“Well, let’s just see if there’s a price, shall we? And make sure you have her agree if that price is met, you can go ahead and make the sale. And just so you know, if the issue comes up, it can stay in the exhibition.”
“Well, yes, it would have to be contingent on that.”
“And also any future exhibitions, until the artist is ready to let it go.” I’m skating on dangerous ground here, risking more questions.
Her eyes are appraising.
I fumble for an answer. “I’m going to be traveling a lot for the next six to twelve months, and well, I have nowhere to put it. Yet.” It’s true. I put my house in California back on the market yesterday. Even though I’d designed its renovation myself, I am beyond relieved to be getting rid of it. The soul has been gone from it for a while, since long before all the shit went down with Audrey. In fact, ever since I became disillusioned with the entire business I’m in. But I’m not a fool, I know I can’t walk away from what I know, my job. I just need to find a way to not have it define me. A way to live it, without it living me.
Things seemed to clear out and smooth out in my head the last time I was in Butler Cove. Being around someone so anchored to her own soul could do that to you, I guess. Obstacles just didn’t seem so big. Or at least she made me want to hurdle them like they were anthills, and not mountainous threats to everything I’d worked so hard for and all the comprises I’d made clawing myself up. A climb where the void dogged me at every step, ready to suck me back to the wastrel I’d been at seventeen. Let’s face it, with the amount of times I’ve been tempted to dull my insecurities and sacrifice my integrity, I could just as easily be dead right now.
It’s kind of fitting that the wave is spitting the red sea glass up and out of its belly with all the other detritus of the shoreline.
“I’m not sure the artist will go for keeping it if she agrees to sell,” the curator says as she goes around her desk toward the phone. “It’ll cost her money to move it properly each time and keep it undamaged. You’ll probably want to insure it.”
“Well, I’ll pay for that, too, if she sells. You can make that sound like your idea, as part of the deal you negotiated for her.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you know the artist?”
“No,” I say easily, the lie tripping off my tongue, as I slide my eyes back to the sculpture. She is dialing the number, Keri Ann’s number, and I am as nervous as if I’m the one about to hear her voice.
Will she sell it? She obviously doesn’t want to. Maybe the curator put a recommended price on it that was too low for her to want to part with it. I want the answer to be no, she won’t sell. Or the price to be so high I’ll laugh. I’ll pay it, of course. Although it will invite way too many questions.
I close my eyes and listen.
“Hi, Keri Ann?”
My pulse hammers.
“Hi, this is Mira. Yes, I’m fine … thank you. No, No, it’s fine. It looks great. Listen, I know you said it wasn’t for sale … What? … Yes, I know. But I was just thinking it would be good for me to know perhaps a ballpark, like a reserve, perhaps, not that I would share it with anyone, just for me to know, in case … I mean, if someone were to offer something you thought fitting, I’d like to be able to know whether to even call you. Uh huh … yes, yes, of course.” She pauses. A long time.
I glance over to the curator, Mira, to see her pursing her lips and drumming her pencil. Then her eyes widen fractionally, and she gets a bemused look on her face. She scratches out something with her pencil on the paper next to the phone. My heart thuds heavily. Did Keri Ann give a price?
Mira turns and winks, then nods at me.
Dammit, I want to hurt something. Disappointment that Keri Ann will sell it makes my stomach curdle, perhaps something to do with my slight hangover, too. I’m also relieved I can own it so no one else can.
She still hasn’t hung up. “Wait so, yes, I should just add the gallery commission and tax on there, add it to that amount, and that will be the specific price? Like specifically that?” Mira’s brow cinches up, seemingly confused by the conversation she’s having. “Okay, hang on.” She fumbles around, grabs a calculator, and punches in numbers. “Okay. Yes, I understand. Specifically. Yes, I promise.”
I feel worse as the reality of the situation sets in.
This is bad. It was one thing driving here, nervous as shit about seeing Keri Ann again and not knowing her reaction. But now that it’s being laid out to me that she will excise me fully from her life for a high enough price, I am gutted. I blow a harsh breath out and glance around for a place to sit. My legs feel weak. I listen to them wrap up their conversation, and then Mira approaches.
“So good news and bad news—although slightly odd.”