“I just have to separate how I feel about Steve personally from my business goals. I’m not going to like every client I have.” I had to cling to that thought and focus on how Steve was going to make me money and attract other artists to the gallery.
I just had to push aside the memory of his pants around his ankles while he fucked an eighteen-year-old against the cabinet in my office.#p#分页标题#e#
I put on my white cotton gloves, drew a deep breath, and picked up the canvas in front of me. “This needs to go here.” I moved it so it would be one of the first pieces people saw as they came in. “It’s the most expensive.” I was going to turn on my charm, maybe even exaggerate the little bit of an English accent I had from being born across the ocean, and sell the shit out of these paintings. The sooner I wasn’t dependent on Steve, the better.
“And this,” I said, picking up the piece I was replacing, “should go over here.”
I just needed to get through the next few hours and everything would be fine.
“Are you shutting off the back?” Scarlett asked.
The back of the gallery had works by other artists that I’d acquired and a small section, hidden behind a false wall, of my particular favorites. People would have to come right to the end of the gallery to see it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want anyone to know they were there, but that little collection didn’t really belong with the rest of the work. They were more traditional drawings and paintings—portraits and nudes and a pair of photographs of Central Park by a completely unknown photographer. My favorite, the La Touche I’d bought at auction five years ago, had hung in my bedroom before I opened the gallery. It was of a woman sitting at her desk writing a letter. So simple, but I wanted to know who she was writing to, why she seemed to be hiding her paper. It was art like this and my Renoir that had made me want to have my own gallery in the first place. But none of it was “hot” and I needed to go where the money was, at least for now.
“I think I’ll keep the whole place open, just in case anyone’s interested in anything else.” I didn’t owe any loyalty to Steve, now did I?
I finished rearranging the paintings and set the handymen to work so I could come back and hang the pictures up when the fixtures were on the wall.
“Right.” I put my hands on my hips. “Can you help me move the tables so there’s more of a flow into the back?” Hell, not only was I not going to block off the back, I was going to encourage people to take a look at the rest of the gallery. Tonight had gone from showcasing Steve to showcasing Grace Astor Fine Art. I was done pushing men forward, wanting them to shine. It had gotten me precisely nowhere. I was going to put myself first from now on.
It was just good business.
“You look great,” Harper said as I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror at the back of the gallery. “Are you ready?”
I was as ready as I ever would be. My red dress fit like a glove and my five-inch nude heels felt like a power source—like I was wearing weapons on my feet.
I checked the time on my phone. Just a few minutes before the exhibition opened. “Yeah, I’m ready. I just hope people come.” When I’d envisaged opening a gallery, I’d focused on being able to showcase up-and-coming talent, influencing consultants to choose certain artists for their clients. I’d thought it would be all about the art. But I’d learned that was only the tip of the iceberg. The business of art—trying to make sure I had enough money to pay the rent, getting all my tax documents filed, organizing cash flow—took up so much time. I’d really not understood that making a profit would have to be my primary focus. Art was simply how I did that.
“Of course they’ll come,” Harper said. “You have an eye for talent.” We strode back into the gallery space. There was a bar set up toward the back of Steve’s paintings and a tray of champagne glasses that had already been poured. “Can you go stand over by the door with that?” I asked one of the waiters. “People should be arriving any minute.”#p#分页标题#e#
I hoped.
The bell over the door tinkled. It was Violet, Scarlett’s sister who she’d gone to collect. Okay, so at least when potential customers came, the place wouldn’t be empty. I greeted them and sent them on their way to look at the paintings.
The door chimed again. “Melanie, so nice of you to come,” I said, kissing an old friend of my mother’s on the cheek. She bought a lot of art and liked to say she’d seen new artists when they were still unknown. If I could get her interested in the gallery, then I’d feel like I had some momentum. She knew a whole lot of wealthy people across the world.