‘OK, great!’
Suzanne Lee hung up the phone and Greg was left to wonder about deadlines and how to get her the prints. He leafed through the directory and saw there was an email next to the number. He’d start right away; Suzanne sounded like the kind of person who wanted things ‘yesterday’. Obviously the woman was under a lot of stress, or maybe that’s the way she was all the time?
Greg looked at his notes. He’d like to do the Rockefeller Center and The Plaza at night; they’d look especially festive and pretty all lit up. He would clean all his equipment tonight, and tidy the darkroom, check fluids and that kind of thing. The bakery and Wollman Rink he could do tomorrow morning before heading over to his folks’ place for a while. Then maybe the night shots the following evening.
He decided to do it in chunks and send digital photos through as he went: that way Suzanne could tell him if he was on the right track or not, which he suspected would be no trouble for her.
But for now, he planned to take a trip downtown to work on the second phase of his new career plan, something that he hoped would boost Karen’s faith in him even more.
24
Holly walked with determination as she navigated the slush on Twenty-Fifth Street while taking special care to not ruin her black riding boots. She had to admit that she had possibly made a mistake in her wardrobe choice that morning and paid silent tribute to the Scotchguard she had applied when she first bought the boots in a Century 21 sale during the summer.
She peered down the street and she took a moment to check the address again. The street was awash with galleries, and she wanted to make sure that she had found the right one.
‘It should be just here.’ Holly looked up at the nondescript building in front of her and felt sure that she had found the correct one. Nothing said ‘art gallery of the highest standing’ like a brown brick building with no signs.
She pulled her mink-coloured shearling coat tighter around her, taking a few steps forward to tug at the heavy and ornate oak door.
A moment later she was welcomed by a blast of heat that was surprising considering the high ceilings in the space, and she welcomed the warmth.
Dark wood floors complemented the red paint on the walls and reflected bursts of light from the track and recessed lighting fixtures above. The space could have easily been considered for a wing at MoMa, it was so elegant, and Holly’s gaze immediately wandered to the walls, which were covered in resplendent pop art canvas paintings and photographs. Some were renditions of places here in New York, others of exotic locales around the world that Holly could only dream of.
Fascinated, she started to wander along the perimeter of the room, almost forgetting why she had come in the first place, until someone approached her silently from behind.
‘Welcome to the del Vecchio Gallery. Is there something I can help you with?’
Holly turned around quickly to be faced with a dark-haired man who had the same sculpted jawline and arresting features as another man she had met in Manhattan many moons ago. The man in front of her spoke with an ever-so-soft Italian accent; an inflection that clearly indicated he had been in the US for some time, but had not yet given up his roots. His eyes were heavily lashed, but instead of blue like Nick’s, they were warm amber. A smile graced his lips, one that suggested he was a rogue and knew it, and Holly steeled herself, almost out of habit, not to fall prey to yet another charming man.
However, as was Holly’s nature, she also had a hard time being rude to a stranger and a smile found its way to her lips.
‘Yes, maybe you can help me. I’m looking to speak to Gennaro del Vecchio?’
The smile grew wider. ‘Well, then you are in luck, because I am he.’
‘Oh,’ Holly stuttered, somewhat disarmed.
The mere fact that she had asked for him directly seemed to make his body language suddenly click into overdrive, as if he was intrigued that he now had the audience of an attractive female.
‘And you are?’ he inquired.
‘Oh, sorry, I’m Holly O’Neill.’
‘Well, Holly O’Neill, what brings you here today? Are you looking for a new piece of artwork?’
Right, she thought to herself with a smile,everything on the walls here probably costs more than I pay in a year’s rent.
‘The artwork is beautiful, but actually it’s about something else. And it’s sort of a long story. I wouldn’t want to interrupt you if you are busy?’
She knew that she was the only person on the gallery floor just then, but she didn’t know if there was some sort of backstage business that the owner engaged in when there was no foot traffic.
‘Does it look like I am crushed with Christmas shoppers?’ he teased. ‘I run a business that is, how do you say it … not the top priority when stuffing a stocking.’
Holly let out a laugh at his somewhat broken English. She had to admit that she loved a man with an accent, and he was definitely handsome. Unfortunately he reminded her too much of someone she tried not to think about regularly.
‘And besides,’ he added pointedly, ‘I always have plenty of time for a beautiful woman.’
I bet you do, thought Holly, as she mentally channelled some imaginary armour to shield herself from his charms. ‘Thank you.’
