Chapter 1
The invitations were simple: post cards in a beautiful smooth stock with a golden heart on one side, and the details of the party on the other. Douglas Kelley threw a Valentine's Day party every year, partly to provide those of us with no one for whom we could buy a box of chocolate a chance to mingle with other people who knew they wouldn't be receiving any such box, and partly to stimulate more business. They were always over the top with far more guests than even he knew, and I always wondered if the expense to throw one was even worth the sales they generated. Regardless, it was hardly possible to decline.
I arrived late and wasn't received by Kelley personally, but by a rather large and abrasive guest manager. My coat was taken from me and I took a look around. His house was an old historic building on the Upper West Side, and the decorations that year hardly took the ornamentation of the place into consideration. An entire mahogany wall in the grand foyer was covered by a giant neon depiction of Venus in repose. The space was bathed its dim, pink light.
"Charles! I'm so glad you could make it!" a voice called.
"Hi Kelley," I said as he took the liberty of kissing my cheek. Granted he was old and bearded, but he was still quite attractive and extremely well groomed. He grinned his charming little grin. "Where did you find such a receptionist? He nearly drove me away."
"Oh he's from the gallery's security agency. I didn't have much part in choosing him, I let Valerie take care of the staff this year. Let me pour you a drink."
I walked with him up the marble stairs and into the living room. It was similarly decorated with a depiction of a young cupid over the fireplace, and cupid and psyche on the wall across from it. The piano was being played, and the sound of people mingling wasn't competing with it.
"I'll take care of this one," Kelley assured the bar tender as he took his post. He mixed us both martinis and we clinked our glasses. Angie Armitage, an old friend of Kelley's, approached us.
"Dark n' stormy?" she jokingly requested of our host. He grinned and stepped out from behind the bar. The bar tender quickly set about fulfilling the order. "How are you, Charles?" she asked.
"Things are going well. I've been setting up a non-profit space on the Lower East Side. I'm just getting the first together."
"You're opening a gallery?" she asked in a concerned tone. "That's not the easiest thing to do, my dear."
"Well it's not so much a gallery as it is a museum space. I realized I have a pretty fair collection, most of which I never even see. My friends have crates of things in storage. We owe it to culture to allow public viewing of some of these things. I was thinking some commissions and grants could also provide for new work."
"Without sales? That hardly sounds comfortable," she said, furrowing her brow.
"I haven't the energy for that sort of thing," I replied honestly.
"He doesn't want it to be a commercial space, Angie. The project is really more about allowing the community to view art," Kelley reassured her. "I've been helping him a lot with it."
"Who do I thank for the new lights?" I asked.
"The neon? That's Angie's project. She's trying to convince me to give this little young thing a shot."
"I met him while he was in undergrad. He was working in sound and video, making absurd little pieces that were inspired by Plato's writings. A year later and he's done the windows at Bergdorf's, had a solo show at a gallery in Brooklyn, and Jacob Stone bought one of his pieces. He may be young, but he has an awful lot under his belt."
"Yes, that's what I'm interested in," said Kelley smugly. I chuckled.
"No, I'm serious, I think he'd be a great fit for you," she said indignantly.
"Really? All that?" he said with raised eyebrows.
"Forget him, he'll never stop now," I told her.
The room smelled of fresh roses. Each bouquet was in a pink and gold vase, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a young man staring at one the arrangements. His hair was gold and his suit was gray, and his pink tie would have been hiding under his beard had his facial hair been any longer. It was almost as if his calling in life was to stand near those vases and be beautiful.
"I can introduce you if you'd like," said Angie, noticing my staring. I grinned and she walked me over.
"Joseph," she called while approaching him, "I want you to meet Charles Bramley. Charles, this is Joseph Dixon. Charles is opening a new space near the village, isn't that right, Charles?"
"It's going to be in Tribeca," I said smiling.
"That's awesome!" he said very sweetly.
"Joseph is the one responsible for the neon pieces here tonight. The one I was telling you about?" Angie was an angel.
"Are you a gallerist?" he asked.
"I don't really know. I'm still trying to figure out what I am. It sounds nice though, doesn't it?"
"Well, how did you get involved in art?"
"My family has one of the most valuable collections in the city. I grew up learning it alongside the alphabet. I guess it only feels natural to me now," I admitted. Ducky had that power. All he really had to do was give you one of his wide eyed looks, and you'd spill half your guts on the carpet. He had such a way of cutting through all the shit without saying a word.
"I see," he said. I suddenly felt awkward. I couldn't tell if he was disapproving of me, and for whatever reason his opinion of me had suddenly become what mattered most to me in the world.
"It's a non-profit space I'm opening up... something to give back to the community," I quickly said.
He smiled and said something like "Pretty cool."
That was how it all began, really. I knew I had to convince Kelley to represent him. And if anyone had the old man wrapped around his little finger it was certainly I.