Chapter 13: The Opening

Dan arrived at the gallery at 4.30 pm, as arranged. Everything was ready for the invited guests, who, it was hoped, would buy enough of the art to make it profitable. Stacks of catalogues were on the table at the door, where Brittany would sit ready to take the details of purchasers, and sell engravings to anyone who wanted to take one away rather than wait until the exhibition was over and take the framed version. Bottles of wine and champagne were set out on tables in large buckets of ice, ready to be opened and poured by a waiter who had been hired for the occasion. Canapes were laid out on plates covered in Saranwrap; Lauren would offer them around. She had been told by her mother to dress “glamorously but not too sexily” and looked very beautiful in the green dress she had worn to her prom.

The reporter from the LA Times arrived half an hour late, accompanied by a photographer, and rushed through his interview. Mac did most of the talking, giving a prepared spiel, while Dan had been told to say as little as possible, except that he could talk about his childhood, and his multiple bereavements.

“Dancer is one of our most talented artists,” said Mac, “a leader of the new wave of neo-realism, which is a synthesis of the dialectic of the old naturalism of the nineteenth century with the abstractionisms of the twentieth. His work flows, but also has these little impediments in it, which shows its acute awareness of the joys and trials of life... “ and so on, and on, at some length.

Dan could only stop from laughing at this by rigid self-control, though he knew that blather like that was the key to success in the art world. When it was his turn to speak he mentioned the loss of his parents, siblings and wife, whereupon Mac broke in again to say “These tragedies are reflected in the seriousness of his work, which is nonetheless lightened by his indomitable spirit and his boundless love for his motherless daughter. Come here, little girl,” he said to Anita, who was watching and listening avidly: and to the photographer, “Can you get a photo of Dancer and his daughter?”

The photographer meanwhile was taking photos of several of the pictures, particularly of the nude ones. He came over and snapped Dan and Anita linking little fingers, which was their way of acknowledging each other instead of a fist bump. When it came to taking a photo of Dan, Lauren contrived to get herself into every frame, taking Dan by the arm or draping an arm around his waist. Dan did not want to quarrel with her in front of the reporter, so went along with it. He could see Brittany scowling at her daughter’s antics, however, and hoped he would not be blamed for them.

Finally they were finished and left, and then Dan, Mac, Lauren, Brittany, and Anita just had time for a snack, and the three adults had a glass of domestic champagne before the guests started to arrive. Mac dragged Dan around, introducing him to various people, some of whom Dan recognized as movie or rock stars; others were obviously wealthy. A few were accompanied by bulky men in cheap suits whose eyes kept flicking around the room, their bodyguards. Most of the guests praised his work, some enthusiastically, others probably more out of politeness. Dan found himself wondering what Marion would think, when to his surprise he saw her, with her husband, looking at The Wicca Priestess. Dan had given her sleeve tattoos based on his memories of Marion’s ones, but having mystic and runic symbols instead of her manga characters, and had given her red hair and made her much plumper than Aquila. Dan, mindful of her note, did not go over to greet her, but her husband came up to him and said, “I don’t think much of these daubs.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” said Dan, “but most of the people here seem to disagree. Why don’t you buy a few of them as an investment? They’re really competitively priced, and will be sure to appreciate in the coming years.” This seemed to him to be the best way of selling them to an obvious Philistine.

“That’s right,” said Mac, who had come over to them. “Neo-realism is the next big thing. You should get in ahead of the wave. They’ll sell at auction for five times their price in a few years’ time.”

“I’ll think about it,” said the man, and went off, dragging Marion with him before she could say anything to Dan.

“That’s Clem Johnson,” said Mac. “Old California money. Owns hotels, apartment blocks, shopping malls. His great-grandfather made his pile by swindling miners out of their claims during the gold rush, and four generations have added to it. I have great hopes for him; he’s one of the most assiduous collectors in the west coast. Knows nothing about art, just buys in the hope of selling for a lot more a decade or so down the line. Often he guesses right.”

Just then Anita came running up to Dan and said, “The nice lady in the pictures is here daddy, she’s really cool,” and pulled on Dan’s hand till he went over to where Aquila was looking at The Nun and wondering if she really looked like that. Dan’s heart gave a lurch when he saw her. She had let her hair grow, and looked even more beautiful. She and Dan chatted pleasantly. Dan offered to give her a pair of the engravings of The Nun, and Aquila accepted immediately. She felt her attraction to Dan increasing again, and now she was no longer married, thought she might have a chance. Mac came over, and was his usual lewd self.