Robin

Chapter One: Hit the Play Button Baby

People usually introduce themselves starting with their names. But I believe there are so many other things that identify me and my name is on the bottom of the list. What distinguishes people from one another, is what they believe in. I believe in the power of the will, I believe in art and most importantly, I believe in love. Love had versatile meanings to me. I love my parents, I love my childhood friend, Timothy, and I love her. I loved her even before I knew who she was, I just knew that a big part of my heart was reserved for someone, but I never thought it would be filled so soon and then replaced with hatred. Love is a queer thing, you can look for it everywhere but find no sight of it. Then one day, when the last thing you need is love, the brush that is meant to paint trees, begins to outline the face of someone who is meant to become your whole world.

I was born in a small Victorian row house, North slope of Beacon Hill, MA. Nineteen years later, my parents decided to move to their favourite place on earth, Georgia, which is also my name by the way. I convinced them that I was mature enough to live on my own, and picked up a job in the jewellery store for rich men to buy gifts for their mistresses. My parents left me the house for a very subsidised rent, but I needed the job to pay my bills. Not long after they left, I had to rent out my childhood bedroom to make ends meet. My goal was to make a living from what I actually want to do, paint. Due to the circumstances, it was not possible yet. I had to do one more year of college tuition and the cost of one box of oil paint was two month's rent. This left me no time for anything other than school, work, and painting, nothing else, no one else. My favourite place to paint was a small park next to Charles river. I set my easel in a quiet corner and painted whatever I saw. Sometimes people, dogs, trees or just the blue sky's reflection in the water. I had painted people's first kisses, last kisses, and tears. It gave me joy to paint life. It gave me a sense of power, I have always believed knowledge and power are the true source of confidence, and in my word, confidence was the key to success as an artist. That is why I always sought knowledge in everything. I skipped movies and opted in for documentaries, and I read every book I could get my hands on from all over the world. One day, I was in my usual corner at the park, and I saw a beautiful woman in her 40s, sitting alone on a bench smoking a cigar. Smoking was forbidden at the park, but she did not seem to care. She looked up into the sky and let out the smoke in a desperate sigh. I could not resist painting her. I got carried away with the colours and the shades, when I was done, the woman was gone. I was very proud of the final result that I decided to include in my upcoming showcase at the Fairies Gallery. The gallery's owner was an old friend of my mother, an old lover to be exact, but I did not want to know the story. All that mattered was that he had agreed to showcase my paintings in two weeks, although he believed that society no longer appreciates "abstract-realism" as he described my work. As much as I would not mind selling every single one of my paintings and making money, I cared more about people seeing my work and feeling something awakened inside them by looking at it. I took a photograph of my final art piece and shared it on my instagram to promote my upcoming showcase. Something told me this would be a big changing paint for my future, and it made my brain tingle with excitement. The next morning, I woke up to seven missed calls from my dad, ten emails from my unknown senders and a million messages from my friends. The woman, the beautiful woman that I had painted in the park, had somehow seen my post and decided to sue me for using her image without consent. I didn't even know that was possible. I had no idea what to do, for all the philosophy and psychology books that I had read were of no help to me with the laws of copyright. There was only one week left until my showcase in the gallery and I could lose my chance if I did not resolve this issue by then. My life and my career would be ruined forever. I immediately called Timothy, my best friend since 4th grade. He got into UCLA two years ago, we only talked on the phone FaceTime ever since, which I believe is the reason our friendship still lasts. I cried to him for hours and he did not say a word. Finally, he told me off for moaning like a baby and reminded me of the Eleven and promised to call his friend who works there. The Eleven Law Firm was one of the biggest firms in the state for the last 6 years, they grew so quickly and so big that they were the hottest topic in Beacon Hill. Apparently Timothy knew a guy who worked there, which I found hard to believe because it was extremely difficult to become an Eleven attorney and they were so secretive about the owners and partners of the firm. Still, I wondered if he could help me hire a lawyer ASAP. If anyone could save me in less than a week, it was someone from the Eleven. I considered contacting the woman who had sued me to beg for forgiveness, but I did not have her contact information. Timothy was right, it was not the time to cry and moan, I had to put on my big girl pants and redeem the situation, or pay a lawyer to do it for me. I sent five emails with different subjects, fonts and tones to the Eleven, but I got no response. I called them and waited on the line for about an hour to finally speak with the secretary, only for her to tell me the que to request for a junior attorney was full. I tried to explain the urgency of my case, but she hung up on me, it made my blood boil. My last hope was Timothy's friend. The next day, Timothy found out his friend no longer worked for the Eleven. That is when it occurred to me that I had to take matters into my own hands. I put on my jeans and a white button up, I braided my shoulder length dirty blonde hair back and headed for the door. My roommate came out of the kitchen, biting into her sandwich and she gave me a strange look. She had a habit of judging my outfits, but comfort was the most important thing in my closet. She asked me where I was going and I gave her a quick recap, she did not need to know all the miserable details of my life falling apart. She strongly recommended I change into formal clothes to avoid embarrassing myself. Although I had already mentally prepared myself for some level of embarrassment, I decided to at least look the part. I went back into my room and picked out a dress from my mother's old clothes and wore the only pair of high heels that I owned which I had only bought because they were vintage. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and even let my hair down to hide the burn scar on my left shoulder. I heard my dad's voice in my head, "Hit the play button,baby". In the back of my head, I genuinely had no hope that this would work, but my hopes got higher and higher the closer my cab got to the tall building which stood out in the middle of the rest of the offices and small shops surrounding it. The building was magnificent, but I was surprised to see how simple and small the sign was at the main door. It was obvious that they were not ones to show off, not that they needed to, the Eleven Law Firm was already the most well known firm in town with the highest success rates. The only thing I did not like about it was the fact that only the rich could afford them. Clients like myself who were not as privileged, had to wait for months to get a hold of them. I had no intention of fighting the bourgeoisie by going in there, I just remembered that every time my mom asked to talk to the manager at a restaurant, she ended up getting what she wanted. Plus, everyone kept praising the Eleven building and the mysterious founders. So, I was a little curious myself.

My house was closer to the Eleven building than I had remembered. I always walked past it on my way to work, but I never thought I would be sneaking in there. As much as I hated being objectified by men, sometimes I did not mind the power of a little dress and the doors it opened for me. The security guard at the door gave me a smile and let me in without question. I had no idea which way to go, but I did not want to look lost, so I pushed the elevator button to the eleventh floor, which made the most ironic sense. The elevator was fast, too fast. It did not give me enough time to gather my thoughts or to fix my hair. I was on the eleventh floor before I knew it, walking into a massive waiting area. I recognised the secretary;s voice, she was the one who hung up the phone on me. I wanted to give her a long speech about customer service and basic manners, but I tried to get on her good side. She repeated the same disappointing lines she had said on the phone and asked me to leave. She laughed at me when I told her that I would like to speak with whoever is in charge. Something was certain, I would fight this woman, but not today.

I sat on the fancy leather chair for hours and it became very uncomfortable, the leather was soaked with the sweat from my body heat. People came in and out of different doors with such haste in the corridor. The corridor looked like it went on and on forever, like there was no end and no one would make it back alive if they went down too deep. I was scared and on the verge of crying. I needed to talk to someone, I needed them to accept my case or my life would be ruined. I knew I could barely afford a lawyer from this firm, but my life and career were at stake and I had not enough knowledge nor power to fight for myself. The best thing I could do in that moment, was to continue sitting on that chair, until somebody would notice me or pity me. Hours passed, I decided I had nothing to lose, I asked the secretary one more time, if I could meet with a lawyer, she ignored me as she was talking on the phone. I marched for the corridor, not the first door, not the second one, but for the scary end of it. I was running so fast, the secretary could not catch up. My eyes were locked on the black door knob, no matter how much I kept running, it still looked out of my reach. I don't know what had gotten into me, I had no idea who was behind that door, but I was desperate. "Ma'am you cannot go in there" I heard the secretary shout after me, her voice getting closer. I reached for the door knob, as if I would become untouchable once I got my fingers on it. I twisted it firmly to open the door as fast I could and stumbled right in. I got so nervous and embarrassed, I closed my eyes, I didn't have the courage to look into the eyes of whomever I was about to face. I felt an uneasy atmosphere, as if the air was telling me I wasn't supposed to be there. "I'm so sorry. Please you have got to help me out." I said with my eyes still closed. "Who are you?" I heard a voice so peculiar with an almost faded British accent.