I hang up and checked my watch. The gallery still wouldn’t be open for at least an hour. I force myself to concentrate on my work.
The new luxury hotel that I just opened locally is doing far better than I’d anticipated. I was supposed to go by yesterday afternoon and meet with the manager, before the thing with Skye happened. After some deliberation, I decide to go by today as a way to distract myself from her.
“Lawson,” I say answering the phone. I know it’s my assistant, but it’s how I always answer.
“I just spoke with Gordon. He doesn’t have any more of her work yet. And he’s got a waiting list. Plus, two of those people have demanded rights to outbid other buyers.”
“Holy shit, that’s awesome.”
“Awesome? It’s going to cost you way more. I told him to add me to the list of people with the right to bid.”
“Nevermind. Thanks for doing that. Julie will be contacting you soon about a new direction with the lawsuit.”
I hang up.
The news has given me the first hope I’ve felt since Skye shut the door on me. Drumming my fingers, my mind starts to race on what I can do with the news. I phone back my assistant.
“Yeah?”
“Can you take me out of the bidding war? I have several by her already.” The real reason is I don’t want Skye to be able to say that she’s only selling paintings because I’m buying them.
“Okay,” she says, sounding confused.
“But what I want you to do is set up a profile piece on her in the next Heywood Magazine.” We put a glossy magazine in all the rooms of our higher-end hotels.
“I’ll get on that.”
“And make sure they make it as glowing as possible. Have them include good photos of my pieces by her.”
“Sure thing.”
This time when I hang up, I’m actually smiling. I sit for a few minutes, visualizing the magazine spread on her. Our clients are all loaded and many love buying up new artists. If that won’t be a boost for her, I don’t know what will be.
I’m about to change to head over to my newest hotel when a thought hits me. After a few minutes of Googling, I pick up my phone again.
“Hello,” says a groggy voice.
“Hello, is that Gale Simmons?”
“Speaking.”
“My name is Lawson and I’m writing a feature article on your daughter for Heywood Magazine, and wondered if I could interview you for the piece.”
“You’re what?”
“Skye Simmons, the artist, is your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“She’s one of the hottest artists on the scene right now. People all around the country are on waiting lists to outbid each other for her work.”
“They are?”
“You’re her mother, are you not aware of that?”
“I haven’t spoken with her in a while.”
“Why’s that?” Will she admit the real reason? I doubt it, but I would like to hear it pass her lips.
“Oh, we lost touch after she moved to California.”
“How sad. You must miss her a lot. I bet she misses you too.”
“Yes, an awful lot. I just never…” her voice trails off.
“Well, what was it like having such a phenomenally talented child? What age did she start to show her promise?”
“Oh, she always loved to color.”
“I’ve interviewed many artists over the years, and know how important it is for the artist to be supported by family and friends. Was Skye able to count on you?”
“Oh, uh, we’ve always been impressed with her abilities.” Whatever, liar.
“Can you give me a soundbite for the article?”
“Let me think. Skye always had a crayon in her hand from the time she was a toddler. Her whole life, all she ever wanted to do was draw and paint. She had no interest in doing things like going to the prom, only paint, paint, paint.”
“That’s great. I’m going to be interviewing her next, is there anything you want me to ask her?” If she doesn’t get the hint now, I’m going to have to spell it out slowly for her.
“Just tell her how proud I am of her. And that she was right for following her dreams.”
“Gale, that’s the kind of thing you really should tell her yourself.”
She is quiet for a few seconds. We talk for a few more minutes before I end the call. Satisfied, I head over to meet with the manager at my new hotel.
On Display
(Skye)
I’m utterly exhausted from being up all night. It’s almost ten before I manage to haul myself out of bed. I’d been happy to lay in bed all morning, half asleep and pretending Lawson was holding me.
It takes twenty minutes in the shower before I’m awake enough to know for sure I can get out of the scalding water without crawling right back into bed.