Page 34 of Love Is an Art
There was definitely frustration.“Nobody yet.”
“I’m surprised,” he says. “I think if you brushed up on a few techniques, you’d get an agent.”
No way. My sister, Kiara, studied art for years and didn’t immediately get an agent upon graduation.
“I could show you.” He launches into some technical discussion that makes no sense to me, but maybe an artist would understand it. “Anyway, perhaps we can meet sometime, and I can introduce you to some friends who are art dealers.” He hands me his card.
Yes. The scam is on.
“I consider myself a connoisseur of undiscovered, hidden talent,” he says. “I couldn’t make it myself, but I hope to help others succeed. But I’ve taken up enough of your time. Your boyfriend is looking impatient over there.”
Nice way to see if I have a boyfriend. I glance over to where Zeke is sitting in the second row. Zeke looks totally engrossed in whatever he’s reading on his phone.
“It’s too early to call him my boyfriend, but hopefully,” I say. Amorous interactions with Scammer Guy are definitely off the table.
Scammer Guy walks away, disappearing out the front door.
I take a photograph of his card and text Miranda an update. He seems shady to me.
Someone taps the microphone on the stage set up for the auction. “Everyone, please take your seats. It’s time for our auction.”
The auctioneer stands behind a podium on the stage next to an easel. I join Zeke in the audience. The auctioneer reminds the crowd that this is for a good cause, supporting Sanctuary for Families, Groundswell, and The Fresh Air Fund. A high school student who participated in a Groundswell project talks about her experience painting a mural on her local school wall and learning art techniques.
I wipe my hands on my pants. Zeke gives me a reassuring glance. They put up two paintings, and the auctioneer announces that they were finished on the spot here. These were clearly painted by actual artists. They may not have dealers, but they are talented. Several people bid.
The auctioneer brings down the gavel atthree hundred dollarsfor the two paintings.
Next up are some works by well-known artists. Miranda’s painting goes for several thousand. My days of bidding on Miranda’s art, to make sure it sold, are definitely over. It’s way out of my budget now. Luckily, I have my own collection of Miranda Langbroek paintings—all my birthday gifts and some more I bought because I loved them. My bedroom is like a shrine to the art of Miranda and my sister, Kiara.
And then my “cityscape” is up.All by itself.I shift in my chair. This is more nerve-racking than an oral argument in front of a judge.
“We’ll start this out at fifty dollars. Anyone?”
Silence. I squirm in my seat.
Can I bid on my own painting?
If only Iris had been able to come and bid.
It’s too bad Scammer Guy left. He could have bid on my painting with all its “potential.”
“Anyone? It’s for a good cause. Giving families a sanctuary from domestic violence. Anyone?”
Chapter ten
Tessa
Thesilenceintheroom is deafening as the auctioneer calls again for a bid and reminds everyone that the money raised supports the Fresh Air Fund. My cheeks flush, and my body seems to be heating up all over—not in a good way. It could not be more obvious that I am a failure as an artist.
Zeke raises his paddle. High. Confidently.
“You don’t have to.” I pull down his arm.
“I think we have a bid,” the auctioneer says. “No?”
“Yes,” Zeke yells out. He switches his paddle to his other hand, holding me back, and wildly waves his paddle.
“We have a bid at fifty dollars to the guy in the white. Any others? Going once, Going twice. Sold to Paddle 32.” The auctioneer can’t say it fast enough. A volunteer hustles my painting off the stage.
