The Memory Painter

Linz returned the embrace with a tight squeeze. It was good to see her again. Tears welled in her eyes, and she had to fight them back. What was wrong with her today? Ever since she had gone to the exhibit she had become hypersensitive. She saw Penelope give her a searching look and she tried to play off her strange behavior. “Sorry, I’m just happy to see you. I’ve been so busy trying to get everything up and running at the lab.”

Even as she said it, Linz went back to thinking about today. After chess, she had gone to the office and cleared her calendar for Friday. No easy feat, there had been two important meetings that day—one with a colleague from Copenhagen who was flying in to review her study on a specific plasticity gene. That meeting technically couldn’t be pushed back, but she had done it anyway. All for a stranger who she couldn’t stop thinking about.

“Is that our mad scientist?” Derek joined them and kissed both of her cheeks. “About time we had our reunion.”

“I’m sorry it’s taken me forever to get over here. But this”— Linz motioned to the space—“is beautiful. When did all this come about?”

Penelope grabbed two more champagnes from a passing waiter and handed her one. “We were both in New York for the holidays last year and hatched the idea for the gallery over drinks.”

“And voilà,” Derek snapped his fingers. “Keller Sloane Gallery was born.” His eyes scanned the room, looking at potential buyers. “Lord knows I needed to spend my money on something besides clothes.”

Linz shook her head at his attempt at modesty. Derek had a graduate degree in art history from the Sorbonne and not only had an encyclopedic knowledge of the subject but was brilliant at spotting talent. Penelope was just as accomplished. She had an MBA from Dartmouth and had been looking for a challenge outside her family’s successful real estate firm. Their partnership made perfect sense to Linz. But then she also knew them well. They had been inseparable in high school, sharing a special bond that came from four years of being labeled the fat girl, the gay guy, and the geek. Although the trio had gone their separate ways for college, they had managed to stay connected over the years. Now here they all were back in Boston.

Linz looked around the room. “This is quite a turnout.” In fact, she could feel the buzz in the air—this was an event. For the first time, she became curious. “Who’s the artist?”

The crowd had started to swell, and the noise level in the room had amplified. Derek had to lean in and raise his voice. “Bryan Pierce, came out of nowhere and made a huge splash in New York.”

“Huge splash,” Penelope agreed, eyeing an older gentleman in the corner making pencil notes on his card. “Buyers are even in from Europe and we have the exclusive.”

Linz glimpsed a dramatic painting of a Japanese woman in an elaborate kimono. Her black hair fell like a silk curtain and trailed to the ground as she knelt at a koi pond, a lotus flower dangling from her hand. A reflection shimmered in the water as a man stood watching her from the bridge above.

The artist had signed his name in Japanese. Linz nodded to the painting. “He’s Japanese?”

Penelope shook her head. “He signs each work with a different name. He won’t explain why. We’re guessing it’s whoever’s point of view the painting is from.”

“Pretty wacky but original,” Derek chimed in. “Part of his mystique.”

Linz glanced around at all the men. “Which one is he?”

“Our man of the hour isn’t here,” Derek said, signaling a circling caterer to go refill his tray.