I paused, closed my eyes, and tapped my hand twice on the chipped painted wall before me.
“Got it.”
Immediately hanging up the phone, dread ripping the shit out of my stomach, I headed down a dark quiet hallway. Raking my long hair out of my face, my nails then scratched down the heavy dark stubble on my face.
Two weeks...
In two weeks, I’d be in Seattle, ready for the next part of my life to begin, but not before having to face a truckload of unresolved shit from my past…
Chapter One
Ally
New York City
Running across the road, I dodged people left and right in my rush to get to my interview on time. The New York weather was humid and sweltering. I was so happy I’d tied my long hair back in a bun.
Gripping tightly onto my purse, I jogged along the sidewalk, frantically checking my watch. My plane had been delayed and getting ready in a Boeing 737’s tiny bathroom cubicle wasn’t exactly ideal for presenting flawless makeup and hair.
But it was worth it. This was all for the exhibition of my dreams. I intended to nail this interview. There was no choice. I would do anything to curate this show… even fly to the East Coast last minute from California to land it... even leave my beautiful newly-curated Contemporary Art gallery at UCLA in the hands of the Art Director.
Finally reaching the front of the Met, I ran up the stairs in my favorite black Louboutins, straightening out my black sleeveless dress as I reached the top.
Pausing, I inhaled through my nose, and with a slow exhale from my mouth, pulled back my shoulders and walked into the entrance.
In minutes I was whisked away to the private offices by the museum director’s assistant and told to wait in a small room dominated by a large wooden table and six chairs. Artwork, from up and coming artists, was hung without rhyme or reason on the white walls. I slumped into a chair, nervously playing with my hands.
Hearing footsteps outside the room, I forced myself to relax and straightened up just as an older man walked into the room.
Vin Galanti. The famous sculptor himself.
Vin was dressed all in tweed, his gray hair a fluffy halo enveloping his head. He looked every inch the eccentric artist.
His light blue eyes met mine and a wide smile spread across his face. “Ms. Lucia!” he greeted. I rose from my seat to take his has outstretched hand.
“Mr. Galanti! It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve studied your work in great depth.”
Mr. Galanti gestured for me to sit. He sat opposite me. “Please, call me Vin. And I’m very happy to meet you too, Ms. Lucia. I was honored to see the Contemporary Art show you curated in Toronto last year and I was extremely impressed.”
“Thank you, Vin,” I said in reply, genuinely taken aback by the compliment.
“No, thank you. It is truly an honor to meet someone so young who is so passionate about art.”
“I am, sir,” I said happily, “It’s the center of my entire life.”
Vin sat forward like an excited child. I had to stop myself from laughing at the grin on his face. “So,” he said conspiratorially, “Elpidio...”
“Yes,” I croaked, my voice barely audible. The mere thought of curating his work made me feel weak at the knees.
“At last I’m commissioning his first show and I am looking for the right curator to put it all together.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you believe this could be you?”
“Yes, sir,” I retorted with confidence. “As soon as I heard about the position, I dropped everything to fly out here to meet you. I know I’m the best person for this job. I’ve studied his work. I’ve written academic journals on his methods and on his themes. I’ve written articles on his rise to fame.”
Vin sat back, clasped his hands and nodded his head. He seemed to have lost his enthusiasm. My stomach rolled. I wanted this position so, so much.
“I’ve read your articles and journals, Ms. Lucia,” he said. I waited for him to say more. “You’re an exceptional art scholar and you clearly have a passion for my protégé.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, “He’s one of my favorite contemporary sculptors.” I paused at what I’d just said and lowered my eyes to inspect the wooden table. “No, excuse me,” I said nervously, “Elpidio is my absolute favorite contemporary artist, period.”
Vin’s head tilted to the side. “Why?” Vin’s eyes had lit up with interest.
“Why…” I whispered, contemplating how I could express my love for his work in words. I took in a long breath, thinking through my answer, and opted to speak from the heart. I closed my eyes picturing his sculptures and let my words flow.
“His works… They are both the saddest and most beautiful pieces of art I have ever seen. Every curve of the marble comes from deep within his heart. The themes of his works are both provocative and gutting at the same time. I could get lost in every single one of them, all day, everyday for the rest of my life and never tire of it. They are raw and poetic… so tragic, yet so beautiful. The merest of glances at any one of the pieces evokes a kaleidoscope of emotions from the very depths of the soul. I don’t know what else to say except that his work communicates with me like no other,” I patted my hand over my heart, “it speaks directly to every fiber of my being. I feel his work. I feel it, as though it lives and breathes, just like you and I.”
Opening my eyes, I blushed in embarrassment as I realized just how lost to my thoughts I had become. Vin leaned forward again and tapped my hand with his.
“Well, Ms. Lucia, that was quite the answer,” Vin said, with a hint of humor in his tone.
Huffing a nervous laugh, I brushed a loose piece of hair from my face. “He’s quite the sculptor.”
“Yes, he is,” Vin said, then sighed a heavy sigh. “He’s a genius, a brilliant, brilliant man, though he will never ever think it of himself.”
Seeming to forget he was in my company, Vin pulled himself round from his sudden sadness. After several seconds of silence, Vin said, “I’m an old fashioned man, Ms. Lucia. I don’t care for formal job interviews and I’m not one for rote scripted replies. I want a curator who understands Elpidio’s work, someone who is as passionate about it as I am.”
“I’ve studied each of those pieces more than anyone, anyone, Vin. I’m convinced I’m the only curator who can design that gallery, the only person who can create a story worthy of his work. I know I can design the perfect space to showcase his talent. I can do this, Vin, believe me I can. I’ve never failed to deliver before, and I most certainly wouldn’t fail with this show.”