a painting than a photograph. Miss Shutterbug is amazing.
And back here is a bride and—
I’m not believing this. That’s Lorry and Charles. This is not good. In fact, this is very bad. I’d better get back to the hotel and let Eleanor know about this. Something has to be done.
INHALING DEEPLY, MICHELLE reminded herself to smile and relax. Everything was going better than she’d dared to hope. A large crowd had gathered even prior to the official opening time, and she’d felt like royalty stepping out of the limo into the flash of several cameras. Marco, the gallery owner, had come through with some press coverage.
The news cameras were being set up, and while she didn’t relish the idea of being filmed, if she wanted to sell her work as an artist, publicity was the name of the game. So far so good.
She allowed herself to be swept into the gallery with a cluster of socialites who’d come with checkbooks in hand. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.
Photojournalism was as much a part of her as her skin, and she’d never give it up, but to be accepted as a fine artist who worked with a camera instead of paints and brushes was her dream. One she’d been afraid to reach for until Marco had encouraged her.
She walked over to the tall, distinguished gallery owner and linked her arm through his. “You are a magician!”
He kissed her cheek, beaming like her father should have, had he been able to accept her for who she, was instead of always faulting her for who she wasn’t. “I merely hung these wonderful prints, Michelle. Nothing more.”
“Right, fairy godmother. Where’s my pumpkin coach and the white mice you turned into horses?”
His laughter echoed through the gallery. Cameras clicked and flashguns popped. “Thank you, Marco,” she said as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“Tend to your public, Michelle.” He frowned. “Did that cat come with you?”
Michelle looked in the direction he’d indicated. A beautiful black cat sat on an antique table, staring at her. It almost seemed as if the cat had singled her out. The idea was preposterous.
“No, he didn’t come with me.”
“If he’s a stray, I think I’ll keep him. He lends a certain air of sophistication to the gallery, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed.” Michelle strolled over and stroked the cat’s back. He purred and rubbed against her. There was something very…familiar about him. “Behave, and you may have yourself a good home,” she whispered to him before she went to the rear of the gallery to check on the pictures there.
She picked up a glass of champagne from a waiter and moved through the gallery, listening to the flattering comments of the guests. As she turned a corner, she saw the photograph of the Confederate wedding. She was so shocked, she stopped, forcing the traffic behind her to halt or collide with her. For seconds, she merely stared at the picture, wanting to believe that it wasn’t really there.
“Darling, that’s incredible. I expect that young couple to step out of the canvas and finish the kiss,” a middle-aged woman said to her. “I’d like to buy it.”
Michelle swallowed. She glanced around, wondering what to do. “I’m sorry, but it isn’t for sale.”
“I’m willing to pay a handsome price. There’s something magical about that picture.”
“It isn’t for sale.” She spoke more firmly than she’d intended. The woman huffed and walked away.
Michelle had to do something, but she didn’t know what. First of all, she had to get the picture down. She had no release form signed, which meant she had no permission to exhibit the photo. She could be sued.
She slipped through several people staring at the picture and began to lift it from the hooks.
“Michelle, what are you doing?” Marco was at her side.
“It has to come down.” She spoke through clenched teeth as she wrestled with the wire and hook that held it.
“It’s the best of the show.” Marco grasped her elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“This wasn’t meant to be hung,” she said. Behind Marco she saw both television cameras whirring. The news crews had sensed a moment of drama and were capturing everything on film.
Holding up a hand over each lens, she tried to block them. “Stop filming,” she said.
When they ignored her, she felt her temper ignite. “Stop that now. This picture isn’t meant to be shown.”
The crowd, which had been boisterous with laughter only moments before, grew quiet and gathered round her.
“Michelle, darling, come with me to the office,” Marco said. He tried to hold her elbow, but she pulled free from him.
“Get that picture down,” she said. “Please. I don’t have permission—”
Marco smiled at his guests. “I’ve made a mistake by hanging this photograph,” he said smoothly. “Could we all step to the front of the gallery while I have it replaced with the proper picture?”
As he beckoned the people to follow him, Michelle went back to the picture. She wanted to pull it from the wall, but she knew she’d already shown far too much emotion.
She felt something brush against her legs, and she looked down at the cat. He put one gentle paw on her knee and then gave a soft meow.
As crazy as it sounded, she felt as if he sympathized with her situation.
Two workers appeared at her side and gently removed the photograph. Within moments, they reappeared with a still life to replace it.
Michelle inhaled, trying hard to calm herself. It was over now. That the photo had been hung in the show was grounds for a lawsuit, but she’d moved to correct her error instantly. The news crews would likely never use the footage they’d shot. In a city like New York, there were far bigger stories to cover than a photo exhibit.
The damage was minimal. And now she had to get back up front with Marco. He’d gotten everyone laughing at one of his jokes. She needed to prove that she wasn’t some kind of psycho witch. She lifted her shoulders and walked toward the crowd.
Chapter Three
As good as room service is in this hotel, I have to say the delicacies at the photo exhibit were better. It was with great reluctance that I left that platter of roast beef crusted with fresh garlic. That gallery owner, Marco, is a man with a discriminating palate. His offer to take me in has a lot of merit. I wonder if I could merely visit. Naturally, I’d never abandon Eleanor and Peter. They adore me, and they need me. But a SoHo party address would be a nice coup.
But enough about my limitless possibilities. It’s time for the news, and I want to be sure that Eleanor is watching. Those cameras were certainly whirring, capturing Michelle Sieck’s moment of high drama as she tried to yank her photograph off the wall.
If
