Chapter 5
Five
It had been years since Matthew had shown in this particular gallery, but they’d pulled out all the stops for him tonight.
He entered the grand space to a buzz of excitement. His work was displayed thematically, not chronologically, so old and new pieces played off one another in an interesting way.
Taking slow, meandering steps, he walked around the gallery, burning off nervous energy before interacting with people as the artist.
Even after all this time, he still felt vulnerable at these things.
Emotional memories lived in his art. Some highs and some desperate lows. Perhaps that was why he loved his mural work so much. Because the expectations were so different and he could remain somewhat anonymous with that work.
Travis, the gallery manager, a tall, slim man wearing skinny slacks and cordovan shoes so shiny they almost looked elf-like, had spotted him and was practically sprinting across the room.
Matthew had hoped to see all his work displayed before he got wrangled in, but Travis had cut through the crowd and had his arm extended from eight feet away.
“Matthew. Good to see you.” Travis announced the greeting purposely loud enough to turn heads, then clasped Matthew’s hand with excitement, pressing his other hand on top as if he were afraid Matthew might slip away. “People are loving this collection,” he whispered. “I hope you like how we’ve set everything up.”
“The lighting on the smaller canvases you moved out to the pedestals is stunning,” Matthew said. “I almost didn’t recognize one of them as my own work.”
Travis rose to the complimentary observation. “I’m the master.”
“That is true,” Matthew said with all sincerity. Travis was new to this Richmond gallery, but he’d displayed Matthew’s work in Chicago twice, with amazing results. “Thank you for hosting me tonight.”
“People are very interested in your work… and you.” Travis practically had dollar signs flashing in his eyes. “There’s a collector from Miami I need to introduce you to. He’s an adventurer, and he’s already picked out eight of your pieces.” He hooked a finger. “Come.”
Matthew was relieved the night was off to a good start. “Excellent.”
Travis stopped for a brief moment to introduce Matthew to the mayor, and then to an interior decorator from Alexandria interested in buying art for a new project. “We’ll swing back in just a bit,” he said with a promising smile.
Travis wove in and out of the crowd and then made an abrupt stop that left Matthew right on his heels in front of a heavy-set man who oozed Miami without ever mentioning the sunshine state.
“The artist himself,” Travis said. “Matthew McMahon, I’m pleased to introduce you to Don Lee Cohn, who has the golden touch with several foundations, and is a Michelin-star restaurateur. We’re so delighted to have him with us tonight.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Matthew extended his hand.
Cohn appeared relaxed in a coastal-style linen jacket over a vibrant patterned shirt, accompanied by an attentive blonde sipping a glass of champagne.
“Come. Sit. Have a drink.” The Miami bigwig beckoned Matthew with a pat on the couch next to them. Several people hovered around the man, adding to his air of importance.
Matthew took the seat, but declined the drink.
The portly man waved a sale sheet with circles and stars, marking which pieces of art he intended to leave with that night.
It seemed to Matthew that the Miami collector was more interested in impressing his entourage than the art, but Matthew played along. Travis must’ve noticed it, too, because he swept in to move along the sale, motioning for his assistant.
The assistant swept in and steered Matthew toward the mayor. “Need a drink on the way?” she asked.
“Just tonic water with lime, please.” He never drank at these things. Rarely drank at all. It left him feeling fuzzy, and the lazy days that followed too much fun weren’t his style.
He spotted one of his regular buyers, Dr. Gibbs and his wife, across the way. He turned to the assistant. “I’m going to go speak to these folks for a moment. I’ll be right back so we can catch up with the mayor.”
“Sure. I’ll get your drink and meet you back here.”
“Hello, Doctor.” Matthew offered the man a nod, then caught Mrs. Gibbs’s fingers in his hand and lightly kissed them. It had become something of a tradition over the years. Not something he’d ever do now, but when he was in his early twenties, he’d been a bit pretentious. The Gibbs family had supported him from the very start. Thank goodness over the years he’d discovered humility and gratitude for his talent.
“Matthew,” Mrs. Gibbs sang out. “We are so excited for you. This has to be one of your biggest showings yet. It’s absolutely magnificent.”
Matthew nodded. “The accumulation of three years of work and some stuff from the very start.”
“Your gift continues to grow. We’ve picked out our favorite already, haven’t we, dear?”
Dr. Gibbs nodded. “For our beach house.” He pointed to the gold SOLD tag hanging on the piece to his right.
“One of my favorites. I’m glad it spoke to you,” Matthew said.
“There’s just something so mesmerizing about that painting,” Mrs. Gibbs said. “It overwhelmed me. It made me feel… oh gosh, how can I put it into words? Joy, that’s what I felt… joy.”
He placed his hand over his heart. That’s exactly the feeling that had inspired him the day he began that painting. “I’m so glad it’s going to be in your collection. Thank you.”
“The pleasure is ours,” they insisted. “You better mingle,” Mrs. Gibbs said. “We’re a sure thing.” She pushed him gently.
He shook Dr. Gibbs’s hand, then turned to meet up with Travis’s assistant again when he heard someone address him.
He turned to see his friend Skip approaching. It was barely spring, and Skip was already sunburned around the nose and ears in a perfect outline of his sunglasses. Clearly, beach life agreed with him. “Man. Thanks for coming out. I didn’t know you were in town.”
Skip glanced across the crowd. “Great show, my friend.”
“About time you made it out to one.” He reached out and shook Skip’s hand. “It’s great to see you without paint on you from head to toe.”
“It was on my bucket list,” Skip teased.
Matthew couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. “So why are you really here?”
“Had some extra time and wanted to pick up those paintings that I did in your studio last winter. Thought I’d kill two birds with one stone,” Skip said. “Plus, I have a huge favor to ask.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Not here. I know you’ve got work to do, my friend.” A server walked by with a tray of mini crab cakes and quiches. Skip grabbed a napkin and filled it with them.
Matthew took only one and popped it in his mouth.
“Okay, I can’t hold the news in until this is over,” Skip said. “I’m getting married.”
“What?” Matthew swallowed, but that teeny crab cake seemed stuck in his throat. He chugged the tonic. “You can’t just drop information like that. When? Why?”
“Why else do people decide to get married? I met a nice lady. I’m happy. I woke up one day and realized I didn’t want to know what living without her was like.” Skip clicked his fingers. “That was it. Love. Asked her that night and she said yes. Best thing I ever did. Don’t know what I was so afraid of.”
“Divorce? Being miserable?”
“Never happening,” Skip said, and then nudged Matthew with an elbow. “I want you to be my best man. Nothing fancy. You can wear your khakis and flip-flops. We’re going to get married right on the beach at my place.”
“Wow. This is great.” Matthew was still shocked, though. Everyone thought Skip would be the last to ever marry. “Of course I’ll be your best man.”
“And I guess that leaves you the only lonely, grumpy artist out of our old group to still be single.” Skip cocked his head with a smirk.
“That’s not very nice, and not true. I’m not lonely or grumpy,” Matthew insisted. “I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“Whatever.” Skip opened his arms. “Remember me? I used to say that too. You might want to start paying attention. It’s possible there’s a perfect someone for you out there too.”
“I’m not looking, but I did run into a woman I’d ask out; that is, if our paths cross again, which is sort of doubtful.”
“Why is it doubtful?”
Matthew couldn’t deny she’d been on his mind all night. “It was brief, and I didn’t even get her name. She might not even be from around here.”
“Pretty?”
“Eyes so blue I didn’t want to look away,” Matthew admitted.
“Nice. Did you at least tell her who you were?” Skip asked.
“Nope.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s a long story. She dropped her bracelet, though. If she’s looking for it, I guess that might be the one possibility that we’ll cross paths again.” He shrugged. “Doubtful.”
Skip raised his hand to fist bump him. “The city’s not too big for you to bump into the right woman if it’s meant to be.”
“You’re an idiot.” He fist bumped him anyway but felt stupid for even mentioning the woman or the bracelet now.
“Where did you see her?” Skip asked.
“I was out working on a new project and a storm hit. I literally bumped into her while running to my truck.”
“Man, you’ve got all this going on, and you’re still painting those murals?”
Matthew shrugged. “It’s what I love.” He looked around at all the pomp and circumstance. “This might be where the money is, but my heart is outdoors painting larger-than-life scenes on imperfect brick. It gives me a chance to bring on young talent and let them be a part of it too. Encouraging the next generation of artists is satisfying to me, but I don’t see myself as a high school teacher. Doing all of this allows me to do that, and it works for me.”
Skip spread his arms and turned around. “Look at your work. It’s amazing. Don’t waste it on a building. Leave that to the taggers.”
“You worry about your own art.”
Skip shook his head. “I’m not complaining. Sales are good, but if I could only do serious work, you wouldn’t see me doing all those paintings from photographs on Christmas ornaments to put money aside for a rainy day.”
“You are doing just fine and don’t try to tell me you don’t like doing those Christmas ornaments. You can paint those in your sleep.”
“It’s easy money. I don’t even have to think to do those. Somehow I think these buyers might not see your mural work as comparable to this.”
“Well, I don’t exactly advertise the mural work, but you can’t compare our paths. Your work is getting amazing attention. I saw the spread in Southern Living that mentioned your stuff. You have a great reputation and a steady following. I promise you, no matter what path we choose, it’ll have its ups and downs. We just have to balance it. We might not be starving artists, but making it a career isn’t easy.”
Skip looked around. “As much as I complain about those little jobs, they are satisfying. Not everyone can afford this kind of art. The little stuff is meaningful. Plus, I love Christmas. I guess that’s equivalent to how you feel about painting murals. That is pretty cool, except for when a storm pops up, I suppose. I’ve never once been rained on painting one of those Christmas balls.”
“Yeah. Mother Nature, like most of the women I’ve dated, has a knack for raining on my parade.”
“Maybe it’s you. Just sayin’.”
“Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind.” The two of them laughed. “I’m sure that storm made a mess of some of the work we put in today. I’ll have some cleanup and reworking to do in the morning.”
“Need a hand?” Skip shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “I could come help for a day or two.”
“Your fiancée won’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“It’ll be nice to have your help.” They hadn’t painted a mural together since college. “Just as my foot hit the ground, a gust of wind blew my paint buckets off the scaffold. It was like Old Faithful: paint went everywhere. The wall. The ground. Me!”
“We’ll clean it up in no time,” Skip said. “And maybe your bracelet girl will wander by and recognize you.”
“Doubtful. I don’t even know her name.”
Skip shook his head. “Matthew, my friend, in case you haven’t noticed, every relationship starts that way.” He put his arm around his shoulder. “Hello. My name is Matthew. I’m an artist. What’s your name? What do you do? How about meeting for a coffee? It’s pretty simple. I think even a brush-wielding bachelor like you can handle that.”
“Real funny.”
The two of them were enjoying catching up when Travis marched over and inserted himself in the middle.
“There you are!” He seemed a little irritated. “I’ve been looking for you.” He flashed a look of recognition toward Skip but didn’t address him. His eyes darted back to Matthew, his lips pressed tight. “I need to introduce you to someone who just purchased several pieces for a commercial building. I negotiated gold-plate signage to be hung with them. She’s the wife of a big-time local attorney.”
“Duty calls.” Matthew thrust his hand toward Skip, feeling like he’d just been caught sneaking in after curfew. “I’ll take you up on that help. Meet me at my place in the morning?”
Skip answered as Travis shuffled Matthew to the far end of the gallery where the walls stretched two-stories high, and a tall, silver-haired man in a fine suit stood next to a woman who talked with her hands.
Travis cleared his throat, and the couple turned toward them. “May I introduce the artist? Matthew McMahon.”
The woman swung around gracefully in what could be considered a pirouette. She sucked in a breath that should’ve lifted her from the ground, then clasped his hand with both of hers.
Matthew glanced over at the husband, who looked on with a lilt to his smile that exuded a warm appreciation of her.
The beautiful woman pulled her graceful hand to her breast. “I feel your work to my very core. I’m Mary Barron Winters.” She cocked a shoulder, still clasping his hands. “My husband, Bill Winters. We are so thrilled to meet the man behind this work.”
Mr. Winters nodded.
“I’m redoing our offices, so I’ve selected several pieces. We may need a few more. What do you think, hon?”
“Whatever you think. This is your area of expertise.”
“If you’re going to be in town, Matthew, I’d love to walk you through the building and discuss placement. Would you?” She tightened her grip. “Could you?”
Before he could answer, she continued, “It’s right here in Richmond. Our building is on the historic registry, and the architecture is simply gorgeous.” She leaned closer. “Might even inspire a new painting.”
“I”m a sucker for beautiful architecture,” he said.
“The lines and colors in your work… it’s going to just be breathtaking. I can be flexible. Anytime. Early. Late?”
It wasn’t something he’d usually do, but he was intrigued by the chance to hear about the building’s history and see the inside up close. “It would be my pleasure. If we could meet in the early evening, that would be best for me.”
“I knew it! See?” She turned to her husband with one of those I-told-you-so lifts of the brow, then faced Matthew again. “I told him you wouldn’t mind. I’m so excited.” She pressed an embossed business card into his hand. “You call me Monday morning, and let’s set up a time.”
Matthew couldn’t have asked for a better gallery night. Just from the work that he knew had sold, it might be his biggest night yet.
The sound of something tapping the side of a glass came from the center of the hall. Matthew turned, expecting to see Travis gathering the attention of the crowd to shut down for the evening, but to his surprise, it wasn’t. Instead, a man in an out-of-season tweed sports coat stood looking a bit out of place.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for one moment, please.” The man raised a half-empty champagne flute in the air. “I wanted to share something about your featured artist this evening.”
The look on Travis’s face let Matthew know this was unexpected.
There were nods and murmurs across the room.
Travis walked over and gave Matthew a look. “What is this?”
Matthew shook his head. “No idea. I’ve never seen him before.”
“McMahon may be famous for all of this, but his true gifts touch many more people. Did you know he also paints murals on buildings?” The man looked for concurrence, which no one in this crowd, except for Skip, knew about. “They’re very good. You’ve probably seen his work and didn’t even know it. It’s better than all of this stuff if you ask me, and everyone, no matter if they are rich or poor, gets to enjoy his work. And he puts young artists to work by his side, encouraging them.”
Whispers floated around the room.
“It’s true. He pays them, mentors them, and is building confidence in their talents.”
Travis’s face tightened.
“My son had lost his way. He’d been a real mess, and I’d been worried that he had no hope, but this man gave him reason to believe in himself again.” A hush came over the room. “That, my friends, is a priceless gift from a selfless man.”
The man threw back the rest of his champagne and set his glass down on a passing server’s tray. “Thank you, Matthew McMahon, for sharing your work with all people, and for saving my boy’s life in the process.” The man started a slow clap, and as many joined in, he turned and walked out of the building.
Skip walked over, clapping zealously but also looking worried. “Was he drunk?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Matthew noticed people exchanging uneasy glances, and a few walked out, including the big buyer from Miami.
“He just ruined you,” Travis spit out the words, then turned on his heel and raced back toward the paying customers.
Matthew stood there, dumbfounded, as he watched the stranger leave.
“I think he meant well,” Skip said, “but?—”
Matthew’s heart pounded. “Yeah. My two worlds just collided.”
Skip brought his hands together, then quickly expanded them along with an explosive sound.
“Not helpful, Skip.”