Chapter 6 #2
Brooke studied Phoebe as she pushed her hair back behind her shoulder. She knew bullshit when she heard it, and she didn’t hear any from Phoebe. She found herself downright sympathetic.
Dean bobbed his head. But then again, he was Mr. Kismet.
“Also,” she continued, “I appreciate your feelings about your friend, Chef, but I was not stalking him. I was being tenacious. Because being young and a woman who is starting her first gallery in Paris isn’t a piece of cake.”
“Don’t—”
“Phoebe, why don’t you show us the gallery?” Brooke hated interrupting Madison and shot her a grimace, but she hadn’t liked the way the conversation was headed.
Kyle pressed a soothing hand to Madison’s back, which was mostly shocking because she didn’t push him away. “We appreciate you assuring us, Phoebe.”
The woman swallowed thickly, clearly ruffled, before nodding and pulling out a set of keys. The alarm beeped when she opened the door, and they entered behind her as she flicked on the lights and crossed to the panel, punching in the code.
Brooke took a moment to glance around the studio. The space up front was small, the back wall split in the middle with an opening leading to another section of the gallery. One not visible from the street. More mysterious that way.
Brooke’s mouth parted as she eyed the eight works up front. They weren’t paintings but sketches, passion tangible in each slash of ink.
She wandered closer, entranced, noting the name scrawled boldly in the corner of the first sketch.
River Kennison.
Phoebe’s father. A prize for any gallery, and all the more interesting because they were not finished works. Practice ones leading up to paintings?
Then it struck her that Phoebe’s last name was Anderson, not Kennison.
“Can I grab you a glass of wine?” Phoebe asked, turning around, a professional smile firmly in place.
“We already had ours with dinner,” Brooke said to be gracious, “but I’d take a café if you have it.”
Because every place worth its salt in Paris could offer you a café—at any time of day.
“Perfect. Anyone else?”
Kyle held up his hand and so did Dean. Madison only shook her head.
Brooke almost smiled. She’d always admired Madison’s straightforward nature.
Maybe it was because Brooke had learned how to smile through her teeth young.
But in this case, that might be helpful.
They were here to get to know the woman Sawyer had said could quote Shakespeare. Madison’s way wouldn’t work.
Brooke wandered closer to the side door Phoebe had gone through. “Sawyer mentioned you referencing a quote from King John but he didn’t say what it was.”
The hissing of the coffee machine sounded as Phoebe popped her head out.
“He did, did he? Most men think I’m a lit geek when I do that.
Maybe that’s why I liked him so much. He even knew the play I was reading and some other fun theater stuff I won’t bore you with.
But it blew my mind that he could reference the source of my quote down to the Act. ”
“And the quote?” she asked.
“Oh, right! I got excited, thinking about it again. Do you ever replay wonderful moments in your mind?”
“All the time.” Dean nodded enthusiastically. “That’s what makes life so awesome.”
Brooke fought a smile. Such a Dean answer.
“Can I hear a drum roll for the quote?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m mostly kidding. Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man. I told Sawyer I do everything to make sure that is not me or my life.”
Brooke gave in to her smile at that, which Phoebe returned before stepping back in to finish their cafés.
Dean sidled up to her. “I suddenly remember Sawyer saying he met his last girlfriend at a poetry reading.”
Brooke straightened his scarf Parisian style to do something with all her restless energy. “I seem to recall she was getting her PhD in English literature.”
“Doc has a type.” Dean sent her a knowing look before approaching the doorway Phoebe had disappeared through. “Hey, Phoebe! Can I help you with those?”
Moments later, he and Phoebe were handing out steaming cafés.
Dean took a sip, a fish-for-information smile on his face. “Thank you, Phoebe. This is perfect. Paris has the best coffee, don’t you think?”
She only nodded, gazing at them warily, like they were people from an opposing fashion house.
“You know,” Dean continued, “quoting plays like that made me wonder. Do you have a degree in English literature?”
“From Oxford. I can also give you the results of my Rorschach test—”
“That would be great,” Madison answered before Brooke could roll her eyes.
Phoebe burst out laughing. “If it weren’t for how weird this all is, I think we’d get along. Similar senses of humor. But you’re here to see if I have a gallery worthy of Sawyer’s talent. I’ll address my fitness to go out on a date with him in a moment.”
Brooke knew when a woman was taking control, and the pronounced sound of Phoebe’s stylish boots on the floor drove the point home.
She gestured grandly to the sketches. “These are practice sketches from the famed artist, River Kennison. You probably already know he’s my father.
I don’t advertise it—I dropped his name and the hyphen before it some time back because I kept getting sought out by his fans.
He used to give these to me when I was a kid because I loved seeing what he’d done while I was at school or when he disappeared for days in his studio.
I thought they would show the kind of standard I want in my gallery.
This branch of the renowned Anderson Gallery in London.
Which I’m sure you know my mother owns.”
Well, she’d wondered about the last name, hadn’t she?
Brooke couldn’t fault her honest delivery, but she could hear a wall in someone’s voice as they talked.
What would it have been like to be the child of a famed artist like that?
To not be sure if people liked you for you but because of who your parent was.
“My mother is old school. She likes to show artists with track records, the ones everyone follows.”
Brooke watched as she set her café aside and faced them.
“I appreciate that, but it’s not the only modus operandi.
I want to host new artists. Ones who are fresh to the scene.
Who have something to say. That is very much how I feel about your friend, Dr. Jackson.
His passion both for his subjects and his art were obvious in the two portraits I saw at Nanine’s. ”
“But you didn’t see them until after you got into Nanine’s for dinner,” Madison said with an edge to her voice. “After the Le Monde article.”
“Yes, the Le Monde article pointed me in Sawyer’s direction, but I immediately went online to see if I could see the art.
” Her smile bloomed across her face. “Your restaurant patrons posted everything from the food they were gobbling up to Nanine’s new décor.
You know, the photos of Sawyer’s paintings were the most commonly shared images beyond the food.
People were entranced by his art. I could see why.
That’s how I knew Sawyer had a talent beyond even what the Le Monde critic had implied in his review.
Do you think I spend my afternoons knocking on closed restaurant doors on a Saturday?
My instincts were humming, and they were right. ”
Dean was smiling, of course, clearly enchanted.
Madison’s flat mouth hadn’t shifted. Kyle was tapping his thigh as if undecided.
Brooke understood why—she felt the same way.
“We also believe Sawyer has a great talent,” she said carefully, “but as you know, he is going to find an agent, and whoever he chooses will help guide him.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I know how it works. But what makes me different is that I’m new to the scene.
I want Sawyer to be one of my first showings.
I want to establish my gallery as being younger and hipper than the branch in London.
I can bring in those London and New York clients.
To Paris as well. Like I told Sawyer, I’m tenacious.
What I didn’t mention is that I’m also a great networker. ”
“That isn’t a surprise at all, Phoebe,” Kyle conceded. “You came down at practically midnight and made us a café while showing us your gallery. Not everyone would do that.”
Her stiff posture relaxed. “It helps that I live upstairs and heard you through the open window, but I’m glad you had the chance to see the gallery.
You should want Sawyer to have the best partner for his first showing.
It’s essential for an artist starting out.
I happen to believe that’s me. I want to help him have a sustained career because one show won’t do it. ”
Brooke pursed her lips as that reality washed over her. So far, she hadn’t thought about the long game for Sawyer, but they had to make a plan. “It’s the same in fashion,” was all she said, prompting the others to glance at her.
By the way Kyle’s mouth tightened, she knew he’d realized they had more work to do, too. Well, that was fine. They would work with Sawyer on everything. No doubt, Axel would have thoughts.
“Yes, it is. With all the arts, fashion included. There’s a lot of building after the first show. One agent can’t do it alone. You need well-known art collectors from around the world. I have those connections. More, I want to do that.”
“But why?” Madison shot out. “You just met him. Isn’t a new artist a risk? Being that you’re so young and a woman…as you said.”
“Touché.” Phoebe bit her lip, and Brooke knew she was weighing whether or not to answer. “Oh, fuck it. I’m not going to play it safe here. I want to because I sense Sawyer is not completely sure of himself or his art.”
No one confirmed it. That would be disloyal as well as unprofessional.