Chapter 2 #2
Rafael didn’t want to tell her. He realized the irony here, that he’d always thought his sister was a ridiculous party girl with no ambition, and now she was a biologist developing some DNA sequence something—he could never understand the details—and he was…
planning parties. It was not how he imagined things would turn out, and he didn’t like talking about it in front of Alma, who seemed to think it was all some hilarious joke.
Even more, he didn’t want to talk about it in front of her friend, who was still staring at him with those big, sad blue eyes, waiting for him to explain this thing that had somehow become his life’s work.
At least his new project was impressive, there was no denying that. He wasn’t sure how to handle it yet. He hadn’t quite figured out the details, but it was cultured and sophisticated and everything he’d always valued so much since his pig-headed elitist father had expected it of him.
“Well, it’s top secret, like I said, but it’s not a party. It’s more of an event space for upscale exhibitions.”
“Huh?” Alma said. “What kind of exhibitions? You’re saying the vaguest words possible.”
Rafael’s eyes darted between them, and he realized both women were frowning at him with the same wrinkled up foreheads.
He found himself lowering his voice to an almost hushed tone and felt like an idiot.
This is what he did, after all. Sell the experience, make it sound special and appealing and confidential.
He didn’t know why he was doing it with his sister and her friend.
“We have a new client that has one of the largest personal collections of Picassos in the world. He wants to find a way to share them, but without selling them to a museum or just letting people into his home. Essentially, we’re trying to create a space for them where he can invite guests or other people could host certain events in this miniature underground museum that will house his collection. ”
He saw Grace scrunch up her nose and had no clue what it meant, so he kept explaining.
“It would be a secret, though, something special. Invitation only. People lucky enough to get asked to these events would have a chance to see the artwork, but the public wouldn’t even know about it.
It offers the intimacy of being invited into his private collection without him having to do the hosting. ”
Again, Grace looked annoyed, like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t speak.
“That sounds kind of cool,” Alma said, but Rafael couldn’t help thinking she looked unimpressed.
“We still have a lot of details to figure out, but I think it could be amazing.”
“The Nahmads?” Grace asked at last.
“Pardon?”
“The Nahmads own the largest private collection of Picasso’s work. They’re billionaire art collectors, and sometimes they put on their own exhibitions.”
“Oh,” Rafael said. He supposed it was within her field of study, so it probably made sense for her to be aware of that kind of thing. “Um, no, not them.”
“That gives me an idea,” Alma said. “It’s Picasso stuff?”
“The client has a lot of influential twentieth century artwork.”
“Perfect!” Alma exclaimed, raising her wine glass in the air so the dark liquid almost splashed over the rim.
Rafael and Grace both turned toward her, giving her their full attention as Alma continued.
“Grace should work with you to curate the exhibit. You could hire her part-time as your assistant or something. You don’t know anything about Picasso or paintings, Rafa, and she knows everything about it.
She literally wrote articles about twentieth century art. ”
“Oh,” Rafael said again, sure he was starting to come off like a buffoon, not the cultured sophisticate he was supposed to be.
He didn’t know what to say, though. He didn’t want to work with Grace, and he certainly didn’t need her help.
She would just get in the way, a total distraction hanging around and mooning over the artwork instead of getting any work done.
“I don’t think so, Alma.” Grace pushed some hair behind her ear, and something about the movement made Rafael stare in wonder. “I still need to settle into the new teaching gig and make sure I have all my lesson plans ready. I know it’s just a few classes, but I want to do a great job.”
Alma made an indelicate sound with her mouth that rained spittle over her kitchen counter. “You’ll be fine, Gracie. You don’t even need to prepare. You could teach that class in your sleep.”
Rafael decided to jump in. “I don’t need an assistant, though. This is my job, and I know what I’m doing.” That wasn’t entirely true, but confidence was key.
“What do you know about Picasso?” Alma asked accusingly.
Rafael opened his mouth and then shut it. What did he know about Picasso? He knew about architecture, sure. He was a master of the Gothic, the Baroque, Romanesque, and Art Deco. That’s what he’d been more interested in in school. But he didn’t know about painting.
“You heard him, Alma.” Grace chimed in. “He doesn’t need me, and I just moved to a new country to start a new job at a campus I’ve never seen in my life. I should probably worry about that for now.”
Alma’s voice softened as she spoke to her friend. She was so tender toward Grace in a way that made Rafael feel like he was intruding. “But it might help to have another project to work on to help take your mind off everything...”
Everything, everything. Rafael couldn’t quite remember what everything was. She’d lost her job, that much was clear. But there was also something about a boyfriend. And a grandmother?
“I’ll be okay.” Grace insisted. “You’ve already done so much for me; you don’t need to force your brother into helping me out too. Except for bringing up the luggage, I guess. And even that was unnecessary.”
“Well,” Rafael said. He was starting to get the feeling that Grace didn’t want him here. She could have brought up the luggage on her own, and if she had no interest in his silly underground art exhibit, that was just fine. He suddenly wanted to be out of his sister’s apartment. He had work to do.
“I’ll let you enjoy your evening.” He excused himself, giving them a curt nod.
“Sure you don’t want to eat with us?” Alma asked.
He couldn’t help glancing at Grace again, to see how she would react to that. Did she want him to stay?
But her face was neutral, and he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for.
This woman didn’t like him. She’d made that clear ten years ago when she backed away from his lips like they were poisoned, and she’d made it clear tonight when she kept her distance from him.
She might look impartial now, but he was sure she did not want him to stay for dinner.
He wouldn’t bother getting upset. He didn’t like her either. He hadn’t liked her at twenty-years-old when she was young and frivolous, and he didn’t like her now, when she was…whatever this was.
“Some other time,” he said. “Adios.”
Why did he look over at her again before he walked out the door? It was like he expected her to do something, though he didn’t know what. Instead, she just gave him a little wave and a sad smile.
Words jumbled against his tongue, but instead of letting any of them out, he gave her a last perfunctory nod and left.
He sighed with relief when he was on the other side of the door, finally out from under her gaze.