I step away from her to make sure both sides are even. “To be fair, I probably wouldn’t be much help doing the actual sewing, but I could provide the raw materials for the job.”
“Yes! I feel naked without my sketchbook and a set of oils tonight.”
I laugh with her, and an idea forms. A cutthroat idea.
“You know, I actually looked at your work for one of my upcoming sales. Before I found out you were exclusive.” I hold my hands up.
It piques her curiosity, as I hoped. “Oh? What kind of sale?”
“It’s calledThe Female Gaze, and I want to center women artists and a woman’s perspective that gets ignored in traditional art history canon. From antiquity to contemporary.”
“That sounds really interesting, actually.”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, who doesn’t enjoy naked Venuses? But I thought it would be nice to see something different.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Well, I don’t want to step on any toes.”Lies.I want to stomp on Gavin Carlyle’s toes in wooden clogs, with Legos attached to the bottoms.“But if you want to be in the sale, Loot would love to have you. And we could help with any contract you may have signed with Carlyle’s as well.”
“Let me think about it.”
I rummage around in the clutch again. “Here’s my card. And whatever happens, if you want to meet for coffee and discuss the market or whatever, let me know.”
Stella takes it and tucks it into her own clutch with a smile. “I’ll do that.”
We walk back to the seats, and I can barely control my giddiness. Not only because if this does work, I’d have another great piece for one of my shows, but also because it would make Gavin sad.
Even one of those is enough to make a happy day, but if both of them occur...it’ll be like Christmas and my birthday and Thanksgiving all rolled into one.
The rest of the show makes a big night for Sotheby’s. I love the Old Masters shows, but they’re getting rarer as the supply gets bought up and more works find themselves in museums. Don’t get me wrong, I love pieces going to museums; I just want to be the one to sell them to those museums.
After the show, with a sincerely warm goodbye to Stella and a much colder stiff nod to Gavin, we leave.
Sonia comes with me to my condo, orders some food and helps me get started on the Harrison catalog.
Well, she says she’s helping, if helping is sitting on my couch, watchingVanderpump Rulesand eating takeout while I make a spreadsheet of the paintings and try to find a good way to organize them.
At 1:00 a.m. I decide I really need to get to sleep or I’ll be useless tomorrow. Sonia’s long asleep, so I cover her with a blanket and turn the lights off.
Six more days to finish something that should take months.
Just another Monday at Loot.
I need a kettle in my office.That’s apparent as I jerk awake for the fourth time at my computer. I’ve got research open on my laptop and iPad, and I’ve already got one description written for a painting on my desktop.
I’ve also already drunk three cups of coffee and one of tea, and it’s only 11:00 a.m. I need another cup of something but I can’t go to the kitchen to get it—Sonia will judge, since her office is right by the kitchen.
Usually her location helps me, because she passes on all the gossip she overhears in the break room, but it’s a double-edged sword because she also keeps track of how many times I get snacks and caffeine. And then tattles to Mom about my caffeine and sugar intake, because family.
Hence the need for the personal kettle.
I’m building up the fortitude to refill my Starbucks London souvenir mug when Sonia bursts through my door.
“I tried, Priya,” Sonia says, looking over her shoulder. The words are apologetic, but she looks a little amused.
“Tried what?”
Before she can answer, my slowly closing door is thrown open again. This time by one very arrogant, very irate looking Gavin Carlyle.
