Page 52 of Play Book

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Are you happy?”

“So happy. And Gabe is over the moon.”

“You guys are going to make the prettiest babies!”

She grins. “I think so too.”

I’ve just opened the gallery the next morning when Bertie arrives—with Russell in tow. She’s carrying a massive box of gourmet doughnuts and a bouquet of roses, while Russell is behind her with one of those cardboard cartons of coffee people bring to meetings.

“What’s all this?” I ask, taking the flowers from Bertie.

“We’ve come to support you and make sure everyone knows you’re not going anywhere,” she says.

“I’m here to be supportive too,” Russell adds. “And because Aunt Bertie said I had to.” He looks a little sheepish, and I still wonder if he was the one who vandalized the gallery, but it seems sullen to say that out loud.

“Well, it wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it.” I go into the back and find a vase, filling it with water and putting the roses in it.

“Hey, uh, Saylor?” Russell is standing behind me, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“Yes?” I turn politely, even though I’m suddenly nervous that he followed me.

“I just want you to know, I would never do, uh, you know, what they did. What they wrote.” He clears his throat. “I’m really bad with women, no doubt about that, but I’d never do something illegal. And that’s an ugly word. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to say it.” I feel like he’s sincere and although I’m not a hundred percent sure I believe him, there’s no point in making a big deal out of it.

We walk back into the main showroom and find Bertie setting up a little counter I have with the coffee and doughnuts.

“You have a customer!” she calls to me.

Sure enough, there’s a middle-aged woman I don’t recognize perusing the side room.

“Good morning,” I say. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Hi.” She turns with a smile. “I read about what happened in the paper and people suck. I got your email and I’m here to support you. I need something with green in it. Do you have anything like that?”

“Of course.” I bring her to the front, and from there, it’s non-stop all day.

Customers, both old and new, visit all day long. If the vandal had been hoping to ruin me, he’d gone about it in the wrong way. At the rate I’m going, I’ll have to find another way to supplement my income, because I couldn’t paint fast enough to keep up with demand. Harper mentioned raising my prices. Just a little, maybe ten or fifteen percent, but enough to slow down sales.

I’d done it for two new paintings and those had sold first.

By the end of the day, I’ve sold all but two paintings and once I take down everything that’s no longer available, the walls are going to be bare.

“What am I going to do?” I ask Stevie when she shows up around closing time. “I can’t paint fast enough to fill the gallery. I have an artist friend from New York planning a show, but not until fall. It’s only March. The walls are almost bare!”

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Stevie asks, looking around. “You made enough money to pay the rent and stuff, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. And I guess the timing isn’t terrible because I’m going to have to close the gallery while I’m working on that sitcom I’m making an appearance on.”

Stevie chews the inside of her cheek. “What if I kept the gallery open for you?” she asks after a moment. “I don’t want to get paid or anything, but I…I need something to do. I can’t just sit and stare at the walls anymore.”

“Aren’t you going back to work?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. I’m still healing from the surgery and, to be honest, all the work is in New York. I’m not ready to go back.”

She’d lived in New York and still owned a brownstone in Brooklyn.

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