Chapter 52
A LUCKY brEAK: The people who work in the gallery are all wearing name tags.
I introduce myself to the first tagged person I see.
Her name is Wanda. According to her tag, she’s the GALLERY DIRECTOR.
Wanda is a slim, handsome woman with her hair in a braid that runs halfway down her back.
I tell her I work for Mrs. Harrison, and she probably assumes I’m Amber’s social secretary or executive assistant. I don’t correct her.
“We’re so sorry Amber couldn’t join us tonight,” Wanda says. “Please, when you see her, tell her I hope her mother is doing better.” Ah. So that’s the excuse Ben gave. Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Have you been with the gallery long?” I ask.
“Six years,” Wanda says. I ask what a gallery director does. She says her job is to keep everything functioning day to day.
“So if Ben is the heart of this place,” I say, “I guess that makes you the brain.”
She smiles. “Well, I never thought of it that way. But if the brain is the center of all activity, then yes.” She looks pleased with the analogy.
“And if anything was off, you’d be the first to know?”
“Yes. Unless someone went directly to Ben.”
“What’s Ben really like?” I ask. I try to sound casual, as if I’m asking what time it is. But I’m not sure it comes out that way. Did I mention I’m on my second glass of champagne and have nothing in my stomach but a single chocolate-dipped strawberry?
“Ben’s the real deal,” she says. “Good eye, good ear, good instincts. He’s been able to bring in a lot of new artists.”
“And some interesting new clients,” I say.
She freezes for a moment. Uh-oh. Have I crossed a line? There’s something she’s not telling me. Is she being discreet or just plain secretive?
I’ll never know, because a young woman with blue hair joins us. Wanda looks—dare I say it?—relieved.
“Caroline, this is Lina in acquisitions,” she says. It feels good to have someone get my undercover name correct for a change.
Lina and I begin to talk, and Wanda waves to someone and then she’s gone.
I ask Lina similar questions, and she says nice things about Ben.
Then I talk to Maryann the registrar, who has even nicer things to say.
Same with Jason the social media director, Leo in shipping, and even Hazel in cost accounting.
Hazel is so effusive, I wonder if Ben gave her one of his kidneys.
Most people I know hate their jobs, but this gaggle of people apparently all drank the gallery Kool-Aid. The art world is exciting, they say. They meet interesting people. They’re learning so much. It’s all one big happy family.
Well, except for one angry guy over in a corner, a thin man with a thin mustache. He’s standing with his arms crossed, one knee bent and his foot on the wall, watching the crowd.
“Who’s that?” I ask Hazel.
She turns to look. “Oh. That’s Lou somebody,” she says. “Gee, he shouldn’t even be here. Ben fired him months ago.” She’s fuzzy on why. Something he did or didn’t do that made Ben fly into a rage. Interesting. Nobody expected him to show up tonight. He wasn’t invited. And yet, there he is.
I’m about to go talk to that Lou guy when I hear clinking. Ben is tapping on his glass to get everyone’s attention. The chatter stops. Ben thanks everybody for coming.
“Now I’d like to tell you a little bit about our young artist,” he says. “Sabura Nemec was born in the town of Mikulov… came here as a child… lost his parents when…” Yada-yada-yada. All eyes are on Ben as he talks.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.