“No, I want out now.”
“Why would you think I’d release you now when you have your first solo show with me next month? A show I’ve already paid large amounts of money to advertise in a half-dozen publications.” Discussions like this made Liz wish she hadn’t given up smoking ten years before. Nicotine would have rendered Eubie a lot more tolerable.
“But I have a better opportunity, a chance to be in a real gallery, to be part of their annual emerging artists’ show that all the critics review. But they won’t sign me because I have a contract with you.”
Liz wasn’t sure whether she was more annoyed by his whining or his insults. “Honey, offending the person you want the favor from isn’t a particularly effective way to get what you want.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “So, the rumor’s true. You went to The Woods Gallery and asked for representation.”
“I’m willing to give up the solo show, if you’ll release me.”
“Either you’re not listening or there’s an audio problem in here that I never noticed before. So maybe if I write it, you’ll get it.” Liz took a marker, grabbed a scrap of paper from the floor and wrote in big, black letters, “Not only no but hell no.” She handed the paper to him saying, “You signed the contract. You live by it.”
He snatched the paper from her hand, ripped it in two, and crammed it into the pocket of his overalls. “You’ll be sorry you crossed me, Liz. I’m about to make my mark on the art world in Portland and you’re gonna regret you didn’t play ball.” Kane attempted to storm out the door but discovered he had to wait for Liz to unlock it, taking most of the drama out of his exit.
Not five minutes after the young artist left, Mike Benson knocked on the door. This interruption Liz was happy to see. Mike was her temporary help while her regular staffer was off on an extended holiday.
“I thought I’d see if you needed anything for the new show.” He stopped. “Hey, what happened? You don’t look so happy.”
“I’m not. One of my artists was here trying to worm his way out of his contract. He pissed me off.” She shook her head. “But I’m glad you dropped by.” She picked up a shipping box from the floor. “Will you finish uncrating these paintings while I make a couple of quick phone calls to see what I can do to get this thing with my artist settled?”
“Sure. I’ll uncrate, you hang, and maybe you can get out of here at a decent hour.”
“And I can buy you a late lunch.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got plans later today. Hot date.” He grinned.
In the back storage area, where what she laughingly called her office was located, Liz made her phone calls. When she returned to the gallery, the paintings were all uncrated and unwrapped, but Mike was gone, without telling her he was leaving, without asking if there was anything else to be done and leaving the front door, with her keys still in the inside lock, open. Young men, of whom she was inordinately fond under social circumstances, could be amazingly annoying under other circumstances, Liz thought. She mentally shrugged her shoulders and got to work hanging.
By the time she drove home a couple hours later, it was pretty clear that her day had sucked. First, there was Eubie Kane. Next, the painter from Arizona whose work she was hanging had sent different paintings than the pieces he’d promised, not all of which worked with the theme she’d planned for the show. Last, there was a gold bracelet missing from her jewelry display case. She wasn’t sure who made her angrier: Kane, her featured artist or her new hire, who had to be the thief because she’d seen the bracelet in the case when she’d gone to make her phone calls but it wasn’t there when she came out. As soon as she found the item missing, she’d called Mike. When she got voice mail, she remembered he’d said he had a hot date. She left a message saying she needed to talk to him urgently.