“We have some time to figure it out,” Talia says calmly. “My source will try to find out more information, but this is huge.”
She’s right. Next March, I’ll have the chance to buy backBaby Being Born. Finally.
An idea forms. The only thing I ever want to accept from Mom is a room to stay. I want to be financially independent, but this shot might come around only once.
“Mom,” I say slowly, “you want to go halvsies on it? Didn’t you just sell some pieces of your last collection?”
Mom grunts. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to buy back my own art for double, triple the cost. And you. You should not be going into debt for this video.”
I make a face. “You’re right. I want to do this on my own anyway. The buying-it-back part, not the debt part.” I pull a pillow onto my lap and study Talia’s expression. “You think it’s really going to sell for that much?”
“The value of art depends on what someone is willing to pay for it. And this is the video that made your mom famous. Not like I have to tell you that, but with your mom taking a break from making art, her pieces will become more valuable,” Talia says. “Even this one.Baby Being Bornhas only been sold once since the first time your mom sold it.”
“Yeah, I’m still taking a break,” Mom calls out preemptively from the kitchen. “I need some me-time.”
Talia’s cell phone vibrates against the glass coffee table, startling all of us.
“Who’s calling at six fifteen on a Friday night?” Talia asks. She lets the call go to her automated voice mail. “We have more important things to discuss.”
“Totally. Like how we’re going to get approximately thirty thousand dollars by March,” I say with a groan. “Casual Friday night chitchat.”
Talia’s cell phone buzzes again. Restricted number.
“Maybe this is something about the gallery. California’s three hours behind us. One sec.” Talia has her gallery phone calls forwarded to her personal cell phone when she’s not there so that she never misses an interested client. She taps the green button on her screen. “Hello?”
While Talia’s on the phone, I help Mom in the kitchen. We lightly crack the hard-boiled eggs and roll them against the wooden cutting board.
Talia hangs up and looks over at us. “Scammers are getting waymore creative. Have you ever gotten one claiming they’re from a space agency?”
Mom groans. “Maybe they’re offering seats to the moon for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars apiece. You just missed out on a trip of a lifetime.”
Her phone rings a third time.
Once again, Talia answers. “The NYPD are on the line with me” is how she answers this time. A trick we learned that tends to freak out scammers.
After a few seconds, Talia still hasn’t hung up.
“Who is it?” I shout-whisper.
She shakes her head and puts the phone on speaker. “How did you get this number?”
The voice on the other end comes out warbled. “I found this number on Red String Girl’s website. It was the only contact information listed.”
Talia shoots me a look when she realizes that I made her gallery my contact number.
“Sorry,” I mouth and give her an apologetic look.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine,” she mouths back. “Okay. Yeah. I’m her… assistant. Um… Officer, you can hang up now. How can I help you?”
I laugh quietly while I crack an egg gently under the weight of my palm.
“Uh,” the man says, sounding nervous. “Like I mentioned, I work at NASA. My apologies. I failed to remember the time difference. If this is too late to be calling, I will try again on Monday. I was looking for Red String Girl?”
This gets my attention. I gesture to Talia to keep talking.
“Wait. Red String Girl is unavailable at the moment.” Talia clearsher throat. She lives for a good improv moment. “I handle all of Ms. RSG’s affairs.”
“Right. Ms. Sorry,” the man says.
