kept with him everywhere he went.
Reed frowned when he saw the pieces on the ground, and he leaned down, trying to gather them up again. Lydia put a hand on his shoulder to halt him.
He lifted his gaze to hers, and finally spoke in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to rip it. When I realized… It’s all fucked up now. I can’t put the pieces back together.”
She covered her mouth to hold in a cry, but Reed’s eyes stayed dry as he picked up the tiny pieces as if they were precious metal.
The Genius and the Muse Page 12