The door shuts with a soft snick, and I brace myself for the interrogation that’s sure to come.
“Babe, are you okay?” Gemma asks, coming up alongside me. Her voice is laced with curiosity and concern as she deposits plates and silverware on the counter.
“No,” I truthfully admit. I’m not in the habit of lying to my friends or colleagues.
“Wild guess,” Felipe says as I turn around. “He wouldn’t happen to be the American Giorgio mentioned earlier?”
I give him a curt nod, and Gemma’s eyes pop wide.
“You were with Jared Dempsey?” she blurts, shock and awe littering her tone.
I’m glad the door is closed and these old walls are thick. “I knew him as Jared King. Dempsey is his stage name,” I admit, hating how my voice trembles. Dempsey is his mother’s maiden name and I’m guessing he chose to use it for privacy. Not that it matters. Unless you live under a rock, you know who Jared is whether you know him as Dempsey or King.
“Here.” Ricardo hands me a tumbler of amber liquid. “For the shock.”
“Thanks.” I knock the whiskey back in one go, welcoming the burn as it glides down my throat into my belly.
Gemma guides me to the small table, and I join my coworkers in sitting around it. Three sets of expectant eyes wait for me to elaborate. “We grew up together. He was my best friend, and then he became more. Our parents had a falling out, and he moved overseas with his family, and our relationship ended acrimoniously. I haven’t seen him since.” I haven’t told any lies, but it’s not the full truth. I will tell Gemma if she asks in private, but I don’t know Felipe or Ricardo well enough to divulge the harsh realities of my breakup and the downward spiral it sent me on.
Gemma levels me with a knowing look. One that says “I know there is more to this story and I want all the deets.” I subtly nod as the door opens, and Francesca steps into the room. “Jared is very interested in Amadeo,” she says, eyeballing me. “I understand there is some personal conflict, but you know his work best, and I’d like you to talk Jared through the piece he likes.”
Of course, he would home in on my recent local find. Amadeo is a young male contemporary artist with huge talent and massive potential. A famous celebrity buying one of his works would be a big deal, and it could open the door to his success. I cannot say no. To my boss or my favorite artist, so I stand, willing myself to keep it together.
“No problem,” I lie, fixing a fresh fake smile on my face as I head out of the staff room with Francesca.
Jared is standing in front of my favorite painting, wearing an intense expression as he examines the vivid masterpiece with his arms folded over his chest. Beside him, Vittoria is typing away on her cell, looking pale and disinterested.
“As I was saying,” Francesca says, coming to a stop on Jared’s left. “Sydney discovered Amadeo, and she knows his work best. She can talk you through his thought process and help you to choose the perfect painting for your new home.”
“Paintings,” Vittoria confirms, sliding her cell in her purse and wrapping her arms possessively around her fiancé. “Our house in Florence ten thousand square feet. Lot of rooms to furnish.” Her English accent is clipped, her words uncertain.
“Perhaps if you tell me which rooms you are looking to furnish and what the aspect and lighting is, I can suggest pieces that might work,” I supply.
“I like this one,” Jared says, not taking his eyes from the large canvas in front of him. “What does it mean?”
Stepping up beside him, I focus on the magnum opus hanging on display. “This is Amadeo’s signature piece. His largest and most intricate work. His best to date and my personal favorite from his collection.” I clear my throat and avoid looking at Jared as I attempt to explain the meaning behind the striking painting. “Naturally inquisitive from an early age, Amadeo strives to provide meaning to the abstract, the undiscovered, and the inexplicable in our world.”
I move closer to the painting, spellbound by it like always. No matter how often I stare at it, it still takes my breath away. “His father is a neurologist and a scientist. Growing up, Amadeo became fascinated with the complexities of the human brain. He has studied thousands of brain X-rays and scans and various forms of brain injury and disease. This work depicts his attempts to understand the various facets of the most complex organ in the human body.”
“What does each image represent?” Jared asks, his eyes skimming across the different painted images of cross sections of the brain. There are more than fifty, in various colors and patterns, bursting across the canvas in a way that draws the eye.
My lips twitch. “That’s the beauty and intelligence of this piece.” Hovering my finger over one image, I air trace the word embedded in the swirling matter. “Each image represents a different emotion, or movement, or sense. A varied behavior or sign of intelligence. It is Amadeo’s attempt to understand something no human has ever fully understood. Because it’s a puzzle, so is his work. Embedded in each image is a word that describes what it means to him.”
“I don’t see words,” Vittoria says, “but I like the colors.”
It could be my imagination, but I think Jared winces.
“Do you know each word?” he asks, turning to stare at me.
I shake my head. “I have spent hours inspecting this painting up close, and I have only managed to decipher a few.”
“He doesn’t want it to be decipherable,” Jared surmises. “Amadeo wants everyone to find their own meaning behind it.”
I can’t stop the smile ghosting over my mouth. “Yes. It’s a highly personable piece. Amadeo’s hope is that whoever buys this painting will find hidden meaning or altered meaning.”
“It can change to reflect different periods in a person’s life,” Jared correctly guesses again.
I bob my head. “It’s meaning will vary over time. What one person sees will be different to another.”
