Love's Rendition
Part 4
by Tragedy88
E-Mail: Tragedy88@goplay.com
Disclaimers: See Part 1.
Chapter
Four
The
next day for Allison was a continuous day of meeting clients, purchasing
agreements, and the acquisition of a new painting. It bored her to near tears.
Surely there was something more to this life?
For one quiet half hour during lunch
Allison wandered through the gallery, her father's gallery, and his father
before that. Doyle Parker was a proud
man, a man who doted on his only daughter, but still prayed for a son to take
over the family business.
It had only been on his death bed in
the hospital that he'd called in his lawyers and willed everything to
Allison. She'd been bitter and at first
refused it, but as her father pleaded and died she made it a promise.
She'd also made a promise to marry
and let her husband take care of the business.
It was one promise she wasn't willing to keep. But she would run the gallery, and make it more successful then
it had ever been.
Taking on Christopher Wahbash as her
partner had been part brilliance and part luck. The luck had been in finding him in her gallery, studying the
layout.
She'd watched him pacing, not even
looking at the paintings at first, mumbling something silently, then she'd
approached him and asked if he worked there.
"No," he'd admitted. "But it is a lovely place, isn't it?"
Allison had smiled. "Lovely indeed. That painting over there in
particular." She pointed to the newest work in the gallery, a beautiful
piece from a relatively new and upcoming artist.
"It's all right." He glanced at it offhandedly.
She hid a scowl behind a full teeth
smile. "Really? I like it."
"Composition is good, strokes
are bold and sure, but the lighting is wrong," he replied truthfully.
Allison tilted her head to the side,
considering the wisdom of his words.
She wasn't much into decorating and had hung the thing in the first
blank spot on the wall. "And what
would you do with it?"
Thus had begun a conversation on
where he thought the painting would look best.
Undaunted Allison had gone over to the painting and deftly took it off
the wall, moving it to where he'd suggested.
When she turned back his mouth was
slightly open and his eyes were wide.
"Don't worry," she assured
him. "I work here." Allison
studied the work, and how the light hit it just right now and the canvases on
either side accented it instead of detracted from it.
"Y-you work here?" he stammered.
"Actually I own the
place," Allison chuckled.
"Wow."
A man of few words, she liked
that. She'd asked him if he wanted to
work with her to set up the rooms and display the paintings. Mutely he'd nodded and now, more then five
years later, he was an equal partner and they had three full time employees and
various janitorial staff.
That painting had long since sold,
the artist though had disappeared in the ever changing fads of the art world.
Now Allison wandered into a new room
that had quickly become her favorite.
In a time where families were few and far between, the emergence of
family portraits and homelife had resurfaced with a vengeance. They sold faster then Allison could keep
them on the walls.
There. Between the little boy on the horse and the little girl in the
rose garden. Chris' decorating skills
had rubbed off on her during the years and she knew Grace's painting would have
been right at home there. It would have
sold quickly. Too bad she wasn't
willing to part with it.
Let it go, part of her
whispered. You don't need it or the
money it will generate for the gallery.
But I wonder if that other-
"Hey Alli, there you
are." Chris interrupted her musings
as he sauntered into the room with a sheaf of papers under his arm.
"What's up Chris? He still won't sign?" She turned away from the bare spot on the
wall and faced her business partner, and friend.
"Nope, the tight wad is hanging
on for everything he can." Chris grimaced.
Allison sighed. She'd have to take care of this one
herself. "All right, stick the
folder on my desk and I'll give the old fart a call after lunch."
Chris chuckled.
How Allison managed to hold onto her
clients never ceased to amaze him. Of
course all she had to do was bat her pretty little eyelashes and she got
whatever she wanted.
"Will do." He headed to her office, but stopped at the
doorway to the hall. "Have you had
lunch? We could pop over to Salisbury?"
"No thanks, Chris. I've got stuff to do."
"Ok," he said, as he
turned slowly and left. She'd been so
distant, more so then usual, and Chris worried about her health. She was at the gallery till all hours of the
night and never seemed to stop for anything more then a coffee. Chris had found her, more then once lately,
roaming through the rooms with far away looks.
He pushed his dark haired business
partner out of his mind, laid the old fart's folder on Allison's desk and
headed out to the Italian restaurant across the street.
•••
I
woke late. Someone had unplugged my
alarm. I rushed around, grabbing my
uniform and a shower before I hopped on the subway to work. I was starving but I didn't have money for
breakfast, so I worked through the first two hours of my shift with a grumbling
stomach. Twice I snatched a roll from
the bin and placed it in my pocket before I filled the tray and went out to
serve them.
On my first break I fixed coffee,
the only beverage available in the staff lounge, and scarfed down the rolls. I was still hungry.
Through the last hours of my shift
my ankles began to swell and my lower back knotted. Why the hell did I work here if I hated it so much? The tips were good? Cha'right.
I just hadn't won the lotto... hadn't made the big time....
I sighed and got back to work as one
of the patrons titled their empty glass in my direction.
•••
Finally
my shift was over and I could go to the loft and do what I did best. Painting.
Nothing else relaxed me, comforted me the way solid brush strokes
did. My father use to tease me that one
day I would marry one of my canvases.
Well, they were certainly more
dependable then people.
The apartment was still littered
with trash and a few people. Doug was
out and about with his ever present bowl of Frosted Flakes. I mumbled a 'hello' before I escaped to the
loft.
He didn't hear me, or didn't
respond.
I changed into sweats and a T-shirt
and sat at my drawing table, but after a moment of just shuffling the paints
around and trying to stretch out the pain in my back and ignore my throbbing
feet, I gave up. I shrugged out of my
sweats and laid on the bed, propped up with the pillows.
With a weary groan I pulled the
laptop over on top of my bare thighs and booted it up. I dialed up on the internet and downloaded
my e-mail. I discarded all but
two. One was my younger sister's e-mail
address. The other I didn't recognize.
After reading my sister's tales of
woe regarding her boyfriend I shot off a big sister reply that not so subtly
said to dump the little chraa. Then I
stared for a second at the unrecognized e-mail from PWG@aol.com.
I clicked on 'read' and was startled
to find my name and a short note from Allison Parker. Of course, Parker Wahbash Galleries, PWG.
Grace,
The phone has been
busy all day at your apartment so I've sent you an e-mail to let you know that
we won't be able to start the portrait on Saturday.
A client has
invited me to a party and since I want his collection in my gallery for next
month's show I will need to attend.
I'm sorry if this
is an inconvenience for you, I'll try to clear part of my schedule on Sunday.
Sincerely,
Allison Parker
Damn, how in hell had she gotten my
e-mail address? I'd only given it to my
sister, but then how did I get all that cyber junkmail?
As for the phone being busy, one of
the party animals downstairs had probably left it, or knocked it, off the hook
last night. I hit the 'reply' button.
Allison,
Sorry, phone was
off the hook, didn't realize it. Sunday
will be fine.
Actually all day
Sunday will be fine since for a change I have time off from work.
Sounds like you'd
rather not go to the party. What is it
for?
Grace
I hit 'send' without reading it over
again, hoping it didn't sound too stupid.
My belly was rumbling but I was too sore to get up just yet. I opened my web browser and went to a well
used search engine, Yahoo, and typed in Parker and Wahbash Galleries. I wasn't really expecting anything, but it
turned up a main site.
Wondering why it mattered I hit the
link and waited for the page to load.
Wow, nice graphics and a nice easy to follow setup. Ms. Parker's design or her partner's? Or even a professional design, she certainly
had the money.
I scrolled to the very bottom and
read the disclaimers. C. Wahbash had
made the graphics and designed the page.
Interesting. I clicked around a
bit more, learning the nature of the upcoming show, the scheduled one after
that, a brief bio. on Chris and nothing on Allison.
May-
Thomas Thurbs' personal
collection of oils and watercolors will be on display in the Wahbash
Gallery. Among the works are paintings
by artists such as Rembrandt...
Yadda yadda.... Where's the good stuff?
Bio-
Thomas Thurbs is the top
lawyer at Thurbs, Thurbs and Romaine.
He has generously offered to show these works to the public for the very
first time.
Generously offered? Uh huh, how much was it costing Allison?
"You've got mail."
The gender neutral computer voice
scared the shit out of me. I wasn't
expecting anything.
PWG@aol.com
Grace,
The party is my
chance to sway Mister Thurbs into not backing out of our agreement. He's demanding a small fortune for us to
show the paintings. It's formal and
hosh posh. I do hate these things. Getting all dressed up and having to stick
my nose in the air.
Would you like Ed
to pick you up Sunday? What's a good
time for you? I've cleared my
schedule. After the party I'm sure to
need it.
Oh, and if you
were wondering I got your e-mail address from the little card in your
portfolio.
Allison
Well, that explained that.
I smiled as I read, not at all
expecting Allison's sarcasm to show through in an e-mail, nor did I expect her
to be so honest.
Allison,
Please tell Ed I'd
be honored if he'd escort me to your house.
Is 10 am good? I'd like to see
the house and find a good spot to paint, unless you have a spot picked out
already?
I'm sure Mr.
Thurbs will find, out of the goodness of his heart, the will to show his
collection. Just give him one of those
intimidating stares of yours. :)
I've never been to
a formal party, but I'm sure there must be something to do there besides
hobnob. Lots of interesting people and
exciting stories.
Good luck on
Saturday,
Grace
I hit 'send' then shut down the web
browser. Just as I was going to sign
off and go get some dinner the computer told me I had more mail. Damn, that was fast.
It was from my sister. Oh, okay.
I didn't bother to read her depressing e-mail. Instead I signed off, shut down the computer and laid it back on
the table.
I pulled my sweats back on and
limped painfully downstairs to the kitchen.
There was nothing left to eat.
All my labeled and carefully marked food had been eaten last night.
Dammit it all to hell! I never ate their food... why couldn't they
respect that? I was too tired, too sore
to go down to the corner to get anything else, and I wouldn't be paid until the
end of the week anyway.
I refused to stoop to their level
and eat their stuff.
So, with a grumbling stomach I went
upstairs. For awhile I sat, staring out
the window. I wanted out of here. More then anything. More than my beloved brother and
father. More than food.
I checked my e-mail, one last time
before I went to sleep. There was
nothing from Allison. More disappointed
than I cared to admit I turned the computer off and curled up under the sheet
after I'd pulled the curtain around the bed.
•••
(c) 2000, Tragedy88