Chapter TWENTY FIVE
Liz
I handed some brochures to one of the volunteers and then shifted a small bronze sculpture of a man on his tip-toes, arms behind his arched back, and his head tilted like he was looking at the moon, when my body went rigid.
“What the hell is that demonic sound outside? Maura, can you check that out? I’m still setting up these pieces over here.”
“Right on it, Liz.”
I knew there were parades, music fests, and other annoying celebrations happening all over town, but they usually shared the same parade route over on 77th street, so what the hell was a Scottish Bagpipe band doing right outside my front door? I’d never had much love for the music, myself. To me, they sounded like a dozen asthmatic pigs being slaughtered. So much for my calm relaxing venue.
A few minutes later, Maura returned to my side. “Here, let me help you with that big one.” We moved a fairly large painting into its rightful place beside the others.
I stepped back and sighed, wiping the sweat off my brow. “Are they moving in this direction?” I asked, meaning the pipe band.
“Sorry. Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“Just great.” I said, flustered. “Well, let’s hope they go by quickly, although it would have been nice if they had waited until after I made my welcome speech. Hopefully, the patrons can still hear me.”
“Sorry. I should have looked into the schedule for you,” Maura said.
“No. It’s my fault. Not yours.”
I covered my ears with my hands trying to drown out the drums.
I fucking hated bagpipes. Those stupid little skirts. The huge pom-poms on the end of the drum sticks. That high nasally pitch pierced my ears until they bled. Not really, but it felt that way. The noise made me edgy and disagreeable.
“Over there,” I snapped at Maura. “No there. No, go back. It was better in that first position.”
“Make up my mind already,” Maura said.
“Sorry. It was good in the first place you picked.”
“Told ya!”
This was not the way I pictured my first art show going. I couldn’t even hear the violins, flutes, and cello I’d hired. I wanted people to dream while they walked, immerse themselves in the art. I wanted them to drink wine, talk, relax, enjoy the experience. But with all that racket outside, getting louder by the minute, we sounded more like a circus than anything else. And how could anyone relax? I sure couldn’t.
Frustrated, I stuck my fingers in my ears as the pipes grew louder still. “Damn, why did they have to do this today…of all days…at precisely this moment?” The nervous butterflies that made their home inside my stomach kicked up a notch, sending beads of sweat to my palms, chest, and the back of my neck.
“It won’t last long,” Maura said. “Just relax. I’ll shut this outside door to give us more of a barrier.”
She slammed it with a thump, and a bunch of flyers on the table near the door flew off the table from the draft.
I sighed with relief when I realized what a big difference it made after Maura closed the inside door. “I can almost hear myself think now.”
“Great, because it’s almost time for your welcome speech.”
The bagpipes droned on as I made my way to the podium where at least half the people who were attending the show had already taken seats below the stage. I tested the microphone, but then forgot how sensitive it was. It was strong, the kind the networks used, and picked up everything within a five foot radius. To my horror, it amplified my voice as I muttered to Maura that if the men outside showed us what was under their kilts, we might actually be interested in listening to that horrid stuff they were playing. The room burst into laughter and after my face heated up, I realized I was actually more relaxed now. I just needed to find the lighter side of things.
“Well, on that happy note,” I said still giggling. “I want to thank everyone for coming for the first ever Sultry Dreams Art Show. On your seat you’ll see a ticket for twenty percent off if you choose to purchase something in the first two hours of the show. I’d also like to take this opportunity to…”
I paused as that ghastly Scottish noise grew louder and louder. I had to raise my voice to be heard over them. Was it possible they were right outside the door? A few of the children in the audience ran to the windows and several adults turned around in their chairs as a man dressed in full Highland dress walked through the door and took a seat in the shadows. I had no idea who he was, but there was something oddly familiar about him. That didn’t make me any less annoyed however.
Hard as I tried to not look in that direction, his bare legs caught my notice. Their strong muscular shape. The way the kilt dusted the tiny space above his knee socks. I actually stumbled over the last thing I was going to say, sending a ruffle of laughter through the crowd once again. I took a deep breath, looking at my notes. Why the hell was I getting flustered over a complete stranger?
After my speech about each individual artist’s life, the man disappeared and I forgot all about him. It was time to wrap it up. Time for the real show to begin.
“Um, Liz…” Maura called from the back of the room. She was holding a large wrapped canvas. “We forgot this one. I found it by the door.” Carrying the canvas she walked up the steps of the stage, grinning like she had some sort of secret to share with me. I stared at her, expectant, taking the canvas in my possession.
“I don’t know who the artist is,” I whispered, covering the mike with my hand this time.
“Oh, you will,” Maura assured me.
“Okay. Whatever. Can someone get me another easel?”
One of my artist’s husbands, brought me another easel. He set it up beside me on the stage.
“Well, seems we’re all in luck,” I said. “I’m not even sure who the artist is, boys and girls.”
Maura appeared at my side with a pair of scissors and an exactor knife. The two of us, along with a drum roll from someone’s cell phone, unmasked the last and final painting. Everyone oohed and ahhed and then and then everyone applauded.
Everyone but me. “What the…? Where did this come from?”
There were gasps from the audience and just a few people tilting their heads as if trying to decide whether the work had merit or not, but all in all, I got a pretty affirmative response from the crowd.
As I stared at the painting, my heart dropped in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. The last time I felt this way was after the wind was knocked out of me after trying to surf for the first time. I had no explanation then, because I didn’t see the wave coming. And I had no explanation now.
I searched the crowd looking for my gift bearer.
The Highlander! It was him.