Earlier chapters

by Mike Schwarcz, text and art

Back in Santa Fe for a mere two days, Cece hadn't had time to unpacked, much less process the events of the past few days before Aisha's text informed her that her training, originally scheduled to start on July 15th, was now moved up to July 7th.
"You don't want to stay in Santa Fe, it's the middle of summer. The gallery and offices aren't finished yet. What are you going to do, mingle with the tourists at the craft fairs?" Aisha goaded her over the phone.
"I'm trying to get used to my own bed again," Cece stalled.
Aisha upped the ante with a first-class ticket and a promise that the SpACE's loft, where she would be staying, would make her realize it was all worth it.
Cece sighed in resignation after hanging up from Aisha.
The truth was she had hoped to see Roger from La Peralta before leaving for New York, curious about that tiny spark she'd sensed when they'd shared that bottle of wine. If there was something there, she wanted to know, now, since New York may present her with other opportunities. Maybe it was just the booze?

"Oh wow, this is epic," Cece mumbled to herself when Aisaha opened the studio loft's door. Located in an old shirt factory, Cece guessed it probably dated from the late 1800's. Fronting the street were glass windows, arched, floor to ceiling. Rock maple floors, a Gaggenau kitchen, and minimalist furnishings, thankfully not in black, but warm grey, with accents of a darker taupe. The open floor plan was Cece's idea of how all New Yorkers lived.
The bedroom was spacious, featuring a king-size bed and a wall cabinet filled with books and media. A bathtub that could easily hold two was tucked in a corner of the room, with windows frosted for privacy.
"I think you'll find it quite comfortable. It was an architect's studio when we bought it; now we use it to entertain visiting dignitaries. Everyone from Mick Jagger to Steve Martin has stayed here," Aisha said.
"It'll do," Cece grinned.
"We have dinner reservations in an hour. A chance to meet some of the people from SpACE that you'll be working with. Do you want to freshen up or change before we head out? " Aisha asked.
"Quick shower, I can be ready in thirty," Cece said.
"Okay, I have a few calls I can make."
"Speaking of calls, Miguel wants an update on the Rachel case; he's afraid the missing girl mystery may follow him for life. He's not too happy about it. No news?" Cece asked.
"I spoke with the police chief personally yesterday. Nothing new, unfortunately."
"I'm having a hard time accepting it as well. I got to know her a little while sharing the guest house. I found her knowledgeable about art. But she was also fun, and funny. I saw her as a good business connection, possibly even a friend. She certainly didn't seem depressed or anything," said Cece.
"I like her too, don't worry, I'll call Miguel and update him," Aisha said.
"Right," Cece agreed, heading for her shower.

A few short blocks from the studio, Aisha pointed to a Mediterranean restaurant across the street.
"It's always busy, takes weeks to get a reservation, luckily, the owners are art aficionados, so we have a table any time we want. And that's pretty often because the food is terrific.
Entering, Aisha nodded to the maitre d, who ushered them to a table in the back. They were soon joined by James, the manager in New York, and his two assistants, Amber and Lynn. They ran the crews responsible for the various behind-the-scenes tasks that make an art gallery with ever changing displays, often worth millions, run smoothly and securely.
Aisha made introductions, and James started the conversation. Cece thought he was about her age, and found him quite handsome.
"Cece, congratulations on the Miguel Angelo show. It's getting a lot of good press and I love that his antics started a dialogue. It's about time for a conversation about the worth and role of art in today's world. We look forward to working with you on his first show here in New York."
"Thank you, James. Miguel is a unique talent. And I say unique to avoid saying he's weird. He's a lot of fun to work with, but you have to take the time to get to know and understand him," Cece pointed out.
"I'll quickly add we are all hoping and praying that Rachel shows up in good health," James said.
‘If we had been able to stick to the original plan, Miguel would probably have joined us for dinner tonight," Aisha said, avoiding the topic of Rachel.
"The GDUSA show threw a spanner into our launch plans. So here we are, working around Rachel's disappearance and the Fourth of July," Aisha explained.
"A side note Aisha, did you hear about Gagosian's Brittania Street Gallery in London closing?" James asked.
"Among others, yes. Not good news for Damien Hurst I'm afraid."
"Blum in Los Angeles is closing also," Amber piped in.
"All right, that's enough. Lamenting the state of the market isn't going to accomplish anything. Lynn, tell me what you're doing to elevate Miguel's presence in the national market?" Aisha asked.
"We are enrolling him in every artist's association possible; Who's Who of American Artists, Assoc. American Watercolorists, and all the rest. They'll also submit him to Davenport's, of course," said Lynn.
"Building Miguel's bona fides nationally is a must. It needs to happen ASAP if we want to plan a show, possibly next year. There's going to be a SpACE Santa Fe soon, and Miguel will probably be the choice for the premier exhibition. Aisha said.
"Miguel as the opening exhibition at SpACE Santa Fe, that's great," Cece agreed.
"Beyond that, we can work his prices up to where exhibits in other markets become feasible within two to three years. Then, the auction markets, where we'll make the real money, in four years max," Aisha projected.
"That makes sense, he's not ready for a New York show yet. Meanwhile, he's going to need some handholding. From experience I can tell you that it can be a challenge," Cece said.
Nobody even looked up from their menus, all nodding in silence as if that was the most normal thing in the world, nothing new.
"We usually get the owner's special service for the entire table, a little bit of everything for everyone, if that works for you, Cece," said Aisha.
"Bring it on, I'm starved," said Cece.
"A couple of bottles of wine also, please," Aisha said to the server.
"Of course, the usual white?"
"Please."

"I've never eaten squid ink pasta or grilled octopus; it's not something I would even think to order, but I'm glad I did, both were delicious," said Cece as the table was cleared.
"You're becoming an epicurious New Yorker already," said James.
"It starts with the food, but I'm hoping to make this entire month an adventure," Cece returned his smile.
Aisha headed their conversation off. "Tomorrow, we open at ten as usual. Amber will give you a behind-the-scenes gallery tour and show you where everything is located. For the rest of the day, you can observe and ask questions as they come up. It's not high pressure, but I think with your gallery experience, you'll find it interesting."
"We usually eat lunch in the shop and gossip about other galleries," said Lynn.
"I may have to take you out to save you from all that," Aisha laughed.
"No problem either way," Cece laughed along.
"Okay, until tomorrow then," said Aisha as she got up and headed for the door, the others following.
Outside they dispersed, Aisha walking Cece back to the front door of the studio and handing her the keys.
"I called Miguel and gave him an update on Rachel. He's not happy, but I don't know what any of us can do," said Aisha.
"Did Miguel ever mention that Hayden Rookwood and Rachel were seen taking out on the beach before the clambake?" Cece asked.
"Vaguely," said Aisha, wanting to avoid any mention of Hayden if she could.
"He could be the last person at the party to see her alive. Miguel wants to ask him what it was all about. Has anyone questioned him about that, like the police, maybe?" asked Cece.
"Cece, Hayden is a very influential person, Miguel would be smart not to go off half-cocked. He needs to let the police do their job," Aisha said sternly.
"Yeah, he understands that, but I can tell, it's bugging him," said Cece.
"Let's focus on tomorrow; new adventures, right?" Aisha winked at her before she turned and headed back the way they had come.
A half block up from the studio, Aisha slyly ducked into a dark stairwell with a discreet view of the entrance to the studio. Everything told her Hayden would be seeking new adventures since Rachel's disappearance. Based on what she had seen in the Hamptons, Aisha had surmised that Cece was probably at the top of his list
Her theory was confirmed in less than ten minutes. Surprise! Hayden exited the building, heading her way. She sank into the recess under the stoop, Hayden walked right past her.

Cece entered her building, walking up the two flights before entering the studio. Turning the lights on, she was stunned to see Hayden Rookwood standing in her living room.
"What the hell, Hayden? Don't tell me you're here for a game of poker!" Cece said, holding the door open for a fast escape, wishing her Glock was nearby.
"Poker in this town is very high stakes. I can arrange it if you'd like to join a game," Hayden said.
"Why are you here, Hayden?"
"I wanted to welcome you," he said.
"Save it for tomorrow at the gallery. And, if you have a key to this studio, I want it right now, or I'm getting a hotel and flying home tomorrow," Cece said firmly, standing her ground by the front door, ready to escape and slam the door in his face if he came for her.
"Okay, okay, I forgot what a tough cookie you are," he said as he handed her a key to the studio and walked out the door without looking back.
Cece slammed the door and leaned against it. Holy Shit, The Nerve, I should'a— Suddenly, she wanted to puke and ran to the kitchen. She slept that night, but not well. Strangely, in her dream, it was James, waiting for her when she got home, and she wasn't wishing for her gun.

Her first day of work in New York, Cece felt she had finally arrived. This was the big leagues, not some pipe dream. She stopped on the way into the office for a croissant and a Latte. Not even Hayden was going to stop her from enjoying her success.
The SpACE Gallery New York was beyond large. You needed a code to enter, or someone would have to clear you via a video intercom system. It was easy to get lost. It took two hours to complete the tour of the entire space. Aside from the display areas, there were offices, a reception area with seating, outdoor display areas, employee areas, including a lunch room, nice bathrooms, and even a kitchen with an espresso bar and snacks. There were art storage areas, a small frame shop, a loading dock and parking garage. The display areas were devoid of people, but behind the displays people buzzed about, ever busy. Artist's agents swarmed in and out, as well as art consultants. Trucks came and went, and it all operated like a symphony.
Cece was learning what first class really meant. SpACE NY was twenty times the size of her gallery. James, Amber, and Lynn and about 20 others had offices. There was an empty office for her where she threw her stuff, but an empty office with nothing to do didn't suit Cece. She wanted to hang out on the gallery floor, in the reception area, observe the traffic flow, and hear how they answered the phones. She was excited by the front end operation, the behind the scenes meant little to her, she'd had enough of that in her old gallery
.
At the start of her second week, she was bored to tears, wandering around the gallery trying to absorb a retrospective that had opened a month ago and was scheduled to run another two months. The obscure genre didn't particularly interest her. But she did have a few observations. There were no price labels on any of the paintings, and all the pieces were ‘spoken for'. A way to say sold, without saying sold. Interesting.
The showrooms were mostly empty except for openings and the occasional private showing. Cell phones chime everywhere but the house phones seldom rang, and the receptionist had her nose buried in the latest issue of Artnews. You would never guess they're raking in the millions from gallery traffic. she thought.
The front of the house employees weren't breaking a sweat. The action was in the back offices, PR people, publicists, artist's agents, and lots of interns for the heavy lifting. It was the publicity machine that made the money that was becoming clear to Cece.
The memory of the previous night was still nagging her when she was lured into the kitchen by the smell of cookies. Mary Goodman was standing inside holding a tin of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
"I didn't know you were here," Cece said.
"I just dropped in for a second while these were fresh," Mary said, popping the lid off the tin, holding it out to Cece.
They each took a cookie and sat down at the table. Cece felt like she was sitting at home with her mom. Comfortable.
"Can I ask you something confidentially, Mary?" Cece asked, a little wary.
"Of course, dear, what's troubling you?" Mary asked.
"Why would Hayden Rookwood have a key to the studio I'm staying in?" Cece asked.
"You know that he does?" Mary sounded doubtful.
"He was waiting inside for me last night when I came home. He said he wanted to welcome me." Cece was already telling more than she wanted to.
"Cece, avoid that man. Staying as far away as possible is the best advice I can give you. He's very influential and powerful,"
"I took the key away from him, but he's just a little creepy," Cece said
"I can't say why he would have a key. Have you asked Aisha?"
"I don't want to involve her; she hired me to do a job, not run and hide behind her skirt at the first sign of trouble," Cece said.
"I understand. In that case, between you and me, Hayden's a real prick, I would avoid him like the plague," Mary took another cookie and, patting Cece on the shoulder, got up. "Only a few more weeks, you'll be back home," Mary went out the kitchen door.
"Thanks for your honesty." Trailed her.
The rest of the afternoon, Cece wandered the premises. Eventually, she wound up at the reception desk, bored to the point of asking if anything was interesting in the Artnews the receptionist was reading.
"Eh, nothing juicy, just more gallery closings, Washburn's and David Lewis," said the receptionist.
"I don't think we met. I'm Cece."
"We haven't. I'm Dawn. I'm on the afternoon shift. Hi," she said.
"Nice to meet you,"
Dawn's next question was, "Can you cover for me while I run to the bathroom?"
"Sure, I got it," said Cece.
Dawn ran off to the bathroom, and Cece moved to the chair and sat down.
The phone rang almost immediately.
"Good Afternoon, Space Galleries. How may I direct your call?" answered Cece.
"Is George or Mary there?" asked the voice on the line.
"Neither of them is in at the moment. May I ask who's calling?" Cece asked.
"Whom am I speaking to?" she asked next, throwing Cece off.
"I'm Cece. You are?" she replied
"Cece, it's Rachel! What are you doing there? Oh my God."
"Rachel? You're alive? I mean, you're— you're okay? Where are you? Cece felt she was about to faint.
"I'm fine, just a little side trip is all," Rachel said.
"Side trip to where?"
"Nantucket, but I'm on a yacht and can't get off without my passport, it's a foreign yacht," Rachel explained.
"Mary's not here, but I can call Aisha," Cece volunteered.
"Okay, give her this number," she gave Cece Vanessa's number. "And keep this to yourself, okay, please. Don't mention it to a soul, especially Hayden Rookwood, please," Rachel said.
"I'll contact Aisha, don't worry, be safe, and I'll see you again soon," Cece said.
She wanted to jump up and down and tell everyone. It seemed like forever before Dawn returned from the bathroom and she could call Aisha with the good news.

Questionnaire on the story

To be continued

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