Chapter 2
"The artist's world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep."
- Paul Strand (American Photographer and Filmmaker 1890 - 1976)
A week. A week I'd been hiding in my room, scared of running into Jesse the second I stepped out of my door. But today I had to risk it.
I had to find a job.
It's not like I'd never had a job before - my step-dad had made me get one every summer back in California. It's just … I'd heard horror stories about getting a job in New York.
I wasn't exactly jumping for joy at the possibility of me being shot down by numerous employers.
Still, I couldn't survive on nothing. So, I left my room with a copy of the New York Times in my hand, circles around the jobs that had appealed to me.
After a quick check on my landing to make sure that none of my neighbours were about - well, Jesse - I was outside and ready to get a job.
An hour later I was pretty sure that however much I wanted a job, no jobs wanted me.
As it turns out, having a degree in Modern Art doesn't actually help anybody out in the real world.
Just as I was ready to give up, I caught sight of a really modern, made-out-of-glass building out of the corner of my eye.
Wow. Whoever owned that had money.
Lots of money.
I checked the sign on the front of the building.
"Slater Gallery." Read the familiar-sounding sign.
Gallery?
I scanned through the job listings in my newspaper and mentally snapped my fingers when I saw the ad.
"Position of Art Director available at Slater Gallery. Call Paul for details."
I knew that I recognised the name.
Along with the description of the job there was the gallery's address and this Paul guy's number.
Well, seeing as I'm here …
I took a deep breath and walked up to the automatic doors which opened with a swoosh of cold air blasting at me. A nice refresher after an hour and a half of trudging around New York streets in the hot June weather.
Inside was even more impressive then outside. Seriously. The ceiling stretched upwards for miles. Or it seemed like anyway.
The thing that floored me though was the exhibition that was currently open.
Off to the side of the main doors was a roomy corridor of white walls decorated with the most amazing paintings I had ever seen.
So many artists preferred to use modern techniques nowadays. Photography, Graphics … It was rare if you found a modern painter who took your breath away as if it were one of Van Gogh's original masterpieces.
But this artist had managed to achieve it.
The first painting on the wall was pretty simple in content - A lake at night time. But the quality…
Um, can you say wow?
I stepped to have a closer look at the painting.
The artist had used dark blue's and black's to create the midnight sky and small flecks of white for stars. The lake mirrored the sky with a glassy sheen. Tiny, detailed water-lily's had been painted on top of the almost icy lake adding the only other colour to the piece - green and pink - as bulrushes adorned the edge. Surrounding the lake was mossy, green grass tinged dark with the shadows of the small moon shining brightly from its position in the corner.
If this was only the beginning, imagine what more this artist had achieved.
"Amazing, isn't it?"
I was startled out of my admiration of the painting by a deep voice. Turning around I felt a blush rise to my cheeks as I was met with the face of someone who was extremely hot. Not as hot as Jesse, of course not - no one could beat that.
But hot enough. He had dark brown hair that fell into his eyes and was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a tight polo t-shirt. The bright white teeth of his cocky smile told me that he knew he was hot too.
But really, what are the odds of me meeting the two best looking guys in New York, in similar ways, within a week of one another?
"Yeah," I breathed out as I turned to look at the painting again. Maybe if I didn't look at him, I could hold an actual conversation. "It really is."
"What do you like most about it?"
Mystery-guy stepped closer to me. So close that I could feel the heat radiating off of his body.
"The way the painting is made up of, more or less, the same colours, yet the artist has still managed to distinguish the difference between the lake and sky without blending everything together in a swirling mess."
I was so happy with my intelligent response that it took a while for me to realise that my fellow art-appreciator had yet to respond.
I tilted my head to look at him surreptitiously.
He was looking at me with a small smile on his face.
"What did you come in here for?" He asked me randomly.
Well, it was a strange question, given our conversation minutes before.
I blushed as I answered.
"Well," I admitted. "I'm here about the job." I gestured to my newspaper. "I was about to go and find a manager or somebody, but I got distracted by this exhibition."
I returned my full attention to the row of paintings.
"Do you know who the artist is?" I asked the stranger.
"Oh yes," He took my arm and began to lead me down the corridor. "He happens to be a favourite of mine. His name is Hector de Silva."
"Hector de Silva?" I repeated. "I've never heard of him. How can he be a favourite of yours?"
Mystery-guy laughed and covered my hand with his own on his arm.
"The exhibition opened a few days ago," he told me. "I stumbled across it, quite like yourself, and since then I've admired the artist."
Nodding, I soaked in all of the amazing paintings this artist had done. Some of them were remarkably simple - landscapes, still life, that type of thing - but every time the artist painted something that was a favourite for art teacher's around the world, he made it his own.
This Hector de Silva truly had a gift.
"Well," Mystery-guy announced. "That's all."
I felt my face fall when I heard that news but Mystery-guy had a strange smile on his face once he caught a look at my own.
"And you've got the job."
I stepped back and looked at him disbelievingly, my sadness quickly turnign to anger at the way he was mocking me.
"What," I hissed at him. "The hell do you think you're doing? You can't play with me like that! You don't work here, there's no possible way you can give me the job!"
Mystery-guy kept the stupid smirk on his face even as his eyes sparkled with laughter. Jesse's eyes sparkled better, I noticed.
"No," he admitted, "you're right. I don't work here."
I let a self-satisfied smile spread over my face. See? I told you! I felt like sticking my tongue out at this stranger who had started out to be so nice but turned into a jerk in less than half an hour.
"I own it."
Wait a minute. What?
"And despite your outburst," he carried on, smiling. "You've got the job."
I tried to answer him, I really did. But all that came out of my mouth were questions that were bound to go unanswered.
"What?" After my intelligent opinions throughout the entire mini-tour, I was quite disappointed in myself. "How? Who? Huh?"
His smile turned into a smirk as he held out his hand and offered a small mock-bow.
"Paul Slater," he announced looking up at me almost mischievously. "At your service."
Paul Slater? As in Slater Gallery?
Oops.