Chapter 1 Gallery Girl #2
She gave him the sales pitch: Zhu Jia’s turned figures, the refusal of the face, anonymity as power. He listened. He asked one question about technique. A smart question, really. He knew art.
His gaze stayed on the paintings the whole time.
After circling the entire gallery, they stopped.
“Is there any more?” Aaron Lam asked.
Out of pure reflex, Natalie blurted out, “We keep the best art in the back. Only serious collectors can appreciate and are ready to engage with it.”
“Show me,” Aaron Lam said. It was not a question but it was not harsh. The tone was silky and confident in a way that he was accustomed to simply telling women what to do and they always obeyed.
She led. He followed.
After he entered, Natalie closed the door. She fumbled with the lock nervously, taking three times to finally lock it.
Aaron Lam did not notice.
He simply stood there, waiting.
Natalie took a few steps to the green sofa and turned around.
Aaron Lam looked at her mildly curious.
Natalie’s arms hung at her sides but they did not move. All she had to do was reach up with her hands, slip her dress straps off her shoulders and wiggle out of her dress. Then, she would just unhook her bra and slip off her panties.
Then she’d be nude.
Then her fantasy would be real.
But her arms refused to move.
Her arms just hung there as if paralyzed.
After a few moments, Aaron Lam prompted her, “The art?”
He motioned towards the back shelves.
On auto-pilot, Natalie’s legs walked her to the shelves. Aaron Lam followed. She walked down to the back of the row where the artwork carousel was bolted to the wall. Her arms came to life again and she moved the carousel so Aaron Lam could see one of the paintings.
Aaron Lam said nothing for the first three but then stopped Natalie on the fourth one.
“Qiao?” he asked.
She nodded.
He looked at it for a few moments.
“Perhaps.”
Upon viewing the last work in the carousel, Aaron Lam turned around and made his way to the door.
Of their own accord, Natalie’s legs walked her back so she stood in front of the sofa.
Now, Natalie commanded herself, take off your clothes now. This is your chance. This is your last chance.
She raised her arms about halfway but she just could not go any further.
Aaron Lam glanced over at her.
“The door appears to be locked,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Natalie replied hastily, “it does that. It locks itself all the time.”
Before she knew what she was doing, Natalie had crossed the room, unlocked the door and opened it.
Aaron Lam stepped out into the main gallery floor.
Natalie emerged from the back room after him.
“Your card?” he asked over his shoulder.
He turned to face her.
Natalie plucked one of her cards from the card holder on a high, thin table and gave it to him.
Aaron Lam glanced at it and slipped it in his pocket.
Then, he glanced over and nodded to Mr. Cho and Mr. Chou from across the room who immediately started smiling too widely.
Then he turned and left.
Mr. Cho and Mr. Chou rushed to the front window, peering out of it, like two pups waiting for their new master to return.
Natalie just stood in the center of the gallery, stunned.
Misery began to settle upon her.
Meanwhile, Mr. Cho and Mr. Chou danced around the front window, trying to catch one last glimpse.
“A prospect!” Mr. Cho exclaimed.
“Practically a customer,” Mr. Chou replied, bending down and squinting through the glass.
“Maybe he will come back?” Mr. Cho asked, hopefully.
Natalie listlessly turned, walked to the backroom, closed the door, and sank into the ugly green sofa.
For a moment, she was perfectly still.
Not two minutes ago he was standing right here, she thought.
And I totally blew it.
The first sound that came out of her was small and strangled, a baby animal dying.
The second was a scream and it filled the room. It bounced off crates, canvases, catalogs, and bubble wrap.
Tears flowed and rage and hate filled her.
Hate of Natalie Chan. Hate of the kind of person that Natalie Chan was.
She wanted to murder smart, quiet, respectable Natalie Chan. Kill her, shoot her dead, throw her nude dead body in a river.
She screamed again.
The door flew open.
Mr. Cho came in first, face pale and damp. Mr. Chou was right behind him, glasses crooked.
“Natalie!”
“Are you hurt?”
“What happened?”
“Did he say something?”
“Was it the price?”
Natalie sat on the sofa, hands clenched in her lap, breathing hard.
Mr. Cho crouched in front of her. His knees cracked. “Natalie, if you are worried about sales, please don’t worry. You are our best employee.”
Mr. Chou nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes. Very intelligent. Very conscientious. Very responsible.”
Natalie covered her face.
She couldn’t tell them the truth. She could not say, I screamed because I had the chance to be that girl and I failed.
I chickened out.
“Don’t worry, Natalie,” she heard Mr. Cho say. “He will come back.”
Why would he come back?
For the Zhu Jia?
For the Qiao?
Aaron Lam had walked in, seen nothing of interest and walked out.
He would not be back.
Natalie dropped her hands from her face and looked at the two men.
Mr. Cho had struggled up and was now seated on the arm of the sofa. Mr. Chou hovered behind him, worried and kind and useless.
“If he does not come back,” Mr. Chou said earnestly, “Then another will come. Don’t cry, Natalie. The gallery will be okay.”