Page 68 of Indulgence
The thing I loved about abstract art was that you couldn’t lock it in a box. It meant something different to everyone who looked at it. I had no idea what Bastien was envisioning when he painted these, but when I looked at them, I saw a story of life.
The yellows and oranges blended to represent the brightness and innocence of new life. We experience so many events and emotions during our time on Earth but then we fade into the black as we come to an end.
Or I could flip it and see it the opposite way. We start life in the dark and grow into the light. Things become bigger and brighter as time passes.
The serenity I felt taking it all in washed away the obnoxious amount of stress I felt this weekend.
“No!” Bastien shook his head and stomped his foot like a three-year-old, drawing my attention away from the painting. “This isn’t how they go. The canvases are too far apart and this one is upside down.Putain!”
He was in rare form the rest of the morning and found sadistic joy in making everyone’s heads spin.
I didn’t envy the people tasked with rehanging or Annetta, who was the one who got to calm him down. With the rest of the gallery being mine to get ready, I slipped away, blocking out Bastien’s diva moment.
One of my favorite parts of my job was this. Today. Seeing it all come together. I’d spent months securing other pieces to house. Countless hours spent tracking down muted pieces that wouldn’t interfere with Bastien’s vision for his collection. It hadn’t made a lick of sense until he unveiled his own pieces.
My fingers flittered over the smooth dark marble of a sculpture I was able to procure from a Turkish artist. It was one part of a perfect array of pieces to complement the main focus.
It took me about two hours to double- and triple-check all the piece plaquettes, history blurbs, and program orders before I was positive everything was set for tonight.
In the main event room, Bastien was finally signing off on the setup. Ten pieces hung as the focal of the space. He played with lights for a moment, and when he switched on the spotlight, it was as if the canvases came alive.
“It’s breathtaking,” I told Annetta. It made all his crankiness and outbursts from the six months wash away in favor of the warmth I felt looking at the paintings.
She nodded. “The asshole has more talent than he knows what to do with.”
Her eyes traversed the room and landed on me. “Everything is wonderful. You did a magnificent job, as always.”
“Thank you.”
She checked her watch. “I’m going to grab him, feed him lunch, ply him with a few glasses of Champaign, and go over his speech for tonight. We’ll see you at five.”
Annetta ran a tight ship, and no one knew how to handle Bastien Bisset like his sister. Their duo was unparalleled.
* * *
As I steppedinto the warm heat of Portland, I pulled my phone from the pocket of my pleated shorts. I was making a concerted effort to reach out to Matteo, especially since the chaos here cause me to miss our dinner plans on Friday. I sent texts about my day. Thoughts of this and that. I knew he wanted me to come home, and deep down, I wanted to too. I was hoping to unscramble my brain as soon as this building opened tonight. I’d fly back to Seattle tomorrow with the gallery set and the showcase in full swing.
Then I would unwind these fears from my mind.
Matteo had looked so withdrawn on Thursday, and I knew I owed it to him to try harder. He typically held this ownership of himself, and it was clearly missing last week. He seemed defeated and basically admitted as much. He was tired. I wasn’t making it easy to love me, I knew that. My inability to deal with my regret was destroying my husband.
I was working on changing my perception of the situation. We tried something new, and I didn’t like it. Like trying a new dish or perfume or sexual position. It didn’t work for me. I enjoyed it in the moment, but I had no desire to do it again. That was it.
There was no need for me to dwell in the negative.
What I needed was to find that mind scrubber fromMen In Blackto eradicate the memories that followed from the next day. Then I’d be good.
Cigarette smoke wafted through the air, tickling my nose as I walked toward my hotel, which was a block away from the gallery. Looking up, I spotted a man who looked eerily like Gerard from Immersion.
There was no way that could be. My mind just kept finding new ways to torture me. If it wasn’t glimpses of Matteo’s non-existent second family, it was the creepy guy from the club who unnerved me the last time I saw him.
I just couldn’t keep my two worlds apart.
With each step closer I took, the better I saw the figure. My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. What the hell was Gerard doing here? In Portland? At the same hotel I was staying at?
My stomach dropped to the sidewalk as I noticed that his focus was on me as I approached.
“Natalie?” He feigned shock as if he hadn’t just watched me walk two hundred feet. My skin crawled with the way his beady eyes looked me over. “What a small world. What are you doing in Portland?”
