"I know Mom, but this is huge. I have to have at least ten paintings with me in a couple of days."
"Do you have that many?"
"No, but who needs sleep, right? I am going to start working on a couple of canvasses of what I think businessmen would like in their offices." I am bouncing on my heels as I speak. I feel like a small child.
"Emily, you need to keep yourself together. Don't forego your sleep and food necessities; you don't want to get sick before the exhibition."
"I know, Mom, don't worry about me. I'll send you photos, and you can help me choose which paintings to take with me."
"I'd love that, Emily. Good luck and let me know how it goes."
"I will, love you mom."
"Love you more." She hangs up her cell, and I put mine in my pocket as I stand and look at all the easels that I have.
Right, now I need to get some inspiration. I find my laptop, which is covered in paint splashes. I’m always covered in paint, my hands, nails, and even my hair. When I open the laptop, I look at landscapes and find them too boring. I'm not that kind of artist. I paint what I feel and put all that feeling into my artwork.
I look at one of my pieces and see a young girl, rushing through a field of pale pink tulips. The colors of her dress stand out in the pastel colors of the field. Looking back at the laptop I see a cityscape and fall in love with it. I know just what to paint.
I don't sleep for thirty hours as I finish the last piece before I almost collapse. I've had a few food deliveries and a few bathroom breaks, but I've not stopped painting. I was in the zone, and nothing was going to pull me out. Taking out my cell I see I have some missed calls from my friends, so I text them back and let them know that I was painting and tell them about the upcoming exhibition.
Jules: That's fantastic, Em. Can anyone go or is it just the wealthy business people?
Emily: I'm not sure, I don't think you are, but I will take pictures when I'm there so you can see what it looks like. In the email they sent me, they said that the artwork is going to be on display for a week, while prospective owners have a look around.
Jules: Hopefully someone will buy some of the art from you. That would be so awesome. When you sell your first painting, we can call you a real artist.
Emma: Thanks Jules. Am I not a real artist now?
I know she didn't mean to upset me, but when you're exhausted, tired and want to go to bed and know that you can't, you get snappy.
Jules: Of course you are. I just want you to start making money out of your work. I know you hold painting lessons at school for kids, but I also know it doesn't bring in much money.
Emily: I do fine for money. I've never borrowed from any of my family or friends. But I know what you mean, and I know you weren't trying to hurt me. I want to make money from them too. If one person buys at the exhibition, then I will be pleased.
Jules: Me too
We chat for a few minutes then I take some photos of the canvasses and send them to Mom, she will let me know which ones she likes, but I know the ones I am going to take with me without her input. I put my cell back in my pocket. I walk over to the bedroom area, pull off my paint-stained clothes, and make my way to the bathroom, naked, to shower off the strain of the deadline and the paint all over me.
I have a huge walk-in shower, you could easily fit three people in here, but who would do that, right? Not me, that's for sure.
I love the feeling of the water cascading over me, hitting my head kind of like an Indian head massage. I clean myself off and then step out, grab a towel, and wrap it around me. The exhibition is tonight, and we can go in earlier to set up our portion of the exhibit. We can go in from 4 pm, so I lay down on my bed and set my alarm for 2 pm, everything is together and ready to take over, who wants to be late, huh?
Five hours later I wake up. I can't believe I woke before the alarm. Checking the clock, I see it's 4 pm. What the fuck? How did that happen? I jump out of bed so fast it gives me a headache. I know I still have enough time to set up, but I wanted to arrive calmly and not sweating and feeling harassed.
Grabbing the bags I have waiting for me containing the canvases, I grab my phone, my purse, and leave the house, grabbing the next cab that comes down the road. Now my heart is racing; I haven't got my makeup on, and I feel disheveled. They probably won't let me in when they see me, fuck, I hope they do. Now my mind is spinning, and I know I'm going to cry.
What if they turn me away?
CHAPTER 3
Alex
I'min my favorite place, looking out of the windows in my office, surveying everything below me. I wonder if the exhibits are up yet. I’m going over there early to make sure everything is set up; I don't trust Sereny to have kicked out the famous artist, so I want to stand amongst them and talk to them before kickoff time. It's only fair when I'm giving them exhibition space for free.
The buzzer on my phone goes off. I walk back to my desk. "Yes."
"Mr. Hartfield," Bianca says as the line crackles slightly. "I'm just ordering your car to take you to the event, what time do you want to leave?"
