Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Annika
“Is she always like that?”
I look up from the calendar Max brought to our meeting and glance from him to Yana.
As usual, she’s right by my side. The days of space were short-lived, but I’ve gotten used to her quiet, intense presence.
In fact, with the tension-filled air in the house, I’ve become quite fond of it.
Something was wrong. I don’t know if it’s some new heightened pregnancy senses or what, but I can feel it in my bones.
Even if everyone around me refuses to talk about it.
“Leave her alone, Max. She’s doing exactly what she’s supposed to,” I reply.
This earns me a wink from Yana and I wink back. Yeah. We’ve gotten closer.
“I thought you said you didn’t mind having meetings here?” I ask, turning my focus back to an annoyed Max.
“I was- I mean I don’t. Sort of,” he responds. Gradually he pulls his eyes away from Yana and looks at me. “I didn’t expect it to be this tense here. There’s guards everywhere. Everyone looks like they can murder me with their pinky.”
“They probably could,” I reply with a chuckle.
Max’s face goes paper white and I stop teasing.
“Hey, we’re here to talk about my next show, right?” I ask. “So let’s talk. “I’m thinking I can have some new pieces ready by October.”
“October?!” Max exclaims.
His reaction catches me off guard. Yana catches my sudden stiffness and shoots Max a warning glare.
“What’s wrong with October?” I ask Max.
“Oh, honey. It’s just not going to work! Your work was just starting to pick up when we had your last show. That was over three months ago now, and you’ll be forgotten if you wait much longer. That’s why I went ahead and sent out invitations for next week. It’s already drawing a big crowd.”
I feel myself pale as Max reaches into his brown leather satchel and pulls out a portfolio. He opens it then hands me an invitation with my name in big letters. It’s scheduled for next Friday and Saturday at Stone & Flesh from 6 p.m. to midnight both nights.
“Max, I can’t believe you did this without talking to me!” I exclaim, handing the invitation to Yana.
“Listen, honey,” Max says in his I’m the manager tone, “Your job is to create. My job is sell what you create. You know me. You know I can be pushy. This is a fast-paced world and I don’t want your reputation to disappear.
I wouldn’t have taken you on as a client if I didn’t believe in you.
So you’re going to pull some pieces out of your ass and you’re going to put on pretty dress, and we are going to sell your sculptures for the fortune they’re worth. Understand?”
Inspirational yet diabolical. That’s what Max is.
Yet every word he says is true, and I know it.
The art world is fast paced. Everyone who thinks they have talent in New York City- and that's a lot- is trying to paint, sculpt, or photograph their way to fame, and if I wait too long, well...
Max is right. What reputation I have built for myself so far will disappear.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I have six pieces finished. They’re not very big, but-”
“This is one of the few times I’ll say size doesn’t matter,” Max cuts me off, and I give a dry laugh. He can be such a queen sometimes.
“Where are they? Are they here? I want to see them.”
I shake my head as I pull up the pictures of them on my phone and hand it over to him. He takes it and begins to nod.
“They’re in my warehouse. You have the key,” I reply.
“They’ll do,” he says, handing me my phone back. “But I want eight. What have you got going on here?”
I get up and walk over to the piece I finished just a few days ago and remove the tarp.
It’s a deep red marble with black veins, carved into an extremely well-muscled torso of a woman.
Inspired by Yana. She seems to understand this because when I throw a glance at her, she blushes- actually blushes!
“It’s nice,” Max muses, reaching up to run his hands down the marble abdomen. “Not great. Not terrible. But nice. I can get it sold for $30-40k, I think.”
“I think it’s excellent,” Yana states.
To my surprise Max blushes deeply at Yana’s firm tone, and I try to hide my laughter. It’s not often I see a woman making Max blush. Though, that probably has more to do with his fear of her.
“Alright,” Max says with a cough. “It’s excellent. What else you got?”
I nibble my lower lip for a minute. I really want more time to work on my other piece, but I know Max and if he wants eight, he won’t settle for less. So I walk over and remove the tarp from my blue marble piece, and brace for criticism.
Only it doesn’t come.
“Oh, Annika, honey,” Max breathes, walking up to the half-finished blue marble and gold veined piece. “I love this.”
I raise a brow in surprise as Max stares up at six-foot, six inch sculpture. I’ve only gotten about halfway through carving my man out from the stone, but there are clear ridges of muscles, veined forearms, and a corded neck.
“I can try to have it finished by next week,” I reply, “But it’s cutting it close.”
“No,” Max says, shaking his head. “Polish up the muscles and such, whatever you have carved out. But leave the rest in the stone. This piece speaks very loudly. A man caught between two worlds. I can make you $300k off of this easy.”
I balk as I hear the price tag. Most of my pieces sell between $15,000 and $40,000. Once I was able to get one sold for $70k. But $300,000?!
“Are- are you sure?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” he answers almost immediately. “Don’t mess with it. This will make us both a fortune. Okay. I need to get to work. My photographer and I will stop by your warehouse tomorrow to snag some professional shots of your pieces there, then we’ll swing by here to get these two.”
“Absolutely not,” Yana states, her tone sharp.
At the sound of her voice, four more bodyguards suddenly burst into my studio. The morning sickness I’m starting to experience more often now rushes up along with my anxiety, and I press a hand to my stomach, the other to my mouth.
Bud' yeshche,” Yana commands, and they all immediately lower their hands from their weapons.
“What is that? What is she saying to them?” Max asks, looking around at them warily.
I open my mouth to reply but instead of words my breakfast comes up. Yana has a bucket to my head as I surge forward, and she’s whispering calming words as she rubs my back. I groan wearily after I finish.
“This asshole needs to go,” Yana whispers to me. I nod. Our meeting is certainly over.
I slowly rise to a straightened position and take the kerchief Yana offers, wiping my mouth.
“Max,” I say, then take a steadying breath, “You’re going to have to learn to be little calmer when you come here from now on. My people are…tense right now.”
Max takes another wary look at the guards surrounding him, and nods.
“I think it’s best that we communicate through zoom and telephone until your show,” he replies. “But I need photos of these pieces.”
I nod, the action making me nauseous again, but I fight it down.
“They’re not photo ready yet. I still need to polish the red one and I see what you like about the blue piece, but it still needs some tweaks.”
“Rich people love mysteries, don’t they? List them as surprise showings. It’ll gain more attention.”
Yana’s question surprises me. I barely ever hear her speak full sentences in English. Max and I both stare at her, but it’s Max that finally nods and agrees.
“Mystery. Yes. That’s a great idea. We can do a big reveal at the show and if they don’t sell Friday they certainly will by Saturday.”
“Then it’s settled,” I say, wanting now more than ever for our meeting to be over. “Just email me if there’s anything else. Thank you for coming, Max.”
Max doesn’t need any more indication that it is time go, and grabs his satchel.
“I hope you feel better, Annika,” he says, trying to not sound scared. “I hope it’s not contagious. Should I pop a few vitamins when I get home?”
I smile as I shake my head.
“No. Not contagious,” I reply.
The guards escort Max out then, and I groan as I rest my elbows on the table and my head in my hands.
“You need to lie down,” Yana states.
I know it’s not a suggestion, and I agree.
On the phone Max seemed as if he was fully on board with our new arrangement, but seeing him here, how uncomfortable he was, has me thinking otherwise.
My big question to myself is, have I truly gotten used to this all?
Being monitored at home. Never having a moment’s privacy.
I needed to think. About all of it. And being in bed is the only place in the house I’m guaranteed that time away from everyone else.
Yana helps me upstairs and I don’t argue. Instead I let her tuck me into the covers and listen to the quiet sounds of her getting me a water and placing a bucket by the bed just in case I get sick again.
“Can I get you a change of clothes?” she asks.
“Just one of Kirill’s shirts from the hamper,” I reply.
She brings it to me then leaves, and I sluggishly push back the covers and change. I feel slightly better as I wrap the shirt around and inhale Kirill’s scent.
When I’m alone my thoughts whirl. About the new tension in the house.
About my sudden show. What was Max thinking, arranging it without my permission?
I feel betrayed. I feel trapped. As I feel all these thoughts and feelings come down on me hard, I close my eyes, and almost instantly fall into a heavy sleep.