Chapter Text
For Andrea Sachs, a young woman with long brown hair and brown doe eyes, from Cincinnati, Ohio, today is her last day in the big city of New York. She gets up for the millionth time in the setting of her art stand. No one has yet bought one of her works, but the day is still young.
(Come on, Big Break, I need you now!)
If not, Andrea will have to go back to Cincinnati, Ohio, find a 'real' job and listen to her parents tell her they told her so.
(But I have to work so far for abandoned now!)
"Hmm?" Andrea does as if something touches her leg.
It's a huge dog:
A tall St.Bernard, with a luxurious necklace with a medallion adorned with an R and seeming to be in pure gold.
"Where are you from, my beautiful girls?" Andrea asks after noticing that the animal is a female.
She bends down to flatter her and the dog moves back, tail and ears down, glancing imperiously over the young woman's shoulder.
(Would not it be good if she belonged to a famous art critic, about to cross my path? Or a wonderful millionaire who will buy all my works because she speaks to her, or a gallant princess from a foreign country who will discover me today and want to be my boss, we would be rich and travel around the world ... and then she would fall in love with me! Why limit a good daydream, huh?)
Andrea looks up when a shadow falls on her table. The woman who has approached is stunning with elegant short white hair and deep blue eyes. Andrea has almost fallen into another fantasy on the golden runway:
The world-famous thieves guild.
(The news kept calling their leader the 'Queen of Thieves' when I watched TV yesterday, the name sounded a bit cheesy, but when I tried to imagine who it might agree, was totally to someone like this woman that I thought. )
The lady is dressed as if she were at the opera, a black skirt and blazer on a white blouse and shod in black Prada. She scans Andrea's table with a majestic and selfless look.
"Hello!" Smiles the young woman.
Andrea keeps her megawatt smile and rejects the rest of her reverie.
(Maybe she can be this Miranda a few things or whatever, the queen of thieves, in my head ... but she can be a paying customer in real life!)
"You see something that you like?" She asks the other woman. If you have any questions, tell me!
"Oh, that already tells me everything," the unknown responds by making a gesture to Andrea's table with a wrist, showing high-end black gloves. "You are a recent graduate of the School of Fine Arts, these oil paintings ... the first works? There is a hesitation in your brushstrokes, I can only assume that your family disapproves, but look how you prosper, you would certainly be acceptable if you did not lack concentration."
"Focus? Excuse me?" Is indignant Andrea.
"You are a girl to do everything and a master to all, if you forgive an abominable hackneyed expression."
(At least I'm not the one who showed up at the park and looks like a movie antagonist, is not it a little early for such a chic costume?)
The blue eyes of the woman sweep again the assortment on the table of Andrea:
Painting, sculpture, needlework ...
"You are the kind of person who can not be satisfied with something," continues the woman. "And with the sweetness of all your lines, and the bold use of color ...!"
"It's called Impressionist influence!" Andrea Cut.
"You are an idealist ... a romantic," said the woman curving her lip as she touches a watercolor and decides not to take it.
"You do not have to say it like it's a bad thing," sighs Andrea.
The white-haired woman moves on, as if she were looking for something specific.
"This work here," she said. "With bold black lines ... not copies, but a skillful tribute to Amelia Peláez, if I'm not mistaken."
The way she says that gives the impression that she is never wrong.
(But in this case, I'm too excited to be bothered by that.)
"Yes! Do you know Cuban vanguard art?" Andrea asks. "This piece is part of a study I did recently, I wanted to try to fuss my own style with something more related to the legacy of my maternal grandmother, and ..."
But the other woman has already passed, continuing her thought from earlier.
"Your idealistic series has put you in trouble about employment, is not it? So far, no work fits your idea of what an artist's life should be, and now you have to go back to your boring little hometown and admit defeat tomorrow, judging by the overwhelming despair your world."
Andrea becomes suspicious.
"How do you know that?"
The other woman does not answer and Andrea is too eager to care.
"I'm good at what I do," she said. "There is nothing wrong with fighting for the right opportunity."
That makes the royal woman smile.
"May be," she said.
The dog barks at the two women.
"I can ask you questions about your art, miss ...?"
(So, she does not know roof, huh?)
"Only Andy is fine, I am an open book."
The royal woman starts asking questions almost faster than Andy can answer. But she does not ask about the originals:
She is totally focused on replica of the young woman. And all the while, she does not even look at Andy's art. Her blue eyes are on the brunette, drinking as if she was in an exhibition all alone.
"I am ... satisfied," she said finally.
Andy tries not to blush when the other woman stops the conversation and turns to leave.
(She did not even want to buy anything!)
"You will not take your dog?" Andy asks, looking at St.Bernard.
The royal woman pauses, staring at her with another piercing look over her shoulder.
"What makes you think she's mine?"
"Well, you know she's a female, you just said, and she's about as pretentious as you are."
The woman's blue eyes shine with amusement in a way that cuts Andy's breath. She turns to leave without answering. The dog sniffs the plastic tablecloth of the young woman's display and then goes off in pursuit of the white-haired woman.
(If she was not going to buy my art, why was she interested?)
Andrea has to pack up when the sun goes down...
She had promised a school friend to go to the art gallery she was opening that night.
(But I'm not on the plane yet!)
As she heads in the right direction, the glittering window of a jewelery shop catches her eye...
Through the glass, an elegant hand grabs a necklace and Andy pursues the view on a thin wrist, a graceful arm, a swan neck and an incredibly beautiful exotic face. For a moment, the long-haired, silver-eyed woman looks at Andy. Then she smiled and looped a finger: gesturing to the young woman to come inside the jewelry.
(Me?)
Andy takes a look in the street, but she is the only person nearby. The other woman laughs through the window before deliberately saying:
"Yes you."
Curious, Andy is heading. The woman waving her hand this time, Andy hears her laugh, light and golden.
"You are not in a hurry, are you?" Ask the charming woman. "I need a second opinion."
(I'll be late if I stay ... but for this woman? Suddenly, being late seems to be fine.)
"On what?" Andy asks.
"A question of fashion, querida," said the woman, pointing to the necklace she is wearing, dropping pink pearls. "I have an important event tonight, is it too much?"
"It's beautiful," answers the brunette.
The woman sighs and studies another necklace:
This one is made of simple white pearls.
"Do you put this one, so that I can see the difference?" She turns Andy, gathering the hair of the young woman on her shoulder.
(She asked it as a question, but in a way, it looks like an order.)
The necklace is hot from Andy's skin when he pulls it off, while it was cool when put on her neck at first. When the necklace is gone, the other woman weighs each necklace in her hands.
"What should I choose? I lean toward the one to elaborate."
"They look good both, but why what it's worth, it's a fake amateur," Andy responds.
"Oh?"
The red lips of the woman are uninterested.
"Real pearls do not absorb body heat," says Andy. "If you were just trying to wear necklaces, you should not feel colder than another."
"And how did you know that?"
"I am an artist," Andy proudly answers. "Sometimes I work with jewelry."
The other woman smiles and leans forward, so close that she can whisper in the brunette's ear.
(Her perfume smells wonderful.)
"I'm so glad you understand," breathes the woman.
There is something dark and thrilling in the Brazilian accent that stings Andy's skin. The spell is suddenly broken when the young woman's phone rings. An automatic reminder of her calendar.
"Nice to help you," she said. "But I ... something!"
Slightly frightened, she smiles and hurries out of the jeweler's shop.
(She said I understood something, but what?)
Andy is still upset when she arrives at the art gallery...
So much that she jostles someone.
"Sorry!" Said she embarrassed.
(Not anyone, but a woman who might as well have invented the women's tux.)
The woman with medium red hair and emerald green eyes frowns while adjusting her knot at the same color as her eyes.
"Are you OK?" Andy asks.
"Well," said the woman with a slight British accent, her voice fresh and dry.
"Euh ... are you making your debut tonight?" The brunette asks shyly.
The redhead growls.
"No," she said. "I'm just here to watch, not that they have a lot to see, everything is so simplistic."
"It's not about the complexity of his appearance," Andy replies. "But from the commentary that he presents, even a black dot on a white canvas uses space and contrast with great care, getting something to feel simple can be the most complicated part!"
"And this super boring vase?"
The redhead nods to a porcelain work, placed on a white pedestal in the center of the room.
"There's a lot going on there," Andy said. "Look at the details in the painting and the experimental use of the glazing, I have seen similar works win five million dollars!"
"It's not because something is expensive that it's good art," replies the other woman. "Look at this one."
She gestures to their left, where many blank screens are installed. It's called 'Millenials'.
"Oh ..." Andy. "A statement on the dependence on the screen ..."
"Yes, really ridiculous, I can do better."
The redhead takes out her phone and long nimble fingers fly over her keyboard. Instantly, the screens start flashing, emitting soft colors and music in superimpositions. People who visit the art gallery stop to watch.
"Have you just hacked the art of this person ?!" Andy asks astonished and also impressed.
"No, you dream," said the other woman sarcastically before looking at the calculating brunette. "You are obviously an artist, can I see your phone? Let's put your works here, instead of these blank screens."
(But ... I have not gained a place in this gallery ... and if it's my only chance to be noticed, though?)
Andy takes out her phone instinctively and the redhead pulls it with her fingers. After a few expert shots, the art of the young woman appears everywhere on the screen.
"What about the original artist?" Andy asks.
"If he did not want their art stolen, he should have come up with a better concept," the other woman snapped.
Even with her nerves, Andy is struck by a wave of admiration.
(She is so daring!)
"I'm done," said the redhead, handing her phone to the brunette and studying her art. "Yes, it's a lot better than it used to be."
This is not a praise in itself, but from her, it feels badly to win. Andy can not help but smile.
"Thank you a lot," she said almost breathless. "You have no idea how much it means to me."
The redhead smiled, bright and full, warmer than the lights shining above her head. As soon as she realizes she does, she bites her lower lip to make it disappear.
(But it's such a pretty smile, like an art all by itself, I wish I could see it longer.)
Before Andy can think of anything to say, the other woman nods to the vase in the middle of the room.
"What is this guy doing up there?" Does request. "Now, that's what I call art."
Andy follows her gaze to see ...