Poisoned Son

Chapters 18 & 19

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - April

One evening after work, April drove to the Ellington Gallery. It was owned by her friend, Gregg, whom she'd known for five years. It had been a few months since she brought any new work to the gallery. The realization struck her the day before, and she awoke at four a.m. in a panic. April's life had been a blur lately and she had neglected her art. She detested that her emotional state affected her creativity. She was alarmed how easily one became caught up in the ministrations of life.

It was raining hard. The gallery was closed but Gregg was waiting just inside the door. When he saw her, he unlocked it and April dashed in, under a dripping umbrella. 

He gave her a boyish grin. "Always prompt. I love that about you."

"I hope to possess more interesting qualities than that," she replied with a laugh. "I don't want that to be my epitaph." They kissed one another's cheeks.

Gregg always looked as if he'd just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot. She noted his Italian loafers with hand stitching. "You look fabulous," she said.

"Hey, that's my line."

"Marques is a lucky guy." 

Gregg looked over his shoulder as she followed him through the gallery. "I remind him of that every day," he said with a grin.

In the gallery office, Gregg handed her an envelope. "Here's what I owe you from the sale of 'Belladonna' last month."  

April folded the check into her handbag.

"I'd love another painting of the same style for over there." He pointed to an empty wall. "Lately customers are favoring darker themes: storms, churning seas, rainy pastures." He shrugged. "Must be the economy."

She jotted a reminder in a small notebook. "No problem. I have three left in that series. I'll email you the thumbnails. You can decide."

Gregg grimaced. "I'm also interested in any new work you might want to show me." 

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"   

"A word of caution. I know you've been busy, but you know what happens when an artist becomes stagnant. They soon become extinct. Patrons are fickle."

"And you're only as good as your last showing," April replied with a sigh. "I know. You're right. I have been neglecting my work. My head's in the clouds."

Gregg crossed his arms. "What's his name?"

"Why do you assume it's a guy?"

"It's always a guy. Only romance can send an artist off the rails. Or...make them brilliant."

"I hope it's the latter," she said. "I met somebody a few months ago and we recently moved in together."

"Moved in already? He must really be something."

"He is. A musician. Moody and mysterious." April paused. "Not your typical guy."

"No wonder you moved so fast."

"Yeah. I took a scolding from my girlfriends for acting impulsively. But I hate waiting for anything."

"I don't blame you," said Gregg. "For all we know, the world could end tomorrow—KABOOM! Speaking of explosions, how's the sex?"

"Fantastic."

"Glad to hear it. Enjoy it while it lasts." Gregg put a hand on her arm. "Now I expect you to pour some of that passion into your work."