Disclaimers etc. in Part 1.
I love art. I've always been drawn to works that have different levels of meaning that are open to various forms of interpretation. Tonight however will most likely prove to be a different situation. I can only imagine that the majority of these pieces will have some tone of freedom or innocence since this particular gallery has chosen to feature works by our clients, in hopes to raise funds for their legal costs. Being a former ADA and having somewhat of a known presence in Manhattan I have been invited to attend by the powers that be. I'm just wondering why it has to be on a night as bitterly cold as this one is. I hand the driver a twenty with thanks, and as I open the door of my cab I step directly into a large pile of slush.
"Tienes que estar bromeando."
I guess there's no turning back now. I dislike schmoozing at the best of times and now it's going to be worse because all I can think about is my damn wet foot. Make an appearance then go home, Rafael. Stay for an hour then you can leave. I hear my inner voice saying these things to me as I open the front door of the gallery and head inside. I hand my coat to the young man working at the coat check and take a program from the counter. Hmmm. That's a wonderful quote to put on the front for this cause. I start to warm to the idea that this might be a better night as I read 'Some are free and never leave a space that is toxic, for many whom are imprisoned are the innocent. An evening in support of the Innocence Project'. I look up and see a few colleagues of mine and I walk towards them, talking in general about work and cases that we are individually working on.
"What happened to you, Barba?"
Thanks SO much for noticing, Matt.
"I stepped in slush getting out of my cab, of course. It'll dry soon enough tho."
He pats me on the shoulder.
"Well, I'm glad you could make it. Let me get you a drink. What would you like?"
"Scotch neat please."
He nods his head and makes his way to the bar, when I hear a voice that sounds like angelic music attempting to get the attention of everyone in the room. I turn towards her and that's when I become officially done.
"Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention for just a moment? Thank you so very much."
She can and will have my undivided attention for as long as she wants it.
"I'd like to take a moment to thank you all for being here this evening and attending this very special event for our small gallery. I first became aware of the Innocence Project when Adam, one of our docents, informed me about a case he had heard about on the news. As any of you who know me even in the slightest will attest to, I am inherently curious about things that I know nothing of. A little research later and I wanted to do something to help and fast forward to where we are tonight."
It was at that moment I took a deep breath as I gazed directly at her. From the back of the room where we were all standing I couldn't tell the color of her eyes, but that was the only thing that I couldn't take in. She had beautiful chestnut brown hair that was pinned back beautifully, leaving a few delicate pieces flowing, framing her lovely face and from the length of them she has to have long hair. Be strong my knees and still my rapidly beating heart.
"Each of the pieces you see on display has been created by someone who is currently seeking the knowledge, expertise and services of those at the Innocence Project. Their art comes in many forms; portraits in oil and watercolors, charcoal sketches, sculpture and my personal favorite from tonight, the written word. Please take all the time you require to drink in the delicious music that comes from each of these individual pieces."
Not only to me is she stunningly beautiful but she knows her way with a phrase.
"I encourage you to bid as high and as often as you are able this evening, especially if any particular piece is calling to you. Should you wish to donate to the fundraising effort as well, we will gladly accept your donations. The fun should be starting in around 15 minutes or so. Please, enjoy this evening and thank you all in advance for your very generous support."
I am officially smitten, and I must make it my mission to meet this woman. Polite applause goes up from the patrons as she smiles and walks into the crowd. I feel like a little child on Christmas Eve – filled with anticipation on the arrival of Santa and my presents. But right now, I don't want presents, just presence.
Earlier tonight I wanted to leave after no more than an hour and it's now more than two hours in and I don't want to leave. I have yet to personally meet our hostess and that frustrates me to no end. There are only only a few pieces left that have yet to be sold, and from my humble math skills there has been quite a bit of money raised for the IP, which is wonderful for not just us, but for her and the gallery as well. I don't know what her relationship situation is and I'm already thinking of running away sheepishly and never coming back. I've heard mumblings of her name, but I don't want to appear over eager and have to run away like a puppy with its tail between its legs. My gaze has been on her all night, not in a creepy stalker kind of guy I used to prosecute way, but in a 'where is she? I don't want to lose sight of her' kind of way. I see her at the front and she steps towards the auctioneer and places a large frame with two sections on the easel.
"I hate to see this piece be put up on the block as there's something that fascinates me about it. However it's all for a good cause. I'll start it at $5,000."
The auctioneer nods at her as she steps off the small platform.
"$5,000 is the starting bid from our hostess Lillian Martin."
Houston we have a name.
"Do I hear ten?"
"Ten!"
"Fifteen!"
"Twenty!"
The bidding goes on quite furiously for the next few moments as the bids rise to $45,000 and that's where it starts to taper. She looks happy, but at the same time sad that she's going to lose out on the words that she says struck such a chord with her. Suddenly I can't help but look at the auctioneer and make eye contact with him. I nod my head and mouth the word fifty.
"A new bidder!"
It seems to have confused everyone as I said nothing, but the auction for this item has new life now. The bids keep coming in and we are now at $80,000. The auctioneer looks at me, and nods his head in my direction. Now to reveal who is bidding.
"One hundred."
A small gasp goes up from the crowd and it is now she is aware of my existence. She turns to look at me and smiles, shocked that someone would spend that kind of money for prose. My god she bites her lip when she's excited. Could she be any more adorable? She looks in the direction of the other person bidding and of course, it's someone my age - probably her boyfriend or husband or something. Lucky guy.
"110."
I nod my head at the auctioneer.
"120"
"Sir, we're at 120. Will you go 130?"
He nods his head to agree to this bidding price, then I show no hesitation in bidding him up - not allowing the auctioneer to even ask if I'm in.
"140"
It's like a tennis match - back and forth, back and forth. He will not get this piece.
"Sir, 150?"
Everyone in the room looks at him with a sense of anticipation. Will he or won't he? After a moment's hesitation he nods his head.
"150 to you, Sir. Will you bid $160?"
This could land me in a great deal of trouble from my colleagues, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do without regard for the consequences. I glance at whom I now know is named Lillian and I give her a half smile. Time to separate the men from the boys.
"200."
Lillian's eyes widen and she covers her mouth in shock. You can hear little ramblings of Oh My God, or Dios Mio from those who speak Spanish, one lady even crosses herself. I find that amusing. The other bidder shakes his head saying he is backing out. Awww muffin.
"200 going once. Twice. Sold for $200,000 to Mr. Barba. Congratulations, Counsellor."
I modesty nod my head and take a sip of my Scotch. I see Lillian walking towards me with a smile on her face.
"Wow. Thank you so much for your generosity. I'm overwhelmed."
I smile and extend my hand to her.
"You're most welcome. I love prose as well."
"I'm sure it will be a welcome piece at your office or home."
She looks at the other side of the crowd and waves someone over. When he arrives she puts her hand on my shoulder, which makes me slightly giddy - on the inside.
"Adam, anything that Mr. Barba requires for the rest of the evening, please make sure he has it. Whatever he wants, make it happen ok?"
I smile.
"Well Miss Martin, it's not Mr. Barba, that was my father. I'm Rafael."
She smiles at me and nods her head.
"Only if you follow suit and call me Lillian."
"I'll take that deal."
She smiles at me and I'm weak.
"Thank you again. Make sure to come and see me in my office before you leave, ok?"
Oh that's a given.
"Absolutely."
We smile as she heads back to the auction to thank everyone for their efforts and participation. The total amount raised will be posted on their website within the next few days, once receipts have been verified by their accountant. This is good, and I think that they did an absolutely fantastic job. Half an hour later and oblivious to the slowly dimming lights I find myself in front of the piece I bought as I start reading what is actually written on its two pages.
'A prisoner can be formed in many ways but in my experience it is the destruction of my credibility so that none would believe a word I said. Thus my prison was formed from lies, lies that could make a real brick and mortar prison around me with locked doors and barred windows. That is what psychopaths do. They make you appear insane so that when they do insane things to you, when you ask for protection, it is you that gets locked up instead of them.'
"The words really help you feel what it's like on the inside, don't they?"
I know who is beside me so I don't turn, but I nod my head in agreement.
"They really do, Lillian."
"I thought you had left without coming to see me."
"I promised I would and I haven't left. Yet."
She places a gentle hand on my arm and I turn to face her.
"If you want to back out, this is your shot. You paid just shy of one thousand dollars per word, and that's an incredible sum of money. It would stay just between us if you chose to rescind."
I turn my head back towards the piece, and counter her offer.
"I'm a lawyer as I'm sure you know. Here's the offer on the table. I'll rescind my original bid and make it an actual thousand dollars per word if…"
Now she's really stunned.
"If?"
"Well I'm quite hungry and really don't want to eat by myself. Come with me."
She smiles, shakes her head at me and chuckles.
"Objection. That's borderline coercion."
She knows the law. I'm in such trouble, but I smirk and follow along.
"Asking you to share a meal with me is hardly coercion."
"Counter offer then, Counsellor?"
I smirk and put my hands in my pockets, purely out of habit.
"Fire away."
"I'll accept your proposal with an addendum."
"That would be…:
"That you won't hold it against me if I take off my shoes right here to walk back to my office for my flats. Louboutin shoes are purely for fashion not comfort."
I can't help but laugh.
"Done."
I hold out my arm so she can balance herself as she steps out of her heels and breathes a sigh of relief. I could hear her make that sound all day and night. I take hold of the now empty shoe as she removes the other and she smiles.
"I only wear these for special events as they hurt my feet so much."
We start to walk slowly towards her office, as the lights in the gallery are now mostly off, only a few are dimly lit which I imagine is for security.
"He definitely needs to design a lower red soled heel."
"I completely agree. I would have a pair in every color imaginable, well, maybe in one or two. Here's my office, I should just be a minute. You're welcome to come in if you'd like. I'm just getting my flats and about to experience one of the pleasures of life."
"Oh?"
I raise my eyebrow as she sits in her desk chair. She opens her desk drawer and I lean against the door frame as she continues.
"It will no doubt make me look like muerte en maduros, but I don't particularly care."
I scoff at the idea that she could look bad and am impressed at her grasp of Spanish.
"I highly doubt that whatever you do right now could make you look like death on a plantain or anything for that matter, Lillian."
"Not so much me, just my hair."
I'm officially intrigued by this thought.
"Now you've got to tell me."
"I'll just show you. Here goes."
She takes out the pins from her hair and as she does her chestnut waves fall all around her face. It's a good thing I'm leaning against the door frame or I would have fallen over.
"See? The joys of having long hair. It's so relaxing after an event like this to quite literally let my hair down. Only problem is that it looks terrible."
"Terrible isn't the word I would use."
She looks at me with questioning eyes.
"That bad, huh?"
"Spanish or English?"
She smiles at my offer.
"Espanol por favor. The words always sound so much nicer and more melodic."
"Probablemente diría que resplandeciente, hermoso y absolutamente encantador son las primeras tres palabras y frases que me vienen a la mente."
She lowers her head and I can see her start to blush. Success.
"Gracias. That's very kind."
"Truthful, too. Hungry?"
She gathers her hair to the side so it rests on her shoulder, hanging down her left side. She gets her wrap from the coat rack and I help her with it.
"Ravenous."
"Good. Where would you like to eat?"
"There's a deli a couple of blocks west of here. It's a 24 hour place."
"Sounds perfect. I could go for a massive burger."
"Don't touch the door for a second. Setting the alarm."
She punches in the numbers and the beeping starts. We leave the gallery after locking the door and she slips her hand through my arm as we walk comfortably, naturally together towards the deli.
"What are you in the mood for Lillian?"
She ponders this question for a moment and I can almost palpably feel her smirk.
"I think I'm in the mood for an amazing and delicious Cuban."
I snap my head towards her.
"Que?"
She smirks.
"Sandwich. You know, lots of warm juicy meat, tasty sauce…"
She laughs as she describes the sandwich I know too well, but the way she's intentionally doing it I can feel my face flush. With satisfaction on her face she smiles at me.
"You are going to be the death of me, woman."
Oh, but what a wonderful way to go.
TBC
Feedback/reviews are lovely and as welcome as a delicious Cuban... sandwich.