Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“It’s going to be really busy.” At least I hope it will. “All hustle and schmooze. I won’t have a lot of time for you.”
“I don’t need you to entertain me. Let me be Mr. Lavender for the evening.”
I roll my eyes, though I secretly love the sound of that. Check out Mr. and Mrs. Lavender.
“And while your clients gaze at the art, I’ll be the sensible one in the room. I’ll be the one gazing at you.”
What kind of idiot would I be to turn that down?
It’s been a hectic week. Our day-to-day business has continued to see a rise in sales, which is amazing. I just wish I knew where the business was coming from. It could be that the gallery is just reaching its peak, that we’re establishing ourselves in this little artsy corner of London. I’d budgeted for advertising around tonight’s exhibition, so maybe that’s paying off. Or maybe Tod is right, and it’s just the sunshine.
Who knows? I’m just happy about the turnaround.
For a couple of days this week, Tod, Primrose, and I have worked into the evening to prepare the space. I’d dug out my painting jeans again and painted one of the walls a vivid shade of green to highlight Tod’s art.
I glance around the room, mentally totting the price of Tod’s night. The printing costs for the event programs and posters sited locally, the social media ad campaign, and the hire of extra pedestals and display cases. Canapés, wine, silverware, and glasses—money to transport some of his larger pieces into the gallery. And that’s without the time, thought, and brain space that has gone into preparation.
I just hope it pays off because as much as I’ve wanted this for Tod, it’s also really important to me.
When I left university, I was a bit rootless. I knew I didn’t want to go into retail or become a buyer or a merchandiser. I’m terrible with a needle and thread, so I was never going to be a costume designer for TV or theater, and I had no intention of stepping into academia—I couldn’t wait to finish my degree. So no teacher, historian, archivist, or museum position for me. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. And those who don’t like people should never be teachers.
I’d worked part-time in a community art space, and that’s where the idea for this place sprang. Art is human. It’s what we do. Leave our names scratched into concrete and our stick men onto walls of caves. I wanted to make art accessible. I wanted to bring beauty into the world and make money, of course.
I would’ve never been able to open this place without Whit. I think he only intended to humor me at first. He said it was common for new graduates to have their first existential crisis when their careers didn’t immediately take off. But it was worse than that. I was lost and feeling low after what had happened before.
The crying and the upset. The brick. Smashing glass. Lost friends and lost relationships. I even lost myself for a while. Usually at the bottom of a bottle of Belvedere.
But then I’d graduated. Against all odds. How the Whittington clan must’ve exhaled a joint breath. I hadn’t found my immediate place in the world, unlike my older siblings who just seemed to have it all worked out. I spiraled into despair.
Whit, taking me aside one day, as he does, told me I needed to help myself. He suggested I dig into what I love, to find something that would align with my life’s passions. He probably regretted it later when he found out what it was going to cost him. But I am passionate about this space and so grateful to him for the opportunity.
Tonight is important. Because tonight, I get to stick my two fingers up to the naysayers and say, “I’m not just hard work. I’m also a hard worker. I’m tenacious and driven. I am the embodiment of that trite title, girl boss!
And I am so fucking proud of it.
“It looks amazing.” Primrose appears by my side. “Are you excited? I’m excited for you.”
The warmth in her words makes me smile. “Yeah, I am excited. I’m also bloody petrified.”
“Really?”
I nod and glance her way. It doesn’t look like she believes me. “Seriously, look.” I hold out my hand to show her my trembling fingers.
“That’s excitement,” she says, wrapping her arm around mine. It’s sort of a hug. We’re not demonstrative, but we do love. No matter how much we take the piss. “I bet you’ve never been frightened a day in your life.”
“I wish. I just hide it well. I swallow those fears deep, press my head down, and battle my way through life, forcing myself to do the things I don’t want to do. Just like everyone else, really.”