“I’m afraid so.”
Ryan wanted to stop dancing around it. He wanted to say: Let’s cut the bullshit. How much are you hoping to extort out of me? But guys like Bellini didn’t work that way. He had to come to it in his own way. Ryan knew guys like this. You couldn’t spend your whole life as wealthy as his family was without running into them on an almost daily basis. But it didn’t make it any more pleasant. The thing about Gen was that even though she knew this world, this New York art world, she still had a na?ve optimism that people would be fair and ethical. Despite vast evidence to the contrary, she still had hope for human nature. It was one of the things he loved about her. One of the many things. It pissed him off that Bellini was trying to use him, but he was used to that. What pissed him off even more was that this asshole was going to kill another little bit of Gen’s persistent belief in the basic good of others. For that, Ryan wanted to punch the guy in the goddamned face.
“Well, good luck. There’s still time for things to pick up,” Ryan said.
“Indeed. I was hoping you could help me with that.”
“Were you?”
“Yes. You see, if you were to purchase a painting—one of the larger, more highly prized ones, of course—then that would ensure that I’ll be in the financial position to offer Genevieve the gallery space, and at a price I’m sure she’ll find workable given her … limited means. And,” Bellini spread his hands in a gesture of magnanimity, “it would certainly be a wise investment for you as well. Our Gordon is going to do great things.”
Our Gordon. As though Bellini had anything to do with Kendrick’s talent. As though Bellini had personally nurtured him. As though they’d even met.
“How much?” Ryan asked.
“Well, it depends on which artwork you …”
“Stop it. How much?” Ryan repeated.
Bellini cleared his throat and told him.
“I see,” Ryan said. He nodded. He gritted his teeth and looked at the floor in an effort to hold his temper in check. “If that were to happen, Gen couldn’t know about it,” Ryan said.
“Of course not,” Bellini assured him. “That’s the point, isn’t it? For her to believe she’s pulling herself up by her own bootstraps, as it were? But you and I …” He nodded smugly. “We know the ways of the world.”
“This has been an interesting evening,” Ryan said after a moment. “It’s certainly met my expectations.”
He walked away from Bellini and went to the front of the gallery to wait for Gen.
Ryan needed to talk it all over with somebody, but he couldn’t talk to Gen. After they arrived back at the hotel, he checked the time. It was still early on the West Coast. While Gen was taking a shower, Ryan called Daniel.
“You know Gen really well,” Ryan said when Daniel picked up the phone.
“I guess. I’ve been showing my work at the Porter Gallery for a while now, so I’ve spent some time with her.”
“You talk about things. You’re friendly,” Ryan said.
“Sure.”
Ryan sighed heavily. “Okay. Then I need some advice.” He laid out everything that had happened with Gen, and the Kendrick show, and Bellini.
“I don’t enjoy being strong-armed for money. But I also don’t want to be too cheap to help her get what she wants, you know?”
“Crap,” Daniel said.
“Yeah.”
“What did she think about the gallery space?”
“She said it was beautiful. Went on and on about the location, the light, the … I don’t know. The ‘feel’ of it, I think she said. She really liked it.” Ryan rotated his neck, trying to stretch out a little of the stress from the day. “Hell. I’m not even sure she wants to move to New York.”
“Oh, she wants to.” Daniel sounded certain.
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s been talking about it as long as I’ve known her. About how she was going to go back someday, get a gallery of her own, get back what she lost when that shithead MacIntyre screwed her over.”
Ryan sighed. “Oh.”
“Wouldn’t it be more straightforward to help her out with the lease on a gallery yourself, rather than doing all this clandestine bullshit?”
“Well, sure it would. But she’d hand me my ass if I even suggested it,” Ryan said.
“Huh. Well,” Daniel mused, “you might just want to let it go. I mean, you’re probably not too eager to have a long-distance relationship. And what else are you going to do if she leaves, break up? Move to New York?”
“We’re not going to break up,” he said.
“Okay, then. I’m just saying … it’s not really in your best interest to pony up the money.”
“I don’t care about my best interest. I care about hers,” Ryan said.
“Well … I can’t tell you what to do, man. But the triumphant return to Manhattan is a key part of what she sees for herself. It hurt her when she got pushed out. It hurt her a lot.”
“Okay.” Ryan sighed. So much uncertainty was rumbling around inside him. It rankled him to his very core that Bellini might be able to take advantage of him, to extort him. On the other hand, it was just money, and if it could be used to make Gen happy …
The other side of it was that if Gen set up a gallery in a space owned by Bellini, what might he want from her in the future? Ryan was certain it wouldn’t end with his purchase of an overpriced Kendrick. Bellini would want more from Ryan—more money, certainly, but probably his influence as well. He’d want to use his “Ryan Delaney of the California Delaneys” connection to whatever advantage he could. And in what ways would he use Gen? But Ryan wasn’t na?ve about how things worked. He knew having a connection to someone like Bellini could work to Gen’s advantage. And she knew it, too. It was possible she could work it to achieve all of her goals. If Ryan didn’t stand in her way.
“Look,” Ryan told Daniel. “Gen’s coming, I’ve gotta go.”
“Good luck, man,” Daniel told him. “Whichever way you go, you’re going to need it.”
The following day, when Ryan took a check in a plain white envelope to Archibald / Bellini, he found Katya alone in the gallery. He placed the envelope on her desk.
“Tell your boss I stopped by, would you?” he said. “And give him this.”
Katya rose from her chair, came around to the front of the desk, sat her butt on the sleek, modern desktop, and crossed her impossibly long legs. Her little black dress was very short, and it rose even further with her gesture. Ryan didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help it. The legs were right there.
“He’ll be back soon,” she said. “Why don’t you wait for him? I’m sure you and I can entertain each other until his return.”
Was she hitting on him? She’d been a little too friendly the night before, sure—she’d been one of the women who’d slipped him her number—but what was this? What kind of entertainment was she talking about?