Page 32 of Footprints in the Sand
“Nico’s a sweetie,” Dimitra said. “But he’s a little bit of a party boy, I guess. I think he dates a lot.”
“I got that impression, too,” Eva said. “But the thing is, I’ve never dated. Finn was basically my first boyfriend. I never imagined I’d have to wade through these waters.”
Dimitra smiled, remembering her years of dating pre-Kostos. She’d gotten her heart broken time and time again. It had been essential to her spiritual growth. Or maybe it had just been annoying.
“Don’t worry,” Eva said, as though she could read Dimitra’s mind. “I’m not going to fall in love with him.”
“You sound like you have your wits about you,” Dimitra said.
“And you?” Eva asked. “Mom said you sold a ton of paintings to some hot-shot guy in Manhattan?”
Dimitra blushed, remembering the penetrating eyes of William Cottrill. “That was an intense day.” She went on to explain that after the party at William’s, he’d insisted on taking Oriana, Meghan, and Dimitra out for cocktails so they could talk more—about art and about everything else, a tirelessdiscussion that seemed to go every direction. Eventually, Oriana and Meghan had left for the night, getting the hint that William wanted to spend the rest of the time alone with the artist he’d “newly discovered.”
Ever responsible, Oriana and Meghan had made sure that Dimitra felt okay about being left behind. Dimitra had said of course. She’d proceeded to spend the next couple of hours with William, dark and gorgeous hours in the city that famously never slept, a time during which they’d exchanged a few of their secrets and fears.
Dimitra had even told William that Kostos had passed away, that he’d left for a fishing trip and never returned. “They say he was lost at sea.” It was an expression she hated because it almost felt too poetic for what it was.
William had taken her hand over the table and said, “Oriana showed me photographs of some of your pieces already. I can feel what you’re going through in the work. I can feel how powerful your soul is.”
Dimitra hadn’t known what to say.
William had had his driver drop Dimitra off at the hotel at three in the morning, and the following day she’d slept till nearly noon. At twelve thirty, Oriana had come banging on the door, her eyes shining as she announced that William had bought all of the paintings they’d brought with them to Manhattan. It was one of the biggest sales of Oriana’s life.
It had made Dimitra wealthy overnight.
More than that, her name was already on the lips of many art dealers and collectors in Manhattan and beyond. She was fielding emails left and right, requests for art shows and commissioned works. She’d been written up in not one but four art blogs and been featured on one art-related podcast. When it rained, it poured.
It was the art career she’d always dreamed of. It was the art career Kostos had told her she couldn’t possibly have. He’d wanted her to cater to tourists. He’d wanted her to shut down her soul and think about commercial appeal.
Dimitra didn’t like remembering that.
“I can’t believe swapping lives has resulted in all of this,” Eva said now, mystified.
Dimitra snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. Your mom said you lost your job. I’m so sorry to hear that. But it’s actually great timing for me. Now that my art is gaining traction, I need help with my social media. Would you be willing to work freelance for me?”
Eva’s eyes widened. “What? Of course! I’d be happy to! Did Aphrodite tell you I’ve been doing Jean-Paul’s work as well?”
“She didn’t say! But Aphrodite isn’t very good at keeping in touch,” Dimitra said.
“She lives in the moment,” Eva agreed. “She’s trying to teach me how.”
“It’s the Greek way,” Dimitra said.
Dimitra had only met the secretive French marble sculptor Jean-Paul a few times. Kostos hadn’t liked him, but she couldn’t remember why. Maybe Kostos hadn’t told her.
Then again, not everyone on Paros was keen on foreigners. It seemed like they’d taken to Eva so far, thankfully. But they all knew she was headed off the island soon. It wouldn’t be forever.
Dimitra was invited to Estelle and Roland Coleman’s Fourth of July celebration over on Nantucket Island. Instead of traveling to Nantucket with Meghan and Oriana’s families, however, Dimitra decided to stay on Martha’s Vineyard till late afternoonso she could finally, finally sit down in her studio and paint something. Although she had a big backlog of paintings and other artworks that she could share with her new fans, she needed to focus and present more pieces, for both her upcoming show in Athens and for William Cottrill, who’d said he wanted to come out to Martha’s Vineyard soon to see her studio and her works in progress.
Meghan made her promise that she wouldn’t bail. “We want to show you a proper Fourth of July celebration!” she said on the phone.
Dimitra said she wouldn’t miss it for the world.
During that afternoon before the ferry, Dimitra tried her best to immerse herself in her art. She tried to capture the magic she’d once felt when she was alone with her materials, drawing and painting and sculpting, collecting stones and sticks and flowers outside and bringing everything together in a strange and exhilarating piece that transcended genre. But each time she reached the brink of being in a flow, she found herself imagining William Cottrill in the studio, examining what she was making, and her mind slammed shut.
“Come on, Dimitra,” she said to herself in Greek. “You’re not making this to impress him. Art is about the conversation you want to have with the world, not with one single, very wealthy and handsome man.”
But she couldn’t shake William Cottrill from her mind.
