Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dahlia and Noah painted into the early morning hours and managed to finish the living room and hallway.
They retired to bed just before three AM, after Dahlia brought most of Lil’s paintings from the barn inside the house.
When she held them against the wall, they both knew it was the right choice.
The bold palette felt like opening a brand-new crayon box.
Dahlia stared unapologetically, slowly releasing her breath, knowing in her gut it was time well spent.
It was now just after nine. Noah was still sleeping, but Dahlia was already up and on the back porch, slurping her coffee.
There was only a week to get the house ready for Lil’s party, and there was still so much to do.
Her first mission of the day, though, was to finally ask for an extension from the gallery.
With palms firmly planted to her face, she sat there thoroughly proofing the revised “extension” email.
Not because she was scared they would say no.
Heck, that would be much easier, then the decision would be made for her.
Dahlia was nervous because she always kept her promises.
She wasn’t the type to call in sick unless she or Daisy were.
She wasn’t the type to pawn off less-than-desirable duties at work or goof off while on the clock.
She was steadfast and reliable. Harry rested his head on her lap, giving her that reassurance she needed.
With her lips molded into a straight line, she bravely hit send.
Dahlia ran inside the house to get more coffee and realized she missed Kara’s call. With her beverage and phone in hand, she grabbed a dog treat and went back down to the porch.
The air was already muggy, and the sun was strong.
The smell of low tide drifted through the screens, and the seagulls’ squawks offering an annoying but oddly comforting sound.
Living miles from the beach in Greenwich, she relished being this close to the water.
It made her feel alive and awake, something Connecticut couldn’t offer her, no matter how hard she tried.
Harry snapped the treat from her hold, wetting her fingers. “Geez, you almost bit my finger off.”
After wiping her Harrified hands, she dialed the phone and waited while it rang.
“Hi, hold on a second,” Kara mumbled.
“Want me to call you back?” Dahlia asked.
“Nah, just getting my latte. Yes, double shot, please.”
Dahlia heard an echo of a commotion in the background.
“Are you at Brew?” Dahlia asked. Brew was a favorite local spot in Greenwich. She missed how easy it was to meet up with Kara for an impromptu cup of coffee.
“Yeah, it’s packed. I don’t know where everyone came from,” Kara shouted.
“It’s summer, Kara.”
“True. Okay, spill the tea. Give me an update. Is loverboy still behaving?”
“Ha, no more McHandy?”
“I feel like we’ve moved past that. Loverboy is more fitting, don’t you think?”
“Whatever you say.” Dahlia laughed. “So he came by last night and skipped a night out with his television fam.”
“Aww, he chose you. How sweet. That’s big.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dahlia said with a wide, toothy grin. “And… he’s not signing on for another season.”
“What? Wait, this is good news, right?”
“The best news.”
“And what did you do about your job?”
Dahlia wrinkled her nose. “I asked for more time.”
“How much?”
“I left it open. I told them something came up with my Aunt Lil’s estate.” Dahlia cleared her throat. Part of her felt deceitful, but she didn’t have a choice. She was backed up into a corner with no real way out other than to twist the truth a little.
“Which isn’t a lie. Plus, it gives you more time with Noah,” Kara said.
“Yeah.” Dahlia sat a little taller. “The real reason is I’ve decided to have a celebration of life for Lil.”
“Oh, honey, that’s a great idea.”
“But it has to be this weekend,” Dahlia firmly stated.
“Yikes, that’s not much time.”
“I know, that’s why I need your help. You can come, right? Sunday?” Dahlia squinted, clutching her hands in prayer.
“Ah, let me look in my phone.” It was quiet. “The boys have a doubleheader, but I can ask Tony to take care of it.”
“Phew.” And that’s why she was her ride-or-die.
She always came through. There was a release of tension in her shoulders, knowing she wouldn’t have to do this alone.
Asking for help suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
“I need you here. I can’t do this without you.
” Dahlia knew she probably could do it without her, but she didn’t want to.
“Who are you inviting?” Kara curiously asked, as if she knew Dahlia didn’t know anyone.
“Well, that’s the thing. I’d like her students to come, so I’ll need to locate them, maybe on Facebook somehow, and then some neighbors, the garden club, and town people. All I want is to celebrate her.” Dahlia’s mouth curved upward. Honoring Lil would be like honoring the truth.
“That sounds like a good plan. I’m proud of you,” Kara said, emphasizing each word.
“Thanks. I’m kind of proud of me too.” Dahlia had an all-knowing grin, one that wasn’t going to leave any time soon. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I have a meeting with that guy, Tomas, from Elevate in Southampton.”
“Fancy, why?” Kara asked.
“It’s just a backup in case the Whitmore Gallery says no to the extension, which they might,” Dahlia said, taking the last sip of her coffee.
“Okay, toodle-oo. Call me later.”
Betty’s muffler was growing louder by the day—not an ideal first impression for this well-known, swanky Hamptons town.
She turned off the car and flipped down the dusty visor, then reapplied her lip gloss and calmed her flyaways in the mirror.
She blew out a long breath, wondering why she was even there.
It was apparent the Hamptons hated her, and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t a big fan either.
But that didn’t matter as much as having choices and a job did.
There was a message from Kara. Check your Gram.
Why? Dahlia typed.
Look, she replied.
Dahlia opened the app. Her notifications exploded at the top in red, and all she saw was 12K followers next to her picture. Dahlia gasped; her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of the sockets. She wasn’t one to value stats, but this was unexpected.
When she opened the notifications, she saw a bunch of tagged images of her and Noah, way too many to count.
Her jaw clenched as she scrolled through private photos that they had no right to use.
There were images from that night in the Hamptons, not too far from where she was parked.
They were holding hands, kissing in the corner, dancing with Penny, then ones from the Gretchen’s restaurant opening, and even one from the day at the Brewery.
Ugh, I don’t want followers like that, Dahlia typed.
The three dots appeared. Regardless, they’re followers. And if you ever have a business someday, this is good.
She was probably right, but Dahlia wasn’t about to read the comments. That would blow her day up into a million pieces. When things were finally looking up, she didn’t need that. Some small part of her hoped all of this fanfare would ease now that Noah was officially no longer part of the show.
If you say so, Dahlia replied.
Dahlia’s pulse raced as she reached for her purse.
The new Instagram intel didn’t help her nerves, which had suddenly gone haywire.
Why exactly was she so anxious? She was a curator in the city and ran some of the rarest exhibits, for goodness sake.
As much as she could reason her qualifications, this would be a completely different position, if it were offered, than the one she’d endured for the past few years.
Once she was out of the car and on her feet, she pressed the wrinkles from her skirt and walked toward town.
As she turned the corner, she spotted the sleek signage from across the road: ELEVATE in big block letters.
Unease tensed her shoulders, but she held her chin high and kept walking.
Dahlia weaved through the Monday Main Street lunch crowd, catching a glimpse of herself in the glass reflection.
Her head jerked in surprise, followed by a smile at how professional and cool she looked in Lil’s linen blazer, floral pleated skirt, tank top, and heels.
It was a Gossip Girl vibe, one she hadn’t quite settled into.
She opened the stainless-steel door to the gallery and walked in.
A low-volume instrumental faded into the background, and she was met with Tomas’s firm finger in the air, which right away seemed awfully rude.
There was a sinking feeling in her abdomen, telling her ever so subtly that this was a bad idea.
It was the same patronizing feeling she got with Spence, like she wasn’t as important as he was.
She walked around the cold space, waiting for him to finish his call.
The art was avant-garde, mainly abstract and mixed media, with a Warhol flavor.
“Sorry about that.” Tomas walked over in a pale pink collared shirt and fitted white pants. His wavy hair was neatly slicked back. “Can I get you water, a glass of wine?”
“No, I’m good, thank you.” She just wanted to get this over with so she could retreat back to Lil’s.
“Well, thanks for making the trip over to the South Fork,” he said curtly.
Dahlia nodded and smiled. “Of course.”
“Well, tell me. What do you think of the place?” He pivoted toward the art.
“It’s beautifully curated.” She wanted to say that it lacked warmth and intimacy but didn’t.
“Walk with me. What do you think about, say, this one?” He pointed to the large-scale, unlabeled square canvas with bold, shaded circles.
It looked like a game of Twister. “It reminds me of summer: ice cream, sunsets, the ocean, the color of petals in a garden when the sun pierces through them,” she said with an easy breath.
“How would you sell it?” He raised an eyebrow.
Dahlia smiled; this was her jam, after all. Suddenly, she wasn’t nervous. She was excited.
“I would say it encapsulates summer and marks the best memories of two months spent in paradise. I would ask them what they see. I would appeal to their sentimental nature and make a connection. Art should feel personal and tickle your insides when it catches your eye from across the room.”
“And what about this one?” he asked, pointing to a Picasso-inspired oil painting with two forms interlaced and a tear coming from the male’s eye.
She tilted her head. “I see vulnerability, I see pain and healing. I see belonging and loss. I see the life cycle of a relationship.” It was poignant and beautiful, laced with contradictions.
She saw the relationships of everyone she loved in that painting.
Yes, they were all different, but love anchored and tethered each one.
“Why do you think he’s crying?”
“Because he feels seen.” She smiled.
“Not because he’s heartbroken?” he firmly asked.
“We see what we want to see, I suppose. The way her arm is laced inside his, I see kinship.”
“Interesting.” He folded his arms.
“Who are your artists typically?” Dahlia asked, needing to be sure her instincts were right.
“Well-known artists that have shown in some of the best Soho and Chelsea galleries, mostly,” he said.
“Do you ever give a newcomer a break?” she asked.
“Not typically.”
“That’s a shame.” She flinched, shocked that she’d said that aloud.
“Well, they don’t draw a crowd the way the more established artists do. And crowd means revenue.”
Dahlia’s eyes darted. In other words, Lil would never have had a chance to be shown here. Did she want to work at a place like this, a place that valued money over authenticity? The answer was that it was a job, one that could enable her to stay at Lil’s.
“Listen, I’ll get right to it.” He cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a gallery manager. It would be part-time at this gallery in the summers and winters in Palm Beach and/or the Aspen Gallery. Wherever you are needed most.”
“Oh.” Her arms went still. That was quick.
“This is what I’ll pay you.” Tomas grabbed a yellow sticky note from behind the desk and scribbled, then folded it before she could see what he’d written.
Without looking into my references? She wanted to ask but didn’t. It was better to act unaffected.
He gave her the folded-up paper. “Think about it. I have another appointment to get to.” He looked at his Rolex. “But please stay and look around. My assistant is here if you have any questions about the artists. I think you’ll find them …”
Sterile. Lacking emotionality, she thought.
“Awakening.”
Dahlia nodded. “Well, thank you.” She held up the folded paper.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, strutting out the front door and into the thick crowd of patrons.
Dahlia stuck the paper in her purse. She had heard and seen enough.
Making sure the pink shirt was nowhere in sight, she walked to her car. As soon as she got in her hatchback, she opened the small piece of paper. She slapped her hand over her mouth and gasped. “Holy shit.” It was double her salary at MoMA and then some.
But would it make her happy?