Chapter 1 : Colors of Love

*Lily*

I pressed the door’s buzzer and then closed my eyes. I shut out the taxi horns, whizzing cars, and easy chatter of the evening commuters as they trudged through the hip Tribeca neighborhood.

This was the day I had waited for my entire life. I inhaled deeply, catching the scent of the familiar falafel cart two doors down, then blew air out, squaring my shoulders up and down. When the ringer sounded, I opened my eyes and entered the prestigious Tony Gold Art Gallery.

In just a few short hours, the famed gallerist would showcase my latest collections, along with two other ‘rising star’ artists.

Tony’s assistant, Miranda, stood in a skin-tight black cocktail dress, appraising the art. She shot off a quick text, then looked up from her phone. “Tony’s expecting you. Do you know how to get to his office?” she asked without smiling.

“I do. Thank you.”

Miranda’s cool appraisal didn’t reveal much. I looked down at my wide-legged trousers and tan cashmere sweater, wondering if I was underdressed for the occasion.

The new positioning of New York’s in-vogue art scene had moved from Chelsea to TriBeCa, or the Triangle Below Canal Street. Residents of the area recently formed the TriBeCa Artists’ Co-op. Unlike other trendy NYC neighborhoods, SoHo and Dumbo’s fame soon led to higher real estate costs, attracting celebrities like Jay-Z, Beyoncé, and Taylor Swift.

None of this impressed me; however, just knowing I might run into the unconventional artist Laurie Anderson, who lived nearby, shot chills up and down my spine. I had admired and studied her work for years.

My high heels clicked across the gorgeous natural oak flooring. The massive room showcased Tony Gold’s most famous pieces. My heart skipped several beats as I peered around a black column that revealed my large landscape acrylics, each one a precious child to me.

In the back of my mind, I knew artists must face the agony of parting with their work, but this was all new to me. I remembered where I drew inspiration and painted each piece. Each moving detail was etched in my mind, like every brushstroke and each stage the painting took to its completion.

“It’s really happening,” whispered gallery owner Tony Gold, who stood inches behind me.

I jumped at his sudden arrival, then turned to face him, touching my heart. “You startled me.” I laughed. “I’m so jumpy these days.”

“Well, you have reason to be. It’s a big day,” he said. “Are you nervous? Excited?”

Short, muscular, and tan, Tony ran his hands through his dark hair.

“Yes, and yes!” I laughed, removing my black trench coat. “It’s all because of you. I have you to thank, Tony.”

“It’s my pleasure. Oh, by the way, we have a full house tonight. It’s the largest crowd I’ve had in months.”

“Is Hannah here?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

Tony’s arm moved to adjust one of the placards near my painting. He had tattoos on both forearms and another that stretched up the left side of his neck.

“Truly, a beautiful collection, Lily.”

He kissed his fingers, making me blush. I owed him everything for helping me get this far, and this night would make or break me, as they say.

“Stop! You’ll make my head explode, and besides, what if none of them sell?” It was my worst fear. I still worried this was all a dream.

“They’ll sell. Mark my words.”

Tony had discovered me at a small arts festival in Greenwich right before I graduated from college and offered to represent me on the spot. He gushed at my work, saying, “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s so avant-garde, with just sharp edges and lines, though you can clearly see they’re fucking! It’s fucking brilliant. I have to sign you before someone else snatches you up.”

He referred to my collection called the Blue Grotto, which was an assortment of sea caverns off the southeast coast of Malta. My drawings depicted the cave’s arches set against the midnight blue sea, but it was the addition of a man and woman distinctly in various sexual poses that elevated their notoriety.

In one piece, the man had the woman bent over rocks; in another, he pressed her against the cave wall. The third had the couple lying in the sea as the waves crashed around them, like the scene from “From Here to Eternity.”

I knew my parents and other close-minded Midwesterners might find my work risqué or overtly erotic, but I stood by the pieces. The greatest artists I knew all crossed lines and took chances. I picked up one of the brochures lying on a high table in the gallery’s center that read a newly emerging artist, Lily Matthews, is one of Tribeca’s new rising stars. Along with Hannah Lee and Edwardo Belafonte, these three artists, in the early stages of their careers, had already grabbed the attention of Manhattan’s art world.

I skimmed down to read my personal description. ‘This new budding talent, whose paintings have been exhibited nationally is taking the art scene by fire—’ Tony had fibbed here as my work had only been shown in Minneapolis. ‘Her bold figurative works capture the raw emotional intelligence of the city’s landscape, and the sensuality of her Blue Grotto portraits explode with sexuality, rich in both feminine and masculine lines. She conveys a sense of depth and mood with many layers employing simple oils on linen canvas.’

“Is your boyfriend coming tonight?” Tony teased.

“You know I don’t have a boyfriend, Tony,” I smirked. “My roommates are coming, and an old friend from college.”

I had no time for men these days with my part-time jobs, classes, and painting. Though I graduated last fall, though not that long ago, I was still unsure if I wanted to continue with my master’s degree in art. I liked learning new techniques and missed the scholastic vibe, so I took a few night classes to see how my studies progressed.

Just then, the salon doors opened, and Hannah Lee entered carrying champagne and a bouquet of flowers. We rushed over to help.

“What is this, Hannah?” Tony scoured the room. “Where is Miranda? That girl is always on her phone hiding out somewhere.”

“Ah, for my little protégé,” Hannah said. “I know you don’t drink much, but just a little sip might help take the butterflies away.”

“Ah, thank you, Hannah. This is so thoughtful of you!” I took the peach tulips and headed toward the tiny kitchen to find a vase.

“Let’s go to my office.”

Hannah was also one of the three ‘rising stars’ listed along with Edwardo, a Columbian-born sculptor whose metalworks also attracted Tony’s eye at the Greenwich Festival, where he found me. Hannah had been with Tony for some time, but he had yet to stage her work in the most prominent setting. He had me headlining the front room with the other two artists behind me. I worried that Hannah might take the positioning as a slight.

“I almost got lilies, but I thought I remembered you saying you preferred tulips.”

“I do. They’re lovely. Thank you so much, Hannah.” I was touched by the gesture and felt bad I hadn’t thought to reciprocate. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you.”

Hannah was a moody soul, and I wasn’t always sure if her feelings were authentic.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, brushing her curtain bangs off her forehead. “This is a big day for you.”

The beautiful, leggy brunette with startling green eyes was sometimes hard to read. I knew she was only in her mid-thirties, but she sometimes tried to act like she’d been on the art scene for decades. The film legend Roberto Scarcella had bought one of her paintings several years back, and it was Hannah’s pièce de resistance. Besides, Tony seemed to instill a healthy competition between his artists, which didn’t sit well with me.

Truth be told, I was suspicious of female friendships and found my male friends much less dramatic. My two roommates were a gay couple I met in one of my prerequisite communication classes. The two needed a third on the lease to help pay the rent, and they asked me at the right time. The price was reasonable for the Lower East Side flat.

Since then, I had grown to love them both dearly. My family, still in the Midwest, had only visited once in the last five years. If I wanted to see them, I had to go home.

I knew they hoped my art ambitions were just a passing phase, but I wanted them to realize I was here to stay. The thought of returning home a failure hurt my heart, and it still stung that they didn’t support my dreams. I couldn’t imagine returning to our small town just outside of Minneapolis and following the footsteps of my two older, married brothers.

The three of us met in Tony’s office. Gorgeous pieces flanked the walls from every angle. Tony cleared his glass desk and fumbled to open the champagne while Hannah wrangled up some glasses.

“This is a very nice bottle. You see the sparkling artwork here,” I said. The bottle had sparkling diamonds along the side. “You shouldn’t have.”

Hannah returned with the glasses. “Yes, I had to! I’ve had this in my refrigerator just waiting for a moment like this.”

We toasted the gallery’s success. “To us!” Hannah threw her glass back.

The tightness across my chest dissolved slightly after several sips of the sparkling drink. Outside, the three-string quartet Tony had hired began tuning their instruments. The caterers carried trays from the kitchen with salmon tea cakes, bacon-wrapped figs, and stuffed mushrooms—the delicious smells wafted down the hall.

“It’s showtime.” Tony clapped his hands together. “Let’s go find Edwardo.”

I felt terrible that Edwardo had missed our pre-party celebration, and it felt strange not to include him. Inside the main gallery, I found him standing awkwardly by his work. I accepted a champagne flute on his behalf from a server and headed in his direction. “Here, it helps take off the edge.”

He chugged the glass and set it down on a nearby table. “Thanks. The anticipation is killing me.”

“I know. I feel the same. I’ve been a wreck all day.” I suddenly wished I had worn my thick, unruly hair in a bun. I felt sure I might pass out as I lifted my chestnut curls and rubbed my neck. “Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here, right?”

They both laughed.

“Is your family coming, Lily?” he asked, stuffing a tea cake into his mouth.

“No, just a few friends from the university. You?” I asked.

“No, no one.”

I felt sorry for him, but not knowing what to say, I only nodded.

A flurry of servers bustled around the room as the quartet played. When the doors opened, guests mingled as Tony schmoozed, and a growing crowd gathered around my pieces, making my palms perspire. I rubbed them on my trousers as I received several smiles and appraising nods.

My wall-sized canvas entitled ‘Colors of Love’ drew the most attention. It was an infusion of hot pinks and red-orange embers, immersed with light orange, subtle pink, and golden hues. Besides, it was one of my favorites, a rendition of the Brooklyn Bridge with similar pastel coloring etched with long black lines for the bridge in the background.

In my ‘Spring Dreaming,’ I’d tried to capture the essence of Central Park in bloom. However, my Blue Grotto collection stirred the most excitement. I couldn’t explain what drove me to the idea, but after watching a PBS special on the caves, I’d picked up my brush and painted them all in abandonment throughout the night. I couldn’t sleep and rarely ate or drank until I finished. When I shyly showed my roommates, they stood back speechless, making me think I might have gone too far.

Then Patrick whispered, “They’re amazing, Lily.”

“It’s not too much?”

“Girl, they’re way past too much,” Adam said. “They’re incredible.”

The one female friendship exception I’d made was my college roommate, Eva Shaw. Fortunately, I received a full-ride scholarship to Pace University, attending the school’s Performing Arts department. My new roommate, Eva, had initially wanted to become an actress, but I saw her aspirations wane over the course of the year.

Eva was rarely seen around campus. She never stayed in our dorm—instead, she chose to live in aposh upper west side apartment owned by her parents, I thought. She also never talked about her family. When Eva did grace me with her presence, she took me under her lavish wings, hailing taxis to the best Manhattan restaurants, nightclubs, and theaters—always footing the bills, appearing wounded when I tried to pay. Eva would pout and stick out her lower lip. “No, my treat!”

Not unlike me, Eva seemed to have minimal female friends, but I proposed for different reasons. Eva was a spoiled socialite who saw the world through dollar-signed tinted glasses. Our unlikely friendship remained past college for the simple fact that I felt sorry for the girl since she had few friends. Eva, a natural born stunner, slender and blonde with wide blue eyes, always dressed in the latest fashion by designers, I couldn’t afford to buy a pair of their nylons.

As if on cue, even more gallery guests crowded the room. Suddenly, Eva stepped into the gallery on the arm of the most handsome man I had ever seen. He could have been a film star for all I knew. I wondered who this much older man could be. The room quieted as the band played Canon in D, the famous piece that always reminded me of weddings. The music only heightened the couple’s grand entrance. The man exuded an air of confidence, wealth, and importance that turned heads. In his cashmere coat and expensive watch, he vibrated an energy that visibly pulsed. Both men and women stopped conversing as they walked by, not for the extraordinarily beautiful flaxen beauty, but for him.

Eva finally stopped her constant stream of chatter and then gazed around the room with her nose high. She broke out into a genuine smile when she locked eyes with me. I smiled back, missing her, but as my gaze turned to the tall stranger beside her—my heart stopped.

His eyes penetrated mine as he tilted his head to the left. I did the same, and the room and everyone in it disappeared. I knew I should look away, but he held me spellbound. Completely entranced and unblinking, I walked over to meet them both. He only looked away after repeated taps from Eva.

“This,” she paused. “Is Lily, who I’ve told you so much about. The artist.”

Eva hugged and air kissed me.

“Lily, this is my father, William Shaw.”