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She flinched when murmurs started filtering in the crowd, uncomfortable with the attention.
When Iimagined what the art scene might criticize me for, it revolved around me being asellout. My choice of color palette did not come to the back, front, or any corner of my mind. Idid, however, have every intention to defend it.
“Allow me to clarify. Ihaven’tonce insinuated any artist who does or doesn’tuse my methods is either less potent or lazy.” Ipushed the stool with my palms, sitting up straighter. “Ioffered tools, ideas. If the conclusion you came up with is different and offended you, it says more about you than it does about me.”
No one interrupted us, not even the crowd’sgasps, and the woman who so evidently disliked me kept talking. “You can twist your words, but you can’tmake me believe I’mimagining things.”
My jaw ticked and Isuppressed my rising and bewildering anger. Besides calling me acondescending jerk, she added to the pile liar and manipulator—nothing further from the truth. We had an audience, afilming audience, which Isuddenly couldn’tcare less about.
Feeling alone in the room with her ignited my unfiltered retort. “You’re young and Idon’tknow what your educational background is. By your comment, I’massuming it’snot aformal one. Any artist who’sworth his grain of salt knows that mixing and blending tones and colors is just as vital as the painting methods themselves are.”
She flinched again, backing up against the wall. Her distress registered and Irealized Ihad taken my rant astep too far. Unable to stop myself and keen on proving to her Icame from apoint of view of areal painter, Iadded, “Sometimes it’simportant to actually go back in order to move forward.”
Having said these final words, my anger simmered and the rest of the room returned to view. The shame Ifelt for losing control loomed over me as soon as that happened, of the way Itreated her and the bad impression I’dbeen giving these people whose approval Isought. Ihad nothing more to say, and honestly, Ididn’twant to start another tirade, so Ishut my mouth.
The lady who challenged me remained just as silent, more proof Ihad gone overboard, and Iregretted it. There was nothing Icould do to fix it, except change the subject and move on, which Idid. With acough to clear my throat and asmile on my face, Iasked, “Anyone else?”
No one spoke and Iwent on without another reference to my palette, avoiding unnecessary flare-ups. The smooth cadence of my voice seemed to appease them, and when Ifinished, aswarm of people approached me to either congratulate me on my return or to thank me for sharing my experience.
Almost everyone. With all her attitude, she didn’ttake criticism very well, fleeing the moment the speaking engagement ended. Again, Iregretted confronting her. Putting down any person, especially women, wasn’tapart of my character.
Ishouldn’thave felt bad, because she—with her infuriating eye roll—brought this out of me.
Ireally shouldn’thave, because more than her eye roll, it was the pull to her that maddened me, messed with my brain.
And yet, against all logic, Ifelt like atotal shit.
After the mildly inconvenient speaking engagement, Iheaded to arestaurant nearby to meet my childhood and only friend, Zach.
He gave me ashort hug before we sat down in the outdoor dining area overlooking the street. “Sorry Icouldn’tmake it to your speech. Igot an urgent phone call Ihad to deal with before Ileft the office.”
“Don’tworry about it.” Ismoothed out the red and white tablecloth and straightened the silverware. Everything needed to be in place. “Iknow how hard you work to impress Arthur.”
Arthur was Zach’sfather and asenior partner at his law firm, and Zach’sattitude towards him was one of the many things that differentiated us. For starters, Istopped trying to please my parents when Ileft the states. Zach was the optimist to my broody mood, the suit to my casual outfits. His eyes were clear blue while mine were auburn, his hair dark and short in contrast to my long, brown-blond one, his jaw clear of any facial hair while my beard hid plenty of my face.
Polar opposites who somehow found each other and made it work.
Zach affixed his sunglasses to shield himself from the late afternoon’ssun. “Not for long.”
Igave the waitress atight-lipped smile as she placed the menus on the table. “I’minterested. Tell me more.”
“It’sstill asurprise.” He glanced to the side and lowered his voice. “Let’sjust say that soon Iwon’tbe working forSheppard, Larsen, andBergmannand will be working forSheppard Rowe.”
The move back to the States took up so much of my time that Ihadn’tasked my friendwhat’supin what seemed like forever. “Your own firm? Congratulations. And finally.”
“Shhh.” Zach motioned me to sit back down when Igot up to hug him. “It’sstill under wraps and if anyone who knows my father overhears this…”
“Understood.” Inodded once, taking back my place.
His lips curved up as he sipped from the glass of water. “Thanks though. Tell me about you—what’dyou talk about?”
“Nothing you haven’theard before, numerous times. And you definitely didn’tmiss out on the girl who gave me an earful for saying Ipaint exclusively with the Zorn palette.”
“Those four holy colors you refuse to let go of?” He glanced at me from behind the menu.
“See, you heard it all before.” Ipicked up mine too, checking out the drinks.
“Ifind it hard to believe she found your personal choice offensive.” He left the menu alone, giving me his full attention. “You sure you didn’tsay anything else that might have sounded, hmm, Idon’tknow, patronizing?”
