Bobcat

La Vie En Rosa

Chapter Songs:
How Are You True - Cage the Elephant
La Vie En Rosa -Louis Armstrong

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Delia's POV:

People had been ushering out of the gallery slowly, one by one or in pairs. I knew I wouldn't sleep tonight. I would be up all night, nervous about what the New York Times was going to say about our exhibit. The art critic had been kind, but I knew that at the end of the day, it was the New York Times. If it was anything less than perfect, we would have our asses chewed. The other bother that was splayed at the back of my mind was the happenings between me and the woman from Marsh NY. How many of the newspapers would see that as a negative happening or me standing up for the innocence of a child?

I was starting to get tired, but I didn't want to leave yet. We weren't allowed to leave yet, but that didn't mean that Cole and I weren't thinking about it. We could have just disappeared, and I doubt much of anyone would notice. Jordan, Lyel, Dylan, and Nova had already left. I had just had one too many glasses of champagne and was currently holding on tightly to Cole's hand as we watching people slowly start to file out. Cole looked down at me slowly.

"Hey, Delia, we should go somewhere tonight," he whispered. "Like not home, but I have somewhere cool to show you." I furrowed my brow as I looked up at him.

"Cole, it's two in the morning, and people are still here," I whispered back as I leaned against the wall behind us. He frowned as the New York Time's: People's Page editor approached us.

"Delia Marin, my name is Paul Gigot. I'm one of the editors for the New York Times. Do you have a few minutes? I would just like to ask a few questions," he said simply. He glanced up at Cole before looking back down at me.

"Do you mind if we do it right here?" I asked sliding my free hand up Cole's arm, making it abundantly clear that I wasn't leaving his side. He nodded quickly as he pulled out his recorder.

"I want to ask you about what happened between you and the publicist from Marsh New York. Any comments on that?" he asked, holding his recorder out to me. I took it from him, my eyes locking with his as I stated plainly.

"The publicist from Marsh New York was saying and asking incredibly derogatory and sexualized statements and questions about me in front of a ten year old girl. I addressed the immaturity and the lack of concern for innocence. That's all the happened. I do not appreciate what she said aimed at me, but the fact the she said it in front of a child that simply came to see someone she loved and looked up to is astounding. There is a moral integrity that was broken tonight, and, if I'm honest, I expect consequences. There is way to act as a reporter and a way to not act, and so far Marsh New York is the highest example of how to not act."

He stayed quiet for a moment as I handed him back his recording device. We just stared at each other before the man whispered.

"I don't blame you. I'm not supposed to express my opinion, but I absolutely agree. There is a line that comes with being an editor and a publicist, and I believe that she indeed stepped over that line. Is there anything you would like to say about the art or the presentation or even this establishment?"

"I'm so grateful to Cole and Anne for supporting me through my first gallery. I'm grateful that Cole even told Anne about me. I owe Cole and Anne a lot if I'm honest. The New York Art Institute has been nothing but wonderful to me. I'm extremely flustered about even being here, especially with what Cole has done for his gallery and what he's said about me. I couldn't be more happy to just be here in the madness," I said, sounding extremely grateful. Cole squeezed my hand as he looked down at me with a soft smile. It was a look of approval.