Part I – https://fremocentrist.com/fiction/care-to-sharepart1of3/
a short story in three parts
by K.S. Lindsay
(continued)
The pretty woman, of an age with James but with a harder quality to her features, surveyed the lobby even more quickly than the artist had, and made a direct and hasty approach. “Hi! Alex?” With acrobatic twists and turns, she sought James’ eye. “Andrea.” She pointed to herself. Then she shot a bright smile at the elderly sidekick. “Hi!”
Dana regarded her distastefully. It didn’t seem to faze her… “It’s an honor to meet you in person Mr. Dyes. I’m with The Standard, on-line edition. I spoke with your agent about an interview. They told you I was coming, right?”
Dana regarded her hand distastefully, but it wasn’t withdrawn. He finally shook.
When she turned back to James, Dana realized he’d only been given her cursory attention. Her smile turned full wattage, with a single sly dimple appearing. “I’m here to cover the presentation. Is Sven here yet? I’ve heard he’s talking about a whole new direction? Are you able to talk about it yet?” She smirked in Dana’s direction. “Not here, of course, but can I get a few words from you, you know, later, alone – I mean, just us – for the piece I’m writing?”
“I’m not sure yet…” James answered, looking scared then confused. “Sven is a creative… I mean…” He finally shrugged, looking defeated. “Do you know where we are meeting? Aren’t we late yet?”
The woman only smiled more. “The others must be late. Artists, you know…” She laughed lightly, at her own little joke. “Oh, of course you do!” She laughed more, but sobered when no one else appeared amused. “I was told to meet everyone here,” she gestured around the lobby, “and here you both are!”
This changed the countenance of James, who glared first at the writer and then at Dana. “You are a judge.”
Andrea laughed. “He’s Dyes. Why else would he be here? Certainly Sven couldn’t get him here.”
“You know Sven?” Dana heard James ask the question, but ignored it. “Sir, do you know Sven?” Dana ignored that too.
“Mr. Dyes, do you know Sven?” The woman asked the question as she simultaneously drew a pad and pen from her voluminous bag. “I’d assumed not, since you would need to be impartial – or at least appear so – to provide evaluation on this project. Besides, your works are so dissimilar. Do you know Sven?”
Dana turned to her, and saw the pen now poised on the paper. “No.” he answered fully.
James pressed further, “I’m sorry, sir, but I must know your work, only…” He paused. “Would I have seen anything you’ve done?”
Laughing, of course, the woman answered, “I know you’ve seen it! Your piece, that one you showed me during our interview, it was a tribute piece or a study of his school or whatever you call it.” She paused, gesturing, while Dana slowly shifted around to regard them both. “It’s that one, you know, the blue thing,” her hands made a long, column-like gesture, “the tall one with the found elements you described as texture…”
Looking more stricken than before, and with eyes turned huge, James regarded Dana directly. “You’re,” he swallowed, “D.W. Dyes? The Artist?”
Dana scowled in response.
“Mr. Dyes, it is an honor, sir, truly an honor!” James looked ready to fall to his knees – a revolting thought.
“No. It is not.” Dana snapped.
“No, sir! I mean, for me, it is a great honor.” James started to gush, “I’ve admired your works for years! Your Starlight was inspired, particularly in the way you used the luminescence to dramatize the piece, and gave it such consequence as a result. And the work you did on the Holocaust memorial was, well, beyond inspired. The genius and the-“
Slowly, Dana gained his feet, gratified to find that even with his slight, unavoidable slouch, he could gaze down on James. “No, it wasn’t. No, it isn’t.”
That seemed to silence James, but Andrea filled in the gap. “I guess you hadn’t gotten to introductions yet.” She spoke while she made notes on her pad. “Mr. Dyes, did you know this is Sven’s new find? This is Alex James.”
Wearily sitting down, Dana muttered, “Idiot.”
Andrea continued to scribble, but her smile had vanished.
James was affronted, and showed a flash of backbone. “You may not like my work, sir, but I’m very proud of it,” and then, it ebbed away. “Besides, I’m sure you were just starting out once and while I know I’ve got a lot to learn, I’m, well, I’m doing some of my best work lately…okay, so not lately, lately, but, you know,…” James looked at the writer, stiffened, and seemed to regain some confidence. “I know I’ve got talent. I know it’s there.”
“You’ve gotten excellent reviews,” Andrea shot into the breach, her smile returning, “And the last couple of shows you did sold well.”
James looked startled at that, and Andrea continued, less condescendingly, “I asked, for research, for the piece.” She held up her notebook.
Then, in stereo, “Reviews don’t mean anything,” both men told her.
James, smiling, quickly turned to Dana, “I got that from you! You always said that what matters is the message, and if it’s conveyed, right?”
Dana didn’t respond, simply muttering, “Garbage.”
“Sir?” James asked, “I don’t understand.”
Andrea had surreptitiously moved closer to James, and now touched his shoulder when Dana didn’t respond. “Your work is good, you know. I know,” she smiled in what might have, on another woman, looked shy, “I’m supposed to be unbiased and impartial and all that, but it is really, really good.”
James regarded her, cautiously. “Thanks.”
“I’d like to do another piece with you, you know, after The Phoenix, about you and your work,” she paused, considering, “If I can get permission for it, that is. Maybe about another work, or a show you’ve got coming up?”
“Yea, that’d be nice,” he answered, non-committal.
“We could set up an interview, anyway, you know, and talk about it,” she pressed, “If I already had some material, my editor might be more willing…once The Phoenix story is, you know, run and all. But we could set-up a time for a pre-interview, sometime soon anyway? Okay?”
James, who never seemed to stand still, grew more agitated as the woman spoke, his head now swiveling as it searched the lobby.
“Do you have another show coming up?” she asked. Andrea paused briefly between her questions, but the questions kept coming. “Or another big piece you are working on? Something that is one of yours, not like The Phoenix?”
That question finally focused James’ attention. He looked at her in disgust. “I was hoping The Phoenix would get me shows. Good shows. Not like I’ve had so far. Sven said that it would get my name out there, but I’ve already spent so much time on it-“ Here he unwisely tried to wave his hands, forgetting the enormous portfolio, and he came close to maiming his audience. Andrea leaped back, but Dana held his ground, as his scowl deepened. “Sorry,” James muttered, then came back strong again, “Sven keeps sending them back! He sends back my drawing, my models, with changes and adjustments and so many details. I don’t have time to work on another piece! On my art!”
“Idiots.” Dana muttered, but made it loud enough to staunch the flow of words.
James swung around to face Dana, and the portfolio nearly hit the reporter again. James didn’t notice. “All due respect, Sir, because your work is, well, amazing, really, but talking to you is a pain in the ass.”
Dana snorted involuntarily. Then felt the need to give a little. “Ditto,” he said.
Andrea laughed.
James glared, first at Dana and then at Andrea. “I don’t see what the joke is. We’re talking about my career.”
“I can tell you the joke.” Dana said, absolutely fed up with both children. “You look at my work, read some interviews, and think you know what it is like to be an artist. Garbage. My work is nothing. My words, nothing. My approval,” he snorted deliberately this time, “less than nothing. It is for sale, like my work, like my words.” Dana wanted to say more, but he felt too tired to go on.
James studied him a moment, which Dana resented. “I don’t understand,” the young man said, “you said before you were a painter, but your sculptures are legendary, and your carvings, and-“
Dana nearly shouted, “I am a painter.”
James stopped.
(cont.)
Part I – https://fremocentrist.com/fiction/care-to-sharepart1of3/
Part III – https://fremocentrist.com/fiction/care-to-share-part-iii-of-iii/
©2013 Kirby Lindsay. This column is protected by intellectual property laws, including U.S. copyright laws. Reproduction, adaptation or distribution without permission is prohibited.