I wanted to deck him, but I knew the others would be on me in a second. Of course, he made a compelling point.
I was Lighting Lex Lambert.
What the fuck was I doing out here?
“That’s the Lex I remember,” Humapoor told me, staring into my eyes. “Now, get back out here and show us all how a World Cup player really does it.”
That’s exactly what I did.
I played with precision, careful calculation, and tactical dominance. Instead of leading a crushing vendetta against the other team, I hung back, guiding the others towards victory, playing support and taking charge when the ranks broke or ownership if the ball became too ambiguous to my tastes.
This half of the game, we won by a devastating six goals.
Once we’d washed up in the showers and changed back into our regular clothes, I realized that the weather was finally letting up. I walked with them across the grounds instead of taking the underground passage, watching how the recent rainfall glistened off of the foliage and flora of my gardens.
I invited them all inside and requested that the staff put all hands on deck to whip up a small feast for us. I brought out some home-baked snacks to keep everyone satiated for the time being, and left them in the main gaming room to play pool, watch the big screen, toss darts, and help themselves to my liquor cabinet and bar.
“Aren’t you joining us?” One of the others asked as I turned to make my leave.
“I’ll be back in a short while, gentlemen,” I smiled. “I have a couple of affairs that demand my immediate attention… please, make yourselves comfortable until I return.”
I left them to their devices as I strolled down to the privacy of my foyer, whipping out my cell phone and dialing Jess.
She answered on the third ring.
“What do you want?”
I ignored the aggravation in her tone.
“Jess, I need to apologize for my behavior the last few days,” I told her. “I lost my cool in New Orleans… I know you meant the best for me and I’m sorry I cocked it all up. What you did here… Getting the guys together… I needed this.”
“Don’t mention it you damned fool. I’ve already forgiven you,” Jess chuckled. “Glad to see you came to your senses so quickly. I thought you might hole yourself up in your little stadium and play football for a week before anyone saw you again.”
“I might still take a couple more hours,” I smiled.
She laughed down the line.
“So come out with it. I know you didn’t just call me to say thanks.”
“Did you find the number I’m looking for?” I asked.
“You pay me for a reason, don’t you?” Jess laughed. “Of course I have the damn number.”
“In that case, put me through to Gloria Van Lark…”
Chapter 15
Riley
When I came back down to the Pulliam Gallery, I had no idea what awaited me. It wasn’t every day the head curator summoned me down to speak with a possible buyer, and some of my largest and most expensive works were housed in the Pulliam… I was completely taken aback by whom my mystery admirer was.
“Oh, it’s you again,” I smiled at the lithe, old woman. She was dressed in a long, oversized coat and loafers, carefully regarding one of my biggest paintings. This one carried a price tag higher than most automobiles, and I never would have assumed she could have afforded it… “How are you doing?” I asked quietly.
“I’m a bit cold, but I think I’ll manage,” she responded warmly as I walked up. Her eyes remained on the artwork. “You know, most artists these days feel like they have to be so self-important… that they must reinvent the wheel… bring something completely new to the field. In some cases, it’s true. Most who try, fail. But you… I’ve given it some thought. I think you have some serious talent for your craft.”
I glanced nostalgically up at the painting.
“What do you think of it?” I asked.
“You’re asking for my opinion?”
“I am,” I nodded. “I have my personal thoughts on it, but I wonder what you think. You were so kind to me last time, after all.”
The old woman turned to the canvas and sighed to herself, contemplating the presentation. This wasn’t one of my usual landscapes – it was the painting of a small girl, holding a puppy upright in her arms as she stood along the beach, its legs dangling down. Her back was to the water, and her pet covered most of her smiling face. The tide was nipping at her ankles as she faced the viewer, and the sun was setting quietly in the background.
“Fear,” she finally spoke.
“Fear? What do you mean by that?”
The woman glanced over at me tenderly, and then back to the painting again. “See how the child faces away from the ocean? She has turned her back on the world, hiding behind the comfort of another living creature. She feels the cold of the tide, but refuses to venture into its embrace. This child is one who is trapped between worlds – unable to join that of the spectator, and unwilling to exist joyously within her own.”
“That’s an interesting conclusion,” I remarked, pressing a pair of fingers to my chin as I studied the artwork alongside her. “I’d always thought it more of the opposite – refusing the comfort of the sea to confront the audience, offering up the sight of the dog as a gift, maybe.”
The woman smiled. “Such is the wonder of art. Such varied interpretations. You never know what the artist expects or the audience finds.”
“Do you like it?” I asked her curiously.
“Yes, I believe that I do. I’m somewhat fond of the artist herself, having been able to converse with her a few times.”
“I painted this one,” I responded, confused. “I’ve only seen you here twice now.”
“I know,” she winked. “But I’ve been here a little more often than that. You just haven’t seen me… but I’ve seen you. And I’ve spoken to you, through observing your artwork. You are an interesting young woman, Riley.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever gotten your name,” I recalled, reaching out my hand to her. “You obviously know who I am. Riley Ricketts. Who might you be?”
“Oh, you know who I am,” she smiled. “You’ve been waiting for me for a long time.”
The cogs in my brain snapped, trying to rectify this impossible scenario. It couldn’t be. But it was…
“You’re Gloria Van Lark,” I murmured.
She smiled triumphantly. “Indeed.”
My brain worked at a hundred miles an hour. “But… your reputation… you’re supposed to be tall, hawkish, with dark hair and spectacles… I’ve seen pictures of you! I’ve met you!”
Gloria smiled knowingly. “My proxy, Paulette. She operates in my stead, representing me across the world. I have taught her over the many years to reflect my precise eye for artwork, and I sometimes accompany her to ensure that the proper decisions are made.”
“So, that was Paulette that I spoke with before.”
“Aye,” Gloria acknowledged. “I stayed in town for a few days, enjoying some of your delicious cuisine and museums. I wasn’t sold on your work, but a very compelling phone call convinced me to give you another try.”
“Phone call?”
“Your investor,” she clarified. “On principle, I would have turned the money down, but I was nonetheless intrigued by his offer…”
“I don’t know what investor you might be talking about, but I’m glad to have had the opportunity to meet you – properly, this time,” I found myself blurting out.
“Agreed. You say you don’t know who it is?”
“Not at all,” I answered truthfully.
She stepped closer, peering deeply into my eyes. I felt a strong sense of sudden invasion as she glanced into the windows to my soul, studying me very, very carefully.
“…I see,” she murmured to herself. “Well, that convinces me then.”
“Convinces you of what?” I asked, unwilling to let my hopes rise too much.
&nbs
p; “I wanted to be the one to tell you to your face that Gloria Van Lark cannot be bought. Not with fancy words, and not with million dollar donations.”
Million dollar donations? Lex! What the hell did you do?!?