Chapter 19 #2
“I had the paintings analyzed by an art expert whom I’ve worked with for many years,” she said.
“She assessed both Johannes’s newer works and his older works and has declared that they were not completed by the same hand.
Incidentally, Larry Johannes’s wife, Henrietta Johannes, disappeared the same summer that he displayed many of these same paintings in a small art exhibition in Boulder, Colorado.
The year was 1975. I’m not here today to say that Henrietta Johannes was the definite painter of these works.
But I am here to say that it feels entirely too coincidental that she was never seen again—and Larry was unable to recreate masterworks by himself when asked.
“If Larry did what he did—steal his wife’s paintings and make them out as his own—he would not be the first husband in history to take his wife’s brilliance.
But I cannot stand for it in my own career, certainly not after all my years of championing women artists.
Certainly not after all the years I’ve fought for my own standing as a female art dealer in a male-driven art world.
“More than that,” Oriana said, tears filling her eyes as she prepared to announce her retirement, “encountering Larry Johannes’s work has demanded more of me than I bargained for.
For this reason and many other personal ones, I am announcing my retirement from the world of art.
My contract with Larry is finished. I implore any other art dealers—including my dearest friends and dearest rivals—to think twice about uniting with Larry and his paintings.
It is up to us to ensure that the right and most talented artists are talked about in the history books.
Larry is not one of them. It’s probable his wife is or was, but we may never know for sure. ”
At that, Oriana thanked the crowd, got up, and hurried to the bathroom, where she washed her face and told her reflection to calm down. She didn’t want to answer any questions. She didn’t want her career to last a moment more.
When she left the bathroom and returned to the conference hall, she found only a few of her art-dealer friends remained, waiting to take her out for goodbye drinks. She hugged them and thanked them for staying.
“Conrad couldn’t stay,” a friend, Tanya, explained as they put on their coats and prepared to call a cab to take them to their favorite bar ten blocks away.
Oriana understood almost immediately. “He’s calling Larry, isn’t he?”
Tanya laughed. “He’s shameless. I don’t think he cares about who he represents, as long as it brings him buckets of money. He knew the minute you made your announcement that the clock would be ticking.”
“I imagine he isn’t the only one reaching out to Larry,” another friend, Mark, said, sidling up to them on the freezing sidewalk and rubbing his palms together.
“You didn’t consider it?” Oriana asked Tanya and Mark, tilting her head back.
Tanya made a face. “If I could find Henrietta Johannes, I’d sign her in a heartbeat. But I want nothing to do with Larry.”
Mark nodded furiously. “I don’t know if everyone’s ready to give Henrietta her due,” he said.
“But people who know the history of the art world and how women have always been in the background should listen up and listen hard. You’ve done something incredible, Oriana.
You’re responsible for changing the game. ”
“Marginally,” Oriana corrected him.
“Marginally is the best we can do,” Mark affirmed.
That night, as her friends studied the menu at the cocktail bar, Oriana snuck back outside to call Reese and check in. He answered immediately, his voice weak. “How did it go?”
Oriana’s heart felt crushed. She wished her husband were here in Manhattan with her. She wished he were strong enough to join her for one of the most important nights of her life.
“It’s over,” Oriana told him.
“How do you feel?”
“Relieved,” Oriana said. “And sad. I guess I’ll feel sad for a long time.”
“Every ending is bittersweet,” Reese said. And then he added, “I hope you’re not quitting for me. I’ve told you before. I don’t want this silly illness to affect—”
Oriana interrupted him with an outright lie.
“I’m not quitting because of you. I’m retiring so I can spend more time doing what I always wanted to do.
Spend time with my family. Spend time with the people I love the most.” Her eyes were heavy with tears.
Classic New York City taxis sped past, their yellows reflecting in the puddles that lined the streets.
“I love you, Oriana,” Reese said. “You’ve made my life what it is.”
Oriana bit her tongue to keep from telling him to stop talking like his life was over. She wanted to say, It’s all just beginning, Reese! We have time now! I’m retired! But she didn’t want to put pressure on him to fight what he couldn’t control.
“I love you, too,” she said. They hung up shortly after that, and Oriana returned to the jam-packed bar to celebrate a career she’d given so much of her life to. What happened next was out of her hands.