The Mistress(31)
“I have no babies that I know of, no past loves to come back to haunt me, no ex-girlfriends in need that I would allow to stay with me. I have some old girlfriends I’ve stayed friends with,” except for Chloe, who had sent him several vicious, bitter emails, which he didn’t mention. “My life has been fairly sane. My father, on the other hand, was pretty crazy, and very talented. He was Italian, and in his seventies when I was born, and he married my mother ten years later, when his wife died.”
“That’s what I mean,” Inez said, grinning at him, as they ordered coffee after lunch. She was a very pretty young woman.
“He was incredibly talented, and my mother adored him. He was a fairly cranky old guy by the time I came along, but I know he loved me, and he taught me how to be an artist. He died when he was ninety-one, so I was lucky to have him till I was eighteen.”
“Was he well known?” she asked innocently, and he hesitated before he answered, but she looked as though he could trust her. He could tell she was a nice woman, and not some gold digger after money.
“Lorenzo Luca.” Her eyes widened as he said it.
“Good lord, he’s one of the most important artists of the past century.”
“Some people think so. I love his work, but my style is very different. I don’t think I’ll ever achieve the heights he did, although I work hard at it. He was really a genius, which is probably what made him so hard to get along with.” Theo didn’t tell her that his father had seven other children, which he was sure would have made her nervous. “My mother was forty years younger than he was. She runs a restaurant in St. Paul de Vence now, and is the keeper of the sacred flame. She owns a huge number of his paintings and rarely sells any.” Except to very, very rich Russians, which he didn’t add either.
“Did she ever remarry? She must have been fairly young when he died.”
“She was fifty-two—they spent more than thirty years together. It’s hard to get over that, I guess. And he was a big persona. She didn’t remarry, but she has a loving relationship with his art dealer, the man I came in with the day I met you.” She nodded, remembering.
“He seems like a nice man.”
“He is. He’s been like a father to me. Does any of this qualify me for dinner?” He smiled at her as he paid the check, and she thanked him.
“Not really. You’re still an artist. But I’m happy to know you.” She beamed at him, and he laughed good-naturedly.
“You’re tough. I promise, I’m not a crazy artist.”
“Probably not, but I’m not up for the long shots anymore. It’s too risky, and I have my daughter to think of.” He nodded. She had a point. And he wasn’t interested in marriage at this point, or in raising other people’s children. It seemed complicated and like too much responsibility to him, and he didn’t want to screw up someone else’s kid. So maybe she was right. He didn’t suggest dinner again before he left her at the gallery and drove back to St. Paul de Vence. He liked her, but his life didn’t hang on whether he had dinner with her. Still, he had enjoyed lunch.
—
The rest of the summer passed too quickly. And before Gabriel went back to Paris on September 1, he gave Theo the list of galleries again, and two days later Theo forced himself to sit down and call them. Several of them hadn’t opened yet after the summer, but there was one he was particularly interested in, and Gabriel had promised to call them to recommend him. The man who owned it was Jean Pasquier, and he took Theo’s call immediately. The gallery was on the rue Bonaparte in the sixth arrondissement on the Left Bank, and he said he was always interested in new artists.
Theo sent him images of his work digitally, and Pasquier called him the next day, and said he’d like to meet with him if he came to Paris, and to bring one or two of his paintings with him, so he could see his brushwork, which was a reasonable request. It was something you couldn’t see on a computer. Theo agreed to visit him the following week and bring samples of his work. He had liked him on the phone so much that Theo decided not to call the others until he’d seen him, which Gabriel seconded as a good decision, and he promised to take him to dinner when he came to Paris.
Maylis was already complaining about Gabriel’s being in Paris, only days after he left, but she never went with him. She waited for Gabriel to come and see her in the South. He said he’d be back in a few weeks.
And as promised, Theo went to see Jean Pasquier and liked the man and the gallery space, almost as much as Pasquier liked the work that Theo had brought with him. He thought the brushwork was masterful, and the subjects very appealing. And much to Theo’s amazement, he offered him a one-man show in January. He had an opening in his schedule, due to an artist just informing him that he wouldn’t be ready for his show, and Jean was delighted to fill the slot with Theo.
Theo called Gabriel as soon as he left the gallery to tell him, and thank him for the introduction, and Gabriel took him to dinner that night to celebrate. Selling two paintings at the art fair in London had been good for Theo, but being represented by a Paris gallery and having a show there was an important step in his career. And he had stayed in touch with the New York gallery, and might show with them later. He wasn’t ready to pursue that yet.
“You’re finally going to have a show in Paris.” Gabriel beamed at him. They were having dinner in a small bistro in Gabriel’s neighborhood on the Left Bank. Sitting on the terrace looking out at the lights of the spectacular city, Theo thought his mother was foolish never to go there. She was still locked into all the old habits she had had with Lorenzo. Gabriel would have broadened her life so much, if she let him. He said as much to him. “You know how she is,” Gabriel said warmly. “I’m happy she travels with me. She’ll go to cities in Italy, but never Paris.”