7. Artistic Encounters
Chapter seven
Artistic Encounters
Paul
By the time I reached Strat Gallery, the place Maggie said she was going tonight, it was packed with men wearing suits looking down on me like I’d worn my stinky work boots.
While I didn’t wear my Sunday best, I thought art was for everyone, including those wearing jeans, a plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows, and my town boots.
That was what Maggie’d always said. Things must be different in the big city.
Moving past the art snobs, I went into a viewing area with fancy lights set up and a fixture that was some sort of mess meant to be meaningful.
With everything in me, and all that Maggie had taught me, I tried to look for what she’d see in it.
Tilting my head to the side, I saw the rivers of color, the edginess of the corners, and taking another step to the left …
“Excuse you sir,” a voice said.
Wincing, I realized I bumped into someone while trying to figure out this art thing. “So sorry, ma’am. I was just trying to get a handle on this work of art.”
With a lifted brow, she challenged me. “Were you? This doesn’t seem like your scene.”
I lifted a shoulder. “There was a girl I knew once who loved art. Since I’m here in the city, I thought I’d stop by and see what new creations were out here these days.”
Her crazy red hair almost had a life of its own atop her head.
It must have been some sort of movement from the cross-breeze from when the door opened, but everything about her seemed more alive than anyone else.
She gave me this sense that I’d been missing out on everything, maybe life itself.
As vibrant as she was, the buzz of the city could have been created by her alone.
Holding out her hand, she introduced herself. “Karpathia. And you are?”
“Paul Stratton,” I said, shaking her hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” she snickered and nudged my shoulder. Then, she picked up a drink from the table and offered it to me. “This girl you once knew. Was she special to you?”
With a nod, I accepted the cocktail, giving it a quick smell to see what I was getting into. Something fruity mixed with whiskey. It wasn’t my thing, but I held it to be polite.
“Then, we should toast her,” the woman said with a smile. “And hope the two of you will meet again someday.”
“To Mags,” I said softly, then lifted the glass and took a sip. It wasn’t half bad.
After forgiving my clumsiness, she introduced herself as the artist of the work I was trying to understand.
While I wasn’t exactly sure her explanation of the piece of art in front of me helped me understand it, the fact that the artist herself took time to explain it to me was the part that astounded me.
Her wild gesticulations as she pointed to things, nearly spilling her drink, didn’t begin to bother her.
Art was all she cared about, it seemed, and saving humanity one piece of art at a time.
Not being a man who smiled, the sensation felt foreign when my lips tipped up.
“Do you need oil to do that?” Karpathia asked.
“The tin man, really?” I said, shaking my head a little at the reference.
“Forgive me. It seemed like that whole concept of cracking a grin took a great deal of effort,” she observed.
Lifting my shoulder casually, I conceded her point. “Not much reason to these days.”
She lifted her chin in understanding. “Then, what changed?”
I took a deep breath as I glanced around the room one more time. “It’s just that Mags would have adored you.”
She let out a loud cackle, throwing her head back in wild delight. “Well, if she can make you smile, I hope I do meet her someday.”
Casting my gaze around the room, I’d hoped to see Maggie somewhere, but she wasn’t here. Maybe it was a different opening, or the wrong day, or she’d already been and gone. Whatever it was, I’d kept this woman away from her guests long enough.
After I set my glass on a tray, I reached out to shake her hand. “Appreciate your time, ma’am.”
When she pulled me into a hug, I was surprised but not offended. Her ebony skin was warm and smelled of lavender, which always brought back the memory of Maggie.
Pulling back, she gazed up at me. “I have this feeling we’ll meet again. Goodnight, Paul.”
While I wasn’t sure what she meant, I lifted my hand in a still wave, then headed out into the fading light. It was almost eight, Maggie was out with some guy, and I missed her. The only thing I needed now was a good, stiff drink.
On the way back to my hotel, I came across The Rooster Tavern. The cover fee was startling, but apparently, there was a country music concert. I took a seat at the bar, nursed a whiskey neat, and spun around in disbelief when I saw who took the stage.