After Archer made his abrupt exit, I went back to my café for the lunch trickle. I wished I could have a true lunch rush, but no matter how many power poses I did in the morning, the café wasn't that busy. As I prepped for lunch, I thought about what we could do to make Harrogate appealing for the Art Zurich search committee. If Archer was paying the tab, I had some big ideas I was itching to implement.
A few people trickled in mainly to grab to-go orders. They were all professionally dressed, healthy-looking people. I knew the majority of them worked at Svensson PharmaTech, making the big bucks while sitting in air-conditioned comfort.
I slumped down at a table after the last person left. I didn't have to count my earnings to know I was in desperate need of more customers.
"It could have been me," I said sadly, thunking my head on the café table. "I could have gone to accounting school and found gainful employment at a corporation."
Instead I had to prepare for the art retreat that afternoon. When I first opened the Art Café, I thought having people there painting would add a cool atmosphere. It would be like having live music, but you could actually talk to the person next to you. I had a grand vision of an active three-story café. But the only live painting was the veggie-patch baby. The art retreat was an attempt to recoup some money.
Olivia:My grandma said to remind you about finding a nude model. She thinks you should invite Archer to do it.
Hazel:Tell Ida this is a wholesome art retreat.
Olivia:Really?? Because you flashed him. She thinks it's only fair.
Hazel:I can't believe you're telling people about that! Please put me on an ice float and send me out into the Atlantic.
Olivia:It's the middle of summer. Besides I thought it was a total power move. You know, show dominance. It's like those hyenas that pee on things. Also it's already on the Harrogate Facebook group.
Hazel:Stop! You're making it worse. People are going to think I'm crazy. You need to cut me off when you see me starting to derail. This is why I'm lonely and single.
Olivia:I didn't realize Archer was on the table. Now that I know, I'll be a better wing girl. I'll only let you bat your eyes and make appreciative noises when he makes inane comments comparing the size of his portfolio to his dick.
Hazel:I refuse to acknowledge how attractive he is. Also he's a massive douche and I am not that desperate.
Olivia:Except we are pretty desperate. We need his money if we want a chance to be the host city for the expo. Plus you need that grant.
Hazel:You have a better chance of winning than I do.
Olivia:Neither of us has a good chance. The snobby Art Zurich snobs probably want to give it to people like McKenna.
Hazel:If she wins it I will die.
Olivia:Put good vibes into the universe. And think of things to spend Archer's money on.
Hazel:*sigh* right be positive. Maybe the stupidly attractive guy will treat you like a joke and your terrible menace from college will appear in your safe space.
Olivia:Turn that desperation into determination!
I hated to admit it, but Archer was right. We did need him to win the Art Zurich Expo. Grand ideas were what would put Harrogate on the map, and Archer's money and influence would help make the ideas a reality. More importantly, I needed Harrogate to win so I would score one of the coveted individual grants. It would be enough money to pay off my building and jump-start several of the art programs I wanted to host.
The art retreat was a big piece of my grant application. I had billed it as a way to connect people to an authentic place and their heritage through art. In reality, there weren't a lot of cool thirtysomethings who wanted to paint and talk about art. Instead it would mainly consist of day-drinking octogenarians.
"At least they're paying," I reminded myself as I went upstairs to set up for the art retreat. My three-story brick building had the café on the bottom, gallery space in the middle, and my studio apartment on the third floor. The whole place reeked of acrylic and desperation. I opened the large floor-to-ceiling glass windows and listened to the noise from the street below while I set up easels and chairs.
Even though the retreat goers were less than ideal, I was still looking forward to the retreat.
"Hello?" someone called up the stairs.
"I'm coming," I shouted and ran downstairs. "Please look at the menu—oh, hi, Meg."
"I came in to buy a sandwich," my sister said.
"You don't have to buy pity sandwiches from me. Besides, once the Grey Dove Bistro gets here, I'm dead in the water anyway."
"I heard you sold a painting," Meg said, sitting at one of the metal café tables. "Congrats."
"Word sure travels fast."
