Author: Unanimo
Language: English
Genre: Romance, Drama, Humor, Adult
Warnings: Some themes and languages are not suitable for minors
Status: On going
Prologue
Walking slowly at the spacious and well-lighted room of the Schaeffer Gallery, Dean Stratmore, CEO and Co-Founder of Indio Arte was examining the area, glancing here and there at the colorful and monotone paintings of famous local artists with calculating eyes, making sure if he did the right thing to designate the artworks into an alphabetical order. Sure some of the want-to-be artist and the likes were pissed off about the results, but their annoying debates had finally ended up with Dean’s decision few days ago.
He’s the boss, why do they bother anyway.
Smiling inwardly, Dean’s recollections few days ago was kind of… comical. As far as he knew himself, other than a business man, he was strict and conscious when it comes to his gallery. But what happened few days ago made him wonder why he did such a conclusion. Maybe because he intended to line the artist as equal or maybe just to shut them up.
The gallery’s due opening within three days and the interior was already settled. There are one hundred and thirty-two paintings on display and it all belongs to a group of recently Likha Awardees, ages twenty-two to thirty. Their works were not that bad, maybe splendid to others but hardly satisfactory for Dean himself. He’s a little dismayed every time he sees a painter revised or rather embracing too much influence from their iconic idols which made them almost their clone.
If isn’t about the money…
“They are all amateurs,” Dean murmured. “Mixing paints then splashing across the canvas… what a waste. You are all amateurs.”
After the long staring from wall to wall, arms across his chest, he stepped back and walked to another hallway. There, where the hall was lightly lit, he took his keys and opened a huge door at the end corner. This room was strictly forbidden for those who are not welcome. This door was his own sanctuary, a place where he filed his own memory.
He entered slowly and turned on the lights. He smiled, really smiled. His eyes were set narrowly at the center of the room, which the painting of his friend displayed.
The famous artist…
The famous young artist…
The famous young but dead artist…
And then and there, the name encrypted below the painting made Dean cried.
“Reminiscing again?”
Shaking his mind clandestinely without pinning away from the painting, he smiled as he expected an old-age woman with ash colored hair appeared by the threshold of the door.
“Are you ready?” she asked slowly before she stood beside him. “The gallery will open soon.”
“Our gallery will open in three days,” he corrected and then finally glanced at her. “Don’t forget you owned it too.”
“Partially,” she mirrored Dean’s expression. “Secretly and partially, don’t forget to add that too.”
He considered that note for a while then glanced back at the painting. The silence in between them was annoying; Dean hated this part for he knew she’s about to say something. But before she could do that, he started to move away.
“Do you pity me?” she asked finally while noting the melancholy look in his eyes. She sighed and stepped ahead towards the door. “Don’t look at me like that, it makes me feel guilty.”
Dean stood for a moment and then gazed back at the painting. “No, Kat. I don’t… never did.”
