I stood up and stepped back, closing my eyes for a moment, and then re-opening them. It was an old trick I'd been doing for years - something to reset my brain and give me a fresh look at something I'd been staring at for far too long.
It was beautiful.
I'd never admit that I thought so, but it was. Everything about it - the composition, the light and shadow, everything - there was absolutely nothing about it that I would change.
Of course, this was after I'd already sent everything away to the galleries. Of course. It was just my luck that they'd never see my best work.
I'd been in such a rut, art-wise, for so long. I could admit that now. Nothing I'd drawn in the last two years was as good as this. Why? Was there something about feeling isolated and alone that really brought out the best in me? That was pretty damn depressing.
I was startled to hear someone tapping on my door frame. I turned around to see Daniel and Genevieve standing there, Daniel looking a bit sheepish.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Thorne," said the journalist, coming into the room, her eyes glued on my drawing. "I didn't want to disturb you, but…that's absolutely beautiful, were you working on that just now?"
"Yeah," I said. "What, do you want to write about it?"
"Actually," she said, "I was thinking of whipping up a little human interest story about both of you. This would be perfect. Would you mind if I photographed you with the drawing?"
I frowned a little, my hands instinctively going up to smooth my hair. "I don't know, maybe I'd better go…touch up," I said.
"Don't be ridiculous, you look stunning." Genevieve gestured towards my drawing stool. "Why don't you sit down there, pick up your pencil. Just - yes, like that, sit at a slight angle. Let me get my camera." She ran out of the room.
"You do your own photography?" Daniel called after her.
"Absolutely, whenever they'll let me." She hurried back, fiddling with a lens that was practically the size of my forearm. "It was my passion, actually, but the photography program at my school was incredibly competitive. I just studied it on the side while I went after a career in journalism, but let me tell you, sometimes I wonder if I ended up in the wrong field."
"Oh, I doubt that." Daniel was smiling. I let out a massive sigh.
"All right, now just…yes, yes, that's perfect." Genevieve lifted her camera and I heard the shutter snap a few times. "The lighting in here is absolutely wonderful. This is going to look amazing."
"Did you want a few of me?" Daniel asked.
Genevieve seemed to consider this for the first time. "Hmm…well, I guess it wouldn't be bad to get an exclusive of you. I was just thinking I'd use one of the archive photos, but…sure, I can do something. Maybe something sort of homey and relaxed-looking, something to make you look like an ordinary person?"
Daniel looked down at his shoes. "Should I change?"
"Maybe take your jacket off," Genevieve suggested. "Roll up your sleeves, sit at the kitchen island with a mug? No - you know what would be even better? Maybe if we moved that basil planter over to the island and you were watering it. Nice and domestic."
"You really think that's going to change my image?" Daniel asked, but he was following her directions already, tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair. I followed them both out to the kitchen.
"It can't hurt," said Genevieve. "Anyway, you were the one who wanted your picture taken."
She snapped a few of the pose she'd suggested. When she was done, she gestured me over and showed me the view screen on the camera.
"There," she said. "Is that the Daniel Thorne you know and love?"
I could feel his eyes on me as I looked at the incredibly domestic, incredibly fake image - Daniel posing with an empty watering can, over a plant he barely even knew existed. His lips were slightly parted, as if he were in the middle of a conversation with someone just out of frame. I studied his face like I was seeing it for the first time - his cheekbones, high and sharp, and those deep green eyes framed by long (but not too long) lashes. Paired with heavy eyebrows and a strong jaw, they somehow made him look both strikingly gorgeous and unmistakably masculine.
People were going to look at him, and then they were going to look at me, sitting next to my stupid little drawing, and think: her?
I shook myself out of it.
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, that's perfect."
***
The article ran just a few days later, but I found I couldn’t look at it. One afternoon, I came home from grocery shopping after having almost successfully forgotten about the whole thing, only to be reminded of it in the oddest way possible.
Just as I was hanging up my purse, I heard a buzzing noise coming from deep inside my pocket. It was my phone going off. The number was local, but I didn't recognize it. I almost ignored the call. But for some reason I couldn't explain, I picked it up, took a deep breath, and answered.
"Hello?"
There was a beat.
"Hello - Madeline Thorne?" The voice on the other end sounded…almost familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.
"Yes?"
"This is Curtis Gossard, I own the Starra Gallery downtown?"
I had to stifle a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. Of all the times for this to happen.
"Sure," I said. "Of course."
"I just happened to open the business section yesterday, and I could hardly believe what I saw. Your drawing, of course - and you. I'm guessing you don't remember, what with everything you've been going through, but we ran into each other in a liquor store not too long ago. I'd just gotten back from France and I didn't have my ID."
"Oh my God," I said. "Of course. I…I had no idea who you were."
"Neither did I." He was smiling - I could hear it in his voice. "I mean - who you were, obviously I know who I am. Most of the time, anyway. But - can I call you Madeline?"
"Most people just call me Maddy."
"Maddy, I have to tell you, I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. I remembered seeing your name on a portfolio that came in a few months back, so I dug it out and took a good look at it. I don't mean to say - we just get so much, you know, I can't possibly look at everything, and most of the time when these businessmen's trophy wives get it into their head that they're going to be artists, they're about as wrong as you can get. So I didn't give you a second thought, at first, without even opening the folder. I don't mind telling you how wrong I was. Your work is beautiful. I have a showing next month for local artists and I was holding a few spots for friends, but they got sucked into the corporate world and they don't have time for me anymore. Would you be able to step in? I understand if you're too busy, but…I just wanted to give it a shot, because I'd love to show your drawings."
"No, of course. I'll…I'll find the time." There was no way I was saying no to this, even if it was guaranteed to be overshadowed. It was my dream. Even if it wasn't happening the way I wanted, I had to take the opportunity.
"Great, fantastic. I'll mail you something with all the details. I want to show that piece of the girl with the willow tree, obviously. And I've already picked out some other pieces from your portfolio. It's really impressive work. I'm sorry, I don't mean to repeat myself."
"It's fine," I said, a genuine smile crossing my face for the first time in a while. "Trust me, I don't mind. You can flatter me any day."
"Well, I'm not even trying to flatter you. I'm not just saying this because you could buy and sell me. I really, really do like your work."
"Thank you," I said. "I never wanted to think that anyone would show me just because of my husband, or his money. I know that's silly."
"It's not silly at all. I don't blame you." He hesitated. "Do you think there's any way…could you bring the willow drawing here? I really want to envision where I'm going to place it, and it's hard if I don't have something to play around with. There's no rush, but sometime in the next few weeks?"
"Oh - sure. Can I just stop by?"
"Pretty much any time at the gallery, I'm always here. I'd love to meet you. Again. You know, properly."
"Likewise." I paused. "Thanks, Curtis. I really appreciate the opportunity."
"My pleasure," he said. "I just wish it could have come at a better time."
"Yeah," I said. "Me too."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Daniel was meeting with Genevieve again the next morning, so I ended up folding my drawing into a big portfolio and taking it down to the gallery as soon as I'd had my coffee. I hoped Curtis hadn't been kidding about being there all the time. I knew from my days as an art student that "all the time" often meant something different to artists than it did to the rest of the world, and it usually started sometime after noon.
A bell above the door tinkled lightly as I pushed it open. I was immediately surrounded by the smell of cedar and the strange atmosphere that all galleries had - I'd always assumed it was a result of the temperature controls that often ruled these places, but I'd never actually asked.
I headed towards the back. It looked like the door to someone's office was hanging open, and a light was on inside. I stepped forward and rapped lightly on the wall next to the door frame.
Curtis looked up. I did recognize him now that I saw him - salt and pepper hair, with stubble on his chin that was almost completely gray. He was tall and slender and he dressed like an art gallery owner - charcoal slacks and a dark turtleneck, which somehow worked on him.
"Maddy!" he said, jumping to his feet and running over to me with his hand extended. "I'm so happy you're here. I didn't expect to see you for a while."
"Well, there's a lot of…lulls," I said, shaking his hand. "Right now there's not much going on. It’s nice to have a distraction, actually."
We talked shop for a while, and he started asking me about my art. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had been interested in this aspect of my life. I started telling him how I’d first been inspired to start drawing, and why I’d ended up studying graphic design instead, despite what I actually wanted to do.
"Anyway, I’m so glad you could take the time to come down," he said, after a lull in the conversation.
"No problem. Like I said, there’s not a lot happening. And even if there was, I don’t think there’s much I could do to help out."
"Sure, sure," he said. "But I have no doubt that he appreciates you being around to support him, at any rate."
"Yeah," I said. "I guess. Not that you'd know it." I didn't know why I was being so candid with Curtis, when he was essentially a stranger, but it was a relief to be able to talk about it to someone.
Curtis frowned a little bit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something painful. Here, sit down." He pulled out a chair.
"You didn't. I did." I sat down, slowly. "It's just been hard on both of us, I guess. This whole thing. But him especially, I mean, it's his reputation. It's his life."