The last two pictures he had so far found for the ocean room exhibited the sea from the beach, looking out into the horizon. They were both morning reflections. One gave us a sea lion looking up, as if he were noting a person on the beach. But it was subtly done, the viewer had to draw close, to notice the seal. As a juxtaposition, the display was perfect.
I couldn’t stop praising Timothy for the framings, his selection of paintings, and the way he’d displayed it all so brilliantly. He was a professional art connoisseur, yet he seemed pleased with my gushing praise.
As Timothy filled up the rest of his rooms, he continued to ask for and receive my opinion about everything, and he was always encouraging when I gave it. We spent many evenings there as his gallery approached the perfection he desired, and I loved every moment and told him so.
As the big opening arrived, Timothy, although I know he had a manager who was arranging the PR, catering, and all that went into planning such a big event, still I would imagine that Timothy must have been on pens and needles for the actual revealing. If the gallery was to be a success, then the reviewers must sing the paintings’ praises, the right people must be suitably impressed over the gallery, and the pros of the art world and their clientele would need to be overwhelmingly awe-struck, or at least give favorable appraisals that would convince people to come visit.
It was quite a load to carry. But, despite all that, Timothy never grouched at me, nor snapped. He even made sure that Simone chose a magnificent dress so that I would feel good about being his arm candy (his words, not mine.) I’d have preferred to stay home and hear the results afterward, but that was not allowed. Timothy said, “I need you,” and that was that. I’d never been needed before. How could I turn him down?
And so, the big night arrived. Simone helped me become the movie star character I needed to be, my hair a graceful fall with parts entwined like a wreath. My makeup shone with hints of silver shining above my eyes. The contours of my face were artfully designed a la glamour queen. When I looked in the mirror, it wasn’t me, which in a way helped, because the real me wouldn’t be the one in front of flashing cameras. I was in a costume, merely pretending.
Simone laughed at that when I told her. “You are beautiful, you silly girl. Radiant, in fact. There is no play acting in your appearance.”