Chapter xxxvii
xxxvii
I LOVE HOW CLOTHING CAN FUNCTION AS ARMOR , or as a shot of confidence, a tool to project what you want people to see. The next morning I looked at my closet and, instead of going with the jeans I typically wear these days, I put on a long patterned accordion skirt with high-heeled leather boots and a black V-neck sweater. I added gold hoops in my ears and an extra coat of mascara to my lashes. I had my appointment with Joseph Landis at the art gallery where they were going to show your work in June, when the book launched, and I wanted to look put-together, confident, like I was sure of my plan.
I HADN’T YET COME UP WITH A PLAN TO TALK TO Darren, though, who still wasn’t returning my calls or my texts. I had to figure out what to do to make him understand, to see how secrets can poison lives and relationships. How much I worried it would poison ours with our kids—and how much we owed Sammy the truth. As he grew, as he developed his own identity, it should be based on all the facts of his life. I thought about that the whole way to Manhattan.
When I got off the subway in Chelsea, I got a message from Dax: Good luck talking to the gallery owner. That’s today, right?
I smiled when I saw his words. It is , I typed. And I will take that luck!
Let me know how it goes , he wrote back.
As I walked to the gallery I remembered the only other times I’d been there—twice for your show, once with Julia, and once with Darren. What a debacle that turned into.
I walked in and let the person sitting at the front reception desk know who I was and who I was there to see. He left to go get Joseph Landis and I looked around the gallery. The current show was by an artist named Luca Bartolomei; he had painted biblical figures as if they were living in today’s world. Each painting had a biblical quote on the plaque next to it, along with the painting’s title. I stopped at one of a woman holding a tambourine at a nightclub, lost in the music, other women onstage in soft focus around her. It was called Miriam’s Song , and the quote said: Exodus 15:20 Then Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a tambourine in her hand, and all the women went out after her with tambourines and dancing. The woman’s hair was painted so beautifully, so realistically, that I wanted to reach out and touch it.
I moved to the next painting—a man in overalls tending to a vineyard: The Fruit of Knowledge . The quote said: Genesis 2:8–10 And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and there he put the man whom he had formed. And out of the ground the Lord God made to spring up every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. The tree of life was in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
“Lucy?” I heard.
I turned and saw Joseph Landis there. He was dressed in a pair of gray pinstripe pants and a button-down shirt.
“Yes,” I said. “Nice to meet you. This art is stunning. And I love the concept behind it.”
“Luca’s a rising star,” he said. “New to our gallery. We only have a few pieces left that haven’t been purchased, if you’re interested.”
I was interested but was sure the art was way out of my price range. “I’m not surprised you only have a few left,” I said.
“But you’re here to talk about Gabriel, not to buy art,” he supplied.
“Yes,” I said, and cleared my throat. I looked over at Adam, at the fruit of knowledge that was a grape, not an apple. “As I think you know, I’m responsible for Gabriel’s estate.”
He nodded.
“Eric Weiss let me know you’d like to show Gabriel’s photographs again here,” I said, “timed with the relaunch of his book, and I’d like to suggest an addition to the show.”
“I’m listening,” he replied, leaning against the counter at the front of the room.
“The theme of Gabriel’s new book is ‘then and now,’ and I love that idea, the way Eric wrote about the world as it is now to counterbalance Gabriel’s photographs, but I’d love it even more if it could be represented visually in the show. Of course, that’s impossible with Gabriel’s work, but he has a protégé of sorts, a young man named Bashir Hassan in Rome. I’ve seen his work, and I think it’s beautiful. His eye for photography is very similar to Gabriel’s. So I’d love to look at the photographs of Gabe’s you’d like to show, and then ask Bashir to go to those places, to take similar compositions, or if it’s a portrait, find the same people if he can, and truly make the show ‘then’ and ‘now.’ For example,” I said, pulling out my phone, “this is a photograph Gabriel took of a child at the Lampedusa refugee center. I’d love for Bashir to find this child now and take a similar photograph. Or another option would be to have him go back to the refugee center, and take this photograph in that spot. It looks quite a bit different now.”
Joseph was nodding. “I like this,” he said. “But what has always drawn me to Gabriel’s work is the way he can capture emotion. I need to see what this Bashir Hassan can do before I agree. His photographs have to be as good as Gabriel’s, worth selling on their own, for me to say yes.”
I nodded. “I understand,” I said. “Art and commerce cross paths in here, you need both.”
“That’s right,” he said with a small smile.
“I’ll talk to Bashir,” I told him. “I’ll send you some of his work. You can see what you think.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Here’s my email.” He paused and then said, “You’re the one he photographed in the early aughts. The laptop, the shoes, the smile.”
I nodded. “That was me,” I said.
He looked me up and down. “Then and now,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
I took his card and told him I’d be in touch soon.
You’ve pushed me, Gabe. I’m reviewing book pages, setting up art exhibits, making gallery connections. Even with you gone for so long, you’re still helping me to learn and grow. And I like it, I like stretching my mind, doing more than I knew I could. I love you still. Always.