Page 38 of I Love My Mistake
“Why didn’t you bring me some of your work? Or do you have miniatures hidden in that little bag of yours?”
I blink and reach for my phone, wishing I’d known how this was done before I showed up here looking like an amateur. “I took pictures of them on my phone.”
“Let me see.” As he takes it from me, he mumbles, “Technology…I hate it.” Glasses get pulled from his shirt pocket and he wipes the screen on his pants to remove smudges as if he’s done it a million times and hated it every single time. Satisfied the screen is clean, he holds the phone away from him until his vision settles on a pleasing focal distance. His frown behind the reading glasses, combined with the way his chin is raised, makes me imagine him as a scientist inspecting a fossil.
“Hmmm…Interesting.”
I cross my legs and force myself to look elsewhere like I am unafraid, when really I’m terrified. The sound of his finger flicking through my photo album is punctuated by an occasional break for a sip of coffee and an “Mmm.” When he is done, he hands the phone to me.
My smile is long gone.
“Ms. Henry, have you had your work displayed before? I’m not familiar with your name.”
He hates my work. I knew it. Every muscle in me is tense.
“No. I’ve not had the nerve until now.”
He stands and walks around to sit opposite me on the other side of his desk, leaning back in the high-backed black chair before he says, “What’s changed?”
I answer simply, “Me.”
His eyebrows go up and he thinks on this. “I see. Well, your work has a distinctive edge I’ve not seen before. It’s not a copy of anyone else, but there is something in it that reminds me of Basquiat and even Picasso at times.”
I say nothing, shocked.
“Michael told me…” He pauses languidly to drink another sip of his coffee. “Mmm.” He looks out toward the sunlight pouring in through the windows and picks up again with, “Michael told me… that you’re going to be a huge hit and that if I didn’t meet with you, I’m an idiot.” He waits and watches my face. “I think he’s right. Breathe, please.”
I suck in enough room air to make the walls cave in. Jack laughs and opens up a drawer to pull out a contract and set it in front of me.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, looking at it.
He smiles and reaches to hand me a pen, enjoying every second of watching my expression.
“Jack, I’m going to need a little time. I want to put the canvases in shadow boxes and finding the right ones is…”
I stop speaking as he raises his hand into the air.
“Jack now, is it? Fine. Call me Jack, but I’m going to call you Ms. Henry because that’s just who I am. Ms. Henry, I have a show running now as you can see. And one after it. But there is a two-week window in between and I plan to squeeze you into it, to see how you’ll do. People love a sense of immediacy as well, so the short time frame might just do wonders for creating ‘buzz.’ It will be around two months from now, enough time for me to announce you, and for you to get ready. That is, if you think that’s enough time?”
The smile that spreads out from my belly is the biggest I’ve felt in years. With massive enthusiasm, I nod and pick up the contract. “That’s more than enough time! Thank you!”
My joy is infectious, as joy always is, and he smiles back at me, immensely pleased with himself. “I so rarely give someone their first break. Seeing your reaction makes me think I should do it more often. Take that home with you and give it a good reading. Then we’ll meet again. And please take your coffee, too. You haven’t had a sip. It’s too good to waste.”
I grab it apologetically and stand up. “Yes, of course. Thank you for the coffee, too.”
He laughs. “Get ahold of yourself. You’ve earned this.”
I smile and nod, turn away.
“Ms. Henry?” He calls after me.
I look over my shoulder, my hand on the railing. “Yes?”
All humor is gone from his eyes. I let go and turn to face him. He folds his hands on his chest and leans back in his chair, frowning. “I would not have given you this chance just because Michael Benitez asked for a meeting. He’s a brilliant artist, and a friend, but this is my gallery and I am very picky about who I put on these walls.” I nod. “You have gotten this show on your own merit. Do you understand?”
The tears jump up, dancing in my eyes. I breathe in, nod once, causing a tear to roll off my cheek. I don’t hide it. I’m not afraid of my emotions anymore.
“Thank you for telling me that.”
He doesn’t answer. It’s understood between both of us that the gift he just gave me was more than an art showing. That gift will pass with memories and time. He gave me something greater, something that will never go away. He gave me my dignity.