Page 61 - The Muse 2019-20 Issue

“Well, my name is James, nice to meet you. I am the proud manager of the Neue Galerie on Fifth Avenue, New York. My Boss sent me here to ask if you would be interested in selling one of your finest pieces, The Starry Night.”
While looking straight into his eyes as James continued to speak, I noticed a drop of water slowly fall from the bottom of his face onto the collar of his shirt. I became worried. I didn’t know what it could have been. Was it sweat? Was it moisture from his drink? Or was it a tear? It could have been anything. Eager to figure this out, I remained attentive to him so that I could answer his questions properly.
“I’ll have to get back to you at the end of the event. Just for you know though, at this point, The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh is listed for well over 80 million,” I replied.
“Sounds great,” he said.
A lady in a pink suit with blond hair was making her way toward me. Perhaps she was another
art dealer wanting to make a second offer for a painting in Galleria Aquatica.
“Hello, you must be Roy Marton. I am Shelby. It must be great to be the manager of such a
prestigious art gallery,” she said.
“Hi, Shelby nice to see you here. Indeed, it is great being the manager of Galleria Aquatica.” Right away, I began to sidetrack. I noticed the thin trail of black mascara running down the right
side of her face like some type of gothic painting of a sad clown. She kept on talking, but all I could hear were muffled vibrations. I was concentrated on why her mascara had dripped. Was it a tear or moisture from her drink? Maybe sweat? She looked straight into my eyes as if she was waiting for a response, and I quickly answered in a stutter.
“What a great idea. I will check with my boss to make sure all is well, and we are able to proceed with this great idea,” I said hastily, not knowing a thing about what she had offered.
“Great, you are more than welcome to reach me through email,” she said.
She took out a yellow sticky note and wrote her email, 35Shelby.090@gmail.com. From that instant, all my worries went away. I couldn’t help but watch all the excitement in the room. I looked around noticing the remarkable faces around the room, the excitement increasing every time they would notice a new painting. Everybody seemed happy as did I. I scanned the room and noticed a woman in a navy-blue suit looking at a painting in a strange way as if she had seen something in it that had given her goosebumps. I went up to her and asked if she had any concerns about this painting.
“Hello, Roy Marton, proud manager of Galleria Aquatica. I noticed your reaction towards this painting. Are there any specifics you would like to know about it?” I said.
“Hi. Yes, I am Ellinore Blogdanovich the owner of The British Museum in London. This is an incredible painting. I’ve heard beyond great things about it, which is what brings me here. I am offering 120 million. You must let me know by the end of this event,” she said.
I began to notice a drip coming straight down from her forehead leading it’s way to the top of her cheek allowing her blush to smear the tiniest bit but enough to be noticed. This time around, I couldn't think about “the drops.” This offer was beyond amazing.
“What an amazing offer, I will get back to you as soon as possible,” I exclaimed.
I took out my phone. I made my way toward the back room, dialing very quickly the numbers 00- 99-54 that belonged to Mrs. Agnieszka Canmore, the owner of Galleria Aquatica. I began to scream into the phone.
“We have an offer and very little time to discuss it. Ellinore Blogdanovich, the owner of The British Museum in London, is offering us 120 million for the one painting we have of Claude Oscar Monet
. I know that you have many things to take into consideration, but we have till the end of the
event,” I said.
“Take the offer,” she said in a very straight voice before hanging up.
I walked happily back into the room, thinking about how great things were going. It was then
that my feet sloshed as they hit a huge puddle of water. I began to freak. I dipped my finger into the
puddle of water and put it in my mouth. It was pure salt water. There was a leak. I ran out of the back
room and pressed the emergency button calling a submarine to the dry dock. I led everybody towards the
door that led to the departure area. Everybody started screaming. The world of art had transformed into a
world of terror.
“Oh, my, get me out of here!” a lady said.
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