Stella exhaled sharply. ‘No. I’ve prepped the wall. That’s all I’ve managed so far.’
‘Ok, well I have an idea.’ He flicked a strand of hair from her cheek. ‘Can I borrow you tonight?’
‘Didn’t you have plans?’
‘This is more important. So, tonight?’
Her gaze narrowed and the prickles morphed into tingles. ‘Depends.’
‘I think I know something – well,someone– who can help.’
Intrigued, Stella pivoted on her chair. ‘I’m listening.’
‘It’s a surprise. Youwillneed to change. Not that you don’t look lovely in your stained cardigan and leggings.’
She feigned offence. ‘What? This chaotic dirty mess doesn’t work?’
‘Oh, it works just fine.’ He gnawed on his bottom lip. ‘But tonight, dress to impress.’ He dropped a sweet kiss on the back of her hand then got up and walked to the door. Before exiting, he turned on his heel and added, ‘Wear the glasses. They look damn fine on you.’
Stella pivoted back to her previous position and giggled, feeling her cheeks warm behind his unexpected compliment. Perhaps round two had more potential, after all?
‘A colleague told me about this today over lunch, and I just knew you needed to see it.’
‘Who is Alejandro Ortega?’ Stella read from the large embossed signage suspended in the middle of the open gallery space.
Taking Stella by the shoulders, Vincent gently steered her to the right. ‘That guy.’ He pointed to a short, stocky man in his fifties wearing black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt and black brogues.
‘He’s in jeans,’ Stella protested in a whisper. ‘And you made out that my leggings were abhorrent.’
Lowering his voice, Vincent said, ‘Yeah, well, this guy could wear a hessian sack and no one would question him.’
‘So, what’s this all about?’ Stella motioned to the picture-plastered walls and the many drink-holding patrons milling about.
‘This is his first showing outside of Spain of his new work. A hybrid. Photography meets lithography.’
‘Lithography?’ Stella flicked through the flyer in her hand. ‘I’ve never heard of him before.’
‘You wouldn’t have. Small non-commercial circles. Very indie. Very underground.’
‘Right.’ Of course Stella knew she couldn’t know everything that was happening across the artist circles of Europe, but she felt somewhat embarrassed that Alejandro and this showing of work had slipped past her. To bury this, Stella accepted a glass of wine offered by a waiter and made her way over to the wall-mounted work closest to them. She studied the black and white web of naked limbs, over the top of which rhythmic angular shapes had been stamped in grey ink. In all, it was both mesmerising and jarring: smooth flowing lines of fleshy lengths, broken and disjointed by the harsh angles of the overlaid printing. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s . . . actually quite breathtaking.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ Vincent took a swig of his wine. ‘I thought you might benefit from it.’
With a sarcastic air, she pointed to the next image; a contorted sexual pose featuring two faceless bodies. ‘I’m not painting one of these on Marco’s wall.’
Vincent laughed. ‘No. I wanted you to see how artists, no matter how established,’ he gestured to Alejandro, who was meeting and greeting some patrons, ‘cananddochange their mediums. Watercolour and big, bold acrylic. You can do this.’
Stella took a step forward and studied the image more closely. ‘So, what came first? The photography or the lithography?’
‘Do you like it?’ He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
‘Yes. I really do.’
‘Then does it matter which came first? The only thing that matters is thatthis’ he pointed to work in front of them ‘now exists. And why?’
‘Youtell me why.’
‘Because he took a risk.’
