And What If I Were You

Chapter 1 - Part 2

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Rogue Studios

Manchester

4.10pm. On his way to the studio...

Louis takes the steps up towards the entrance of Rogue Studios two at a time, backpack bumping against his lower back. His favourite black skinny jeans with the artful rips at the knees rub between his thighs as his tank top flutters in the warm summer's breeze.

It's a gorgeous day, a rarity around these parts, and he'd been enjoying a laze-about on the grass having just finished an afternoon kick-around with the lads when he'd listened to Annabelle's voicemail. He couldn't make out much of what she'd said, the recording more static than clear, so he'd only managed to grab every other word. The gallery was on his way home though, and if there's a problem with his show, then he would prefer to discuss it in person. He'd needed to head home anyway for a shower and to get changed into something slightly more respectable before he met his mates at the pub in an hour, so a drop-in at the gallery had just seemed easiest.

He pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, hair damp with sweat. Squinting, his eyes adjust to the open area filled with sunlight that reflects off the white walls, the starkness of the interior only broken up by his artworks. Yes, his artworks.

It's his first solo show and as he looks around the room, pride blooms in chest. It's taken him years to get to this point; honing his creative style, exploring new mediums, paying his dues, and building a catalogue of work. But it's all been worth it.

He wanders further inside, seeking out Annabelle, the gallery coordinator, and as his eyes focus he sees that another of his paintings has a little red dot stuck on the corner of the descriptor card underneath.

"Fucking, get in," he says to himself, slipping his thumbs under the straps of his backpack and puffing out his chest.

That's five of his eight watercolours sold then. Not too bad for the first week of his first show.

In addition to the watercolours which are spread out on either side of freestanding partitions positioned down the centre of the long space, there is a full wall of six charcoals on one side and four larger oil paintings on the other wall. Some smaller sketches are dotted about too, a few on easels propped in the corners of the room, and other's hanging from invisible fishing line that's affixed to the exposed rafters above.

He spots Annabelle at her desk at the rear of the gallery and she looks up as she must hear his Vans squeaking on the polished concrete flooring.

"Louis! Oh my god. I'm so glad you're here," she rushes out, her words running together.

"Hey, love. Y'alright?" Louis asks with a chuckle as she stands and rounds the desk, knocking her hip against the edge and wincing.

He reaches out to steady her, but she regathers herself quickly, straightening up and tugging on her pastel pink blouse to smooth out the non-existent creases. Her black pencil skirt is tight on her long legs, not offering a decent range of movement and likely the cause of her stumble. She pats down her hair, creating a circle with her thumb and forefinger and sliding her long dark ponytail through the hole that she's created. "Right. Sorry."

Louis just smiles. "I see another one of the watercolours sold."

"One?! Louis. Come with me." She grabs his hand, yanking him along behind her and back towards the entrance.

They come to an abrupt halt in front of the painting on the reverse side of the partition from the one he had seen when he came in. She points at the descriptor card and sure enough, there's another little red dot.

"Holy shit."

Annabelle spins them around to look at the next partition. Red dot.

"Louis. All the watercolours are sold."

Louis' eyes go wide. "No, fucking, way."

"And here. Look," she says, dragging him along to the wall where his charcoals are displayed.

There are red dots under every single one. He can barely process what he's seeing. "But– I don't understand. How is this possible?"

She drops his hand and Louis walks along the wall. "One person bought them all. Louis, I've never seen anything like this before."

Louis doesn't immediately register what she's said, but once the words settle in his spinning head, he stops dead in his tracks. Turning to her he says, "What– What do you mean? Who?"

She's still somewhat flustered, but her expression morphs into something a little more smug as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Harry Styles. The Harry Styles. You know, the-"

"Actor. Yeah. Yeah, I know who he is."

Of course he knows who Harry Styles is: Child actor who fell from favour, currently experiencing a career resurgence.

Anabelle scoffs. "Well, I'm glad. You'd have to be living under a rock not to know."

"He bought all of them," Louis states in disbelief.

"He did. He bought the four remaining watercolours and all six of your charcoal's because he said, and I quote: 'It would be a crime to separate them.' He would've actually taken all eight of your watercolours, but the other four have obviously already been sold. He even tried to get me to tell him who had bought them so he could make contact and offer to buy them too. Louis. This is amazing!"

"I don't– I don't know what to say," he says breathlessly, turning back to stare at the line of red dots along the wall as if they'll provide him with an explanation that makes sense.

"Did you know he already has some of your works?"

Louis snaps his head around. "What?"

"Apparently he's acquired a number of your artworks from other sources and now he's going to add these new pieces to his Louis Tomlinson collection."

"His what now?"

"His Louis Tomlinson collection!"

"You've got to be shitting me," Louis deadpans.

"I most certainly am not. Come on! We need to sort out the paperwork."

She strides off with purpose leaving Louis slack-jawed as he stares after her retreating form, stilettos stabbing at the concrete and ponytail swishing back and forth as the words 'His Louis Tomlinson collection' ring in his ears.