Page 10 of Paint Me Love
I give credit where it’s due, and he seems to like my answer as his smile grows. It’s got to be the fact that I didn’t deny the praise but also didn’t fully take it.
“I think this one is my favorite so far,” Jack says, turning to the mural behind us.
It depicts a desert and a city behind it, the plaque at the bottom next to the artist’s signature reading ‘Ambition II’. The colors are handled well, and the meaning is perhaps the right level of ambiguous, but it’s still just art. Paint on a surface that holds no real value besides the one assigned to it by rich people looking to shuffle money.
I grind my teeth but keep my expression schooled. Art falls flat on its own, it’s meaningless to people like me who don’t need it as a means of an escape from the real world when we could well mold our environments to be anything we want them to be. Besides, have you ever heard of a billionaire artist? A dealer of art, sure, but the people who actually produce these paintings don’t possess even a fraction of the wealth that I have.
Being an artist is a path with a dead end.
“I like their interpretation of the theme,” I comment, stepping in closer as I pretend to take in the painting.
It is perhaps a naïve way to look at it, but to whoever the artist is, ambition seems to lead to success. I bet that they are also the type to think hard work will pay off, while in reality it rarely ever does. I can tell from experience. It is a myth, a made-up belief by the poor. A wishful dream that their discipline and sweat will one day come to fruition. Life simply doesn’t work that way, those at the top won’t allow it to. But this is beyond the point of this thought exercise I am in the middle of; I am not an art critic. My objective is to make both Jack and Alistair more likely to do business with Salinger Tech. I shouldn’t make it too obvious—that’s best left for our official meeting in a couple of weeks’ time—but planting the seed now is fair game.
“Did you find anything you’d like to hang in your home yet?” I shoot, deeming it a question that a very invested gallery owner would ask.
“Not quite yet,” Jack muses, sizing me up.
“I have something of an artist of my own at home,” Alistair jumps in, his gaze just as evaluative as Jack’s.
“Ah, of course.” I chuckle, maintaining a relaxed but upright posture. “Your husband… Joshua? He’s an interior designer working at Christine Fleur’s company, isn’t he? He’s one of the acting Directors now, if I’m not wrong.”
This is one interesting arrangement, considering Christine is Alistair’s ex-fiancée. My team found out there used to be some tension between the two, but that doesn’t seem to be the case since Joshua entered the picture.
Alistair grins like a love-struck fool. It’s his first genuine smile of the night. “I see your teams keep you well informed,” he accuses without any real bite.
We slip into a conversation about art as we move on to examine the actual paintings on display. I manage to participate in the discussion effectively even though I’m only half-listening as the other part of my mind wonders whether Adam and I come across sufficiently in love. We are both good at keeping up appearances, but we aren’t actually in love—we are just fucking and using each other. It works for both of us, and it keeps the media satisfied, so I assume we are doing just fine for now.
“I am looking forward to our meeting, Mr. Keller,” I let Jack know as we come up to a drink stand incorporated around a metal pole with fairy lights.
“I appreciate you not trying to win me over today,” he says back, proving he too knows how to play this game.
Good. I would’ve been disappointed if it was too easy, I think. A lot of things are easy in my life, so I like the occasional challenge.
“I will make sure to do that at the appropriate time,” I assure him and turn to Alistair. “And I would love the chance to introduce myself and Salinger Tech properly to you, Mr. Devon, if you can spare me the time.”
“I’ll think about it,” he states in a non-answer, a challenge lurking in his voice.
I don’t force the issue. If I am reading them correctly, which I’m confident I am, Alistair will likely wait to see how things with JE go before he considers a meeting with me. Smart. I would’ve done the same.
Smiling, I indicate the guests at large. “It was a pleasure to chat with both of you. I hope you have a great time. If you find something you like or have questions, any of the staff around the gallery will be able to assist you.”
Deeming my most important objective for today a success, I chit-chat with the rest of the red-coded guests from Jared’s list before going upstairs to find Adam. I spot him with the mayor and the Burlesque woman, the three of them talking by that weird metal art installation near the entrance to the staff and admin areas. I’m ready to be done with this fiasco, but it’s not exactly the best thing for a host to leave his own party early, so I need to keep this up for a few more hours.
As soon as my ‘boyfriend’ sees me, he flashes me one of his perfected smiles. “There he is,” he says, voice pitching up a little. He gives me a peck on the cheek, the contact quick and surgical but good enough to do the job as a camera light flicks from somewhere close-by. “I was just telling the mayor and Shantel that I needed to find you.”
I nod in curt greeting to the other two. “I was chatting with a few of the guests. I hope you three have been enjoying yourselves?”
The mayor confirms that enthusiastically, showering me with words of praise that I mostly tune out. I’ve spoken to the majority of people I had on my list, and by the looks of things, Adam has charmed the fancy restaurant’s heiress already.
Five minutes later, it’s finally just me and Adam as the mayor moves on to look at the paintings and pick one for his mansion. I’m so ready to go home… and maybe I can? I think I spoke to everyone I needed to.
“Derek,” Adam clips, the smile not dropping from his deep red lips. “Look more like you are enjoying yourself.” He glances over my shoulder and bobs his head at someone behind. “Did you talk to Jack Keller?”
“AndAlistair Devon,” I reply, straightening my suit jacket. “Depending on how the negotiations with JE Pharma go, we stand a chance with Devon Holidays as well.”
“Great. I’m sure you’ll manage,” he says to that, clearly already moved on from the topic. “I’ll go and talk to a few more people.” He spares me a quick frown. “Smile more, Derek. It’s your own gallery’s opening.”
Adam is right, of course. I should be on cloud nine and showing it. But I’ve crossed off all the important people from my list, which means there is little need to engage with anyone proactively, making it perfectly okay for me to pretend I’m looking at the art. Starting from the painting near the staff area door, I follow the curve of the semicircular hall until I’m at its other end, no single piece worth more than a second of my time. A lot of them are edited photos by rich people’s wanna-be artist kids, but that’s usually what sells in our circles, so it’s understandable why the gallery is so full of them. We do have the murals though, which help us meet our quota for real art.
