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Erik
Chapter 55
The Journalist
No, Christine did not want to sing publicly. But I did go to Franklin's office after my performance to tell him about her artistic skills.
First, Franklin apologized for not realizing my father-in-law had not known about Vincenzo's actions.
Then, he asked to see her work. If he couldn't use anything at the theatre, perhaps to hang up, then he could see if he had any contacts who bought or sold artwork.
When I told her this, as the two of us sat in Ibrahim's parlor, she practically demanded we go home to get her sketchbook and head to the theatre. Reza outright demanded that he join us - Dilara was currently asleep and extremely boring.
That was how, an hour later, Christine and I sat at Franklin's office desk with him flipping through her drawings. Grace was here, as she went everywhere with her father now, and she was kneeling on the rug on the floor with Reza, teaching him a hand clapping game. Good, really, to see that boy's possibility of friends expanding.
It was when Franklin opened up a book full of names and addresses, looking for someone that had mentioned ownership of an art gallery, that we were interrupted.
"And a few of these pictures," he said, "could work well with the theme of my theatre - especially the horses. I adore those."
"Thank you," Christine said, beaming.
"Of course." He smiled. His eyes went briefly to me, then back to her. "How is your father, by the way?"
"He is well," she said. Still not content with how things were left, I stayed quiet. His words, the gentle implication that I was an unfit husband who put my wife at risk, still stung for obvious reasons.
"Good. Good." Franklin nodded. "He will be performing this coming Friday, as I am sure you are aware. I loved having him on my stage for the orchestral concert-"
There was a knock on his study door.
"Ah." He checked his watch. "Yes. That will be the journalist."
"Journalist," I repeated.
Franklin stood. "Yes. He works at - runs, actually - a small arts and politics newsletter: La Loupe en Cuivre. It leans very hard against establishment - extremely popular with the youth. A lot of it is a bit extreme, such as calling for a second revolution, but most people read it for the fine arts articles. At least, that's why I read it."
"Oh, I've seen that newsletter before," said Christine. "I don't think I've read it, though."
"And the journalist is here for-" I started.
"To interview me about your performances," he explained. "It was very last minute, and seeing as you want to hide your identity, I figured I would interview by myself and simply give basic information about the show. If you'd like to speak, however, by all means let him know. He'll probably ask you questions since you are here as it is - it's your choice if you'd like to answer or participate."
He opened the door, and there stood a round-faced man with auburn hair and glasses. A quick glance from Christine confirmed what I was thinking: This was the man we'd seen accuse another of embezzling funds.
Franklin held out a hand. "M. Leroux, I take it?"
The man accepted his hand and shook it. "Please call me Gaston."