An Unexpected Gift

by Brandon Carlisle

  "They must be great then. So, what do you want to do?"

  "I want you to see them first. After that I want your opinion on what I should do."

  Sebastian stood up. "Isaac, why don't we clear the table. Andy, why don't you see if Abby wouldn't mind our coming upstairs to see your work."

  Andy hesitated for a moment. "It might take a little while. If she doesn't mind, then we have to set it up. Lights and everything, so it looks good."

  I put my hand on his shoulder. "Andy, there's no rush. Take your time. We aren't going anywhere. If it's all right with Abby, then just call us when you're ready and we'll come upstairs. If not tonight, then later in the week."

  Once he left, I turned to Sebastian and he grinned at me. "Isaac, I think we could use a brandy."

  After clearing up and sorting things in the kitchen we returned to the living room with the brandy and two snifters. I collapsed onto the sofa and slid my arm around Sebastian's shoulder as he poured. "Just what I need."

  He handed me a snifter, and we clinked our glasses. Taking a sip, he looked at me. "I'm not sure who's more nervous, him or us."

  "I think it might be a tie."

  Taking another sip, he groaned. "This past week has been eventful. But I think it has been good for all of us. Especially for Andy."

  An hour and a half and two snifters later, the phone rang, and it was Andy. "Come on up. We're ready." He sounded nervous. "Don't expect anything special, and I want you to be honest."

  "Andy, we're not the professionals. We're your family. The professionals already told you how talented you are. They even want to put your work in their galleries. We also know how talented you are, so please relax."

  *****

  When we stepped outside, we could see light streaming from Abby's windows. We opened her front door and ascended the stairs. Abby's whole flat was bright with light. Not blinding, but enough to highlight the easels and paintings that were spread around her living room. We stopped at the entrance to the room as we took in the scene. Everything looked so foreign. It was the only way to describe it. Her flat was always busy, with easels everywhere with paints and partial finished canvasses. Now everything was cleared away.

  Abby and Andy were standing in the doorway to the dining room, which was now her work area. The living room that was her studio was ringed with paintings on easels that floored me. I was struck silent, and it was Sebastian that was the first to speak.

  "These are expressionist! They're like Edvard Munch." He turned to Andy. "You did these?"

  The paintings were dark. Eerie and foreboding in their intensity. The first canvas was of a boy sitting on a stool facing a corner while his family ate dinner. Next was of a boy in a chair with a man, I assumed his father, violently cutting his hair with scissors, while his mother was weeping in a corner. Next was of the same man, breaking pencils, with torn papers strewn across the floor. In the following canvas the child was crying in pain as the father was about to crush his son's hand in a door. The next painting was of the boy standing alone outside with a suitcase, staring at a dark van with a cross on the side, four men standing to the side in shadows. The last painting in that row was the boy huddled in a doorway somewhere in a city, the colors were dark, except for a pair of bright red boots hanging out of the doorway.

  All the colors were deep, the brush strokes heavy. The emotion you felt as you looked at them was raw. Stepping past the doorway to the next set the colors brightened ever so slightly. There were various scenes of pan handling, huddling around a trash can that burned for warmth, until you came to one where a boy was being beaten by thugs. The last was where the young boy was being held by a man kneeling on the street and comforting him. I turned to Sebastian and he was crying. Abby had an arm around Andy as I saw a tear roll down his cheek.

  "Andy, I'm no judge of art but these are great. They are so… so emotional. They're…, I don't know if the word is right, because of the subject, but they are beautiful."

  "Guys, keep going into the other room. There's more."

  I took Sebastian's hand, leading him into the front room across the hall. There were three more paintings on easels and several were leaning against the walls, eight in total. The first one was on an easel by the bay window. It was of a boy walking along the side of a deserted road, barren of even trees. A dark sedan was approaching behind him. The one closest to us was from Hearst Castle. It was of Sebastian and I holding hands, sitting on a bench around the outdoor pool with the columns and a statue of Athena behind us. We were looking past the columns at the ocean. Sebastian leaned close and explained it was more like the style of Max Liebermann, an impressionist. The third one was of us in the grove at Muir Woods, again holding hands, and from behind.

  The first painting leaning against the wall could be easily identified. It was a straight forward portrait of Abby. She was in a colorful gypsy blouse of red, orange, and yellow. Around her neck hung strings of multicolored beads. A burnt orange scarf covered her short gray hair and draped over one shoulder. Beautiful silver and turquoise earrings dangled from her ears. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. What also made it pop was the background. It must have been from our backyard. The white and dark pink flowers of the bougainvillea against the blanket of green leaves made it stand out. The last four paintings were various street scenes of the Tenderloin. Two were like Edvard Munch, the other two like Max Liebermann.

  I slipped my arms around Sebastian's waist. "That portrait of Abby captures her perfectly."

  "My god, that boy is blessed with talent. We are so lucky to have him in our lives."

  When we turned around, we could see they were still standing in the doorway of the dining room.

  Sebastian was wiping his eyes and cleared his throat. "Will you come over here? They're fantastic!"

  Andy ran towards him. My opinion was important, but it was Sebastian's that held the most influence, since he had a better understanding of art. Throwing his arms around Sebastian, he squeezed tight. "You think so?"

  Sebastian stepped back and tilted Andy's head up with a finger under his chin, giving him a smile. "Yes, Andy. I really do. You are more talented than I ever thought possible. You need to show people your work. Let people see what you can do."

  "Isaac, I'm sorry. It's not that your opinion isn't important. It's…"

  I cut him off. "Andy, I understand. I do. Sebastian has a knowledge of art that I don't. Mine is more I like it or I don't. He has studied art. I understand."

  He grabbed my hands and kissed my cheek. "I care about what you think. Thank you."

  Sebastian looked at his watch and then showed it to me. I nodded. "It's not too late. Why don't we go downstairs and have a chat about what to do next?"

  *****

  Walking in the door I felt a sense of relief and turned around once everyone was inside. "I think this calls for a celebration."

  Abby turned around and started to open the door. "I'll be right back."

  "Hold it! I meant I think we should open a bottle of champagne."

  She looked at me and then grinned. "Okay. That could work, too."

  Sebastian grabbed my hand and nodded to Andy as he watched us. "I think we can make an exception tonight?"

  "Especially tonight."

  Andy pumped his fist. "Yes!"

  We always kept a bottle of champagne on the bottom shelf of our refrigerator for emergencies. I brought out the glasses and gave them to Sebastian and popped the bottle in the dining room. A little bubbled on the hardwood floor that could be wiped up later. I poured us a round and sat down next to Sebastian on the sofa, Andy and Abby in the arm chairs.

  "Sebastian is right. You need to let people see your talent, Andy. If people that run galleries want to display your work, and I'm guessing they are respectable ones if Abby showed them your work, then you should do it."

  Andy leaned back in his chair and Abby turned to him. "Andy, you can still study various techniques. But you have the talent, and it shows in your work ri
ght now. Your work is good and people will buy it. You can make a name for yourself in the art world. Many artists have started in one style and moved to another later. Even Pablo Picasso and Claude Monet changed styles during their career. You met my friend Margaret Underwood. She has a very respected gallery at Fisherman's Wharf. Margaret told you she is ready to offer you your own exhibit based on the work you already showed her. She would love to present you as her discovery."

  Andy went white at the reminder. Sebastian held his hand up. "Abby, let's not put too much pressure on him yet."

  "Um…, don't you think I'm too young for all this right now. I'm not even twenty yet." He gulped down the rest of his champagne. "Could I have more please?"

  Feeling sorry for the kid, I refilled his glass. "Maybe we should just ease into this."

  "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Maybe if I just put one or two paintings there first. How about that?"

  "I could talk to her about that." Abby looked disappointed. "If they do well can we talk about a complete exhibit?"

  Andy looked at Sebastian who smiled and Andy grinned. "Okay. We can talk about it. Damn! This stuff works fast!"

  "That's because you are a lightweight. I think we should call it a night. What do you think, Sebby?"

  "Well, boys. I think that is my cue to go upstairs and have a brownie before bed. I'll call Margaret in the morning and give her the news. Andy, you pick the ones you want to give her for the preview. I suggest two of the earlier ones. Or, you could give her one of the earlier ones, and maybe the one of the boys at the castle. You still need to decide on a name to sign your paintings. None of them have been signed yet!" She mussed his hair and made her way to the door. "Night boys!"

  "Thanks, Abby." Andy tried to stand and sat back down.

  I helped him up and Sebastian and I guided him to bed. "Okay, party animal. It's time."

  *****

  Waiting for sleeping beauty to rise, we enjoyed a quiet breakfast. Once we were finished, we enjoyed the quiet and talked. We heard a groan coming from Andy's bedroom and smiled. I got up and poured a coffee, adding plenty of cream and sugar, and made some toast while Sebastian read the paper. "We need to talk to Andy about signing his art before it goes to the gallery."

  "I have a feeling he will want something different from his birth name." I couldn't see him going with Andrus Ludlow, or even using his middle name Remington.

  Andy came in looking a little worse for wear, "Morning."

  Sebastian turned and grinned, "Hello, sunshine."

  I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, "Good morning." But didn't have the heart. "Sit down. There's a mug of coffee with plenty of cream and sugar. Toast is almost ready."

  He pulled out a chair and sat down, rubbing his face. "Not sure I can eat."

  Sebastian set down the paper and patted his hand. "I speak from years of experience. The toast will help. Have a slice before the coffee. It will settle your stomach. Margaret and Abby need to know which paintings you want sent to the gallery and what name you want to use on the art work."

  "Ugh!" He took a bite of toast and then rubbed his eyes and sighed before looking down at the table. "Well… I have been thinking about a name, but it may sound kind of silly. Andrew Montgomery Browne."

  I stood against the counter holding my mug for a minute. Sebastian was looking at me with surprise and I shrugged my shoulders. Andy kept switching his attention between us, waiting for a response. This was completely from left field.

  I decided to break the silence. "Andy, are you sure about this? Once you do this, there's no turning back."

  He looked at Sebastian and grabbed his hand, then turned to me. "Guys, I'm sure. I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you. You guys gave me this opportunity and I owe you and Abby everything. When I get the chance, I want to change my name, and take both of yours as my middle and last name, changing my first name to Andrew."

  Crap, I was getting emotional again. "I think I can speak for both of us. We'd be honored." I could tell Sebastian was unable to say anything."

  "As for signing my paintings. It will take time for them to dry. I want to be careful in my selection and I'll tell Abby that I'll get them to Margaret in a week. I want to give her three to start with and see how they do. There are still a few that are unfinished. I only showed you my best. When those are done, I want to show them to you."

  Sebastian finally found his voice. "Andy, we are so proud of you. I'm guessing you have decided on impressionist and expressionist styles for your work?"

  "For now. It seems to work for me. Abby realized that with all my emotion and anger, I could work it out in the expressionist style."

  "When Sebastian told me about Munch and expressionism the only one I knew about was that painting called, 'The Scream'."

  Sebastian gave me an endearing smile. "That is the most famous."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Preparations

  Sebastian

  That morning, Andy brought down his completed paintings from Abby's flat. He set several aside that he was considering for the gallery: the boy with the backpack and the van; Isaac and me at San Simeon, and the Muir Woods; Abby; the boy in the doorway; the one of me holding him on the sidewalk; and the boy about to have his fingers crushed. The last painting was powerful and moving; however, it was brutal and, I thought, too raw for an introduction to his work, but I kept my mouth shut for now.

  Andy signed his work and continued to paint upstairs at Abby's. I know she didn't mind, but I also knew that he should have his own space. For now, I let it rest in the back of my mind. I needed to let Andy take care of his own business and not mother him too much. Isaac was learning to let go, and I didn't want to replace his efforts to hold on.

  The week passed and the evening calls Andy shared with Patrick lifted his spirits. They began Monday night with a profuse apology from Patrick for his not calling earlier, saying things had been crazy since they had gotten back. Between unpacking the trailer and trying to decide what to pack, and how to close out the store, his mother had been keeping him busy. I added to my list to talk to Isaac about giving Andy his own private line for his room. He needed his privacy. I also wanted to discuss Andy calling Patrick instead. We could afford the charges better than Gretchen.

  It was now Sunday afternoon, and we were about to enter the gallery to meet Margaret Underwood. She would show us where Andy would have his work displayed. The gallery was on a busy corner of the main thoroughfare for Fisherman's Wharf. It had a huge flag hanging outside announcing its presence as the Margaret Underwood Gallery. Large windows faced both street corners, letting in light and allowing passersby to see the colorful artwork on display. Inside, it was a large open space with partitions and strategic support structures for the building above it.

  She was having another new artist premiering his work that week, and was having an interview on a local station about the young man's work that would air the following evening. Andy's paintings would be on display next to his. Margaret was excited with his selection and thought it would be a wonderful contrast to Zachary's work. When she asked how he wanted to price his pieces, his mind went blank and he asked her what she thought. She called her assistant over and waited for her to hang his work. All the paintings in the gallery were unframed because Margaret felt the art should speak for itself. They stepped back, and she walked back and forth for a few minutes stopping in front of each. She turned to us and then spoke to Andy, "The boy with the van should be nine twenty-five; the couple in the woods, nine hundred; and the portrait of Abby, eight seventy-five.

  Abby slipped her arm around Andy's shoulder. "That sounds about right."

  Isaac and I turned to see Andy's mouth hanging open, and I grinned. "What do you think?"

  He looked at Margaret. "Are you serious?"

  "Andy, you are just starting out and you have talent, serious talent. We can't ask for more on your preview. Once we have your opening, I think we can ask for more. Let's see how this goe
s."

  Margaret crooked her finger at him, "Follow me." She led him to Zachary's wall. "He's also starting out and his paintings are larger than yours. He has a different style. I price him a bit above yours. More because of size and composition. You will notice his paintings are larger than your largest painting of the boy with the van, which is 30-by-40 inches. I believe your paintings are more exotic, and like the boy with the van have more emotional impact. Your paintings are sure to fetch more in the long run."

  Andy was beet red and was looking back at us and then shook his head. "I didn't mean they were too low. I thought they were too high."

  She smiled at him. "No, young man. I know my business quite well. I have been doing this for many years. Your paintings are priced quite reasonably for a first appearance. Now, let my assistant record them for my inventory, photograph them, and price them. I like the name you chose as an artist. Very catchy, and unique. Now, I need to prepare my notes for the interview later this afternoon."

  We said our goodbyes and then left to head back to our car in the parking lot across the street.

  "I can't believe it."

  I turned to Andy. "What can't you believe?"

  He stopped. "All of it! Being in a gallery, my art up for sale. Someone wants to show it, sell it. What she is asking for it. It's all so unreal!"

  Isaac clapped his hands together. "I have an idea!" We all looked at him. "We all need something sweet. Let's stop at Ghirardelli."

  Once we had satisfied our sweet tooth with milk shakes, we headed home. Abby went upstairs to check her answering machine while we settled in the living room to have a chat with Andy. Several things were on our minds based on my discussions with Isaac this past week.

  Andy was sitting in one of the arm chairs still looking dazed from the afternoon experience.