Chapter 2

John grinned. “I don’t think that’s the answer they’re looking for. Oh, well, I’d better—We’d better go take our places.”

An hour later, Ryan was ready to strangle the next person who questioned why he drew people, rather than ‘picturesque’ things like landscapes or building. “Because it’s what I like, and I’m good at it,” he grumbled under his breath. I’m a good watercolorist, too, but the owners wanted my drawings, so that’s what they got.

He looked around the now crowded gallery, wondering how many of the patrons were really interested in buying something. He had the sneaking suspicion at least half of them were there because it was a social event and they wanted to be seen as supporters of the arts by their peers.

Across the room, he thought he saw a familiar face. The man looked at him, then smiled as he wove his way through the throng to join Ryan. Rather than greeting Ryan, the man studied each of the drawings.

Finally, he said, “You’re as good as I thought you’d be, after seeing the sketch you did at the park.”

Ryan dipped his head momentarily, replying, “Thank you.”

“I never did get the chance to introduce myself. I’m Merrick Hampton.”

“Nice to have a name for the face,” Ryan replied, instantly wondering if it sounded as cliché to Merrick as it did to him.

Apparently, it didn’t, because Merrick didn’t seem put off. “How long have you been drawing,” he asked.

“Since I first knew what a pencil was for,” Ryan replied. When Merrick lifted an eyebrow, Ryan told him, “I’m serious. According to my parents, instead of learning to write, I’d draw trees and houses, and stick figures to go with them, whenever they handed me paper and a pencil.”

Merrick grinned. “In other words, you can’t spell worth a damn, but you can draw what you want to say, instead.”

“It’s not quite that bad, thankfully.”

“Either way, you’re a very good artist, in my opinion, Ryan. Keep it up, and you might have your own opening soon, without the competition.” Merrick nodded to another artist’s painting hanging next to Ryan’s drawings.

“It’s my dream, although I seriously doubt it will be soon, if it happens at all.”

“I believe it will,” Merrick replied. With a nod of affirmation, he smiled at Ryan and then moved on to look at another artwork. At that point, Ryan lost track of him when a couple started asking him the obligatory, as he thought of it, questions about his drawings.

It was almost time for the gallery to close, and the crowd had dwindled to a few dozen diehards, when Mr. Foster came over to Ryan. “Four of your drawings sold,” he said.

“Wow.” Ryan sighed with relief.

Mr. Foster smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re a very good artist. We wouldn’t have made you part of the exhibition otherwise.”

“Thank you. This sort of validates the fact that other people must agree with you.” Ryan grinned. “Now, I’m a professional artist.”

“As long as you don’t let it go to your head,” Mr. Foster cautioned. “I’ve seen it happen one too many times. Then the artist decides he has to have his own show. He knocks out enough artwork to do so, finds a small gallery to rent, and falls on his face because the new stuff isn’t up to what he’s capable of.”

“I’ll remember that,” Ryan replied. “I wouldn’t mind being popular, I guess you could say. But not if it compromises what I’m doing.”

“That, Ryan, makes you a true artist, as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, as you know, your drawings will remain in the exhibition until it closes.” As he spoke, Mr. Foster affixed small green dots to the card next to each sold drawing. “Again, congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Not sure it’s ‘again’, since it’s the first time he said it, but I’ll take it in the spirit it was intended.

He wondered if Merrick had been one of the buyers, but knew there was no way to find out. The gallery kept such information classified so artists wouldn’t approach someone with more of their artwork, thus denying the gallery its percentage of a sale.

As Ryan got ready to leave, his thoughts once again went to Merrick. He wondered if he’d ever see the man again. Probably not. He might like my drawings, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to track me down to get more of them—or for any other reason. Which is kind of too bad. I’d like to do some more sketches of him, in person, not from memory. He’s got the dark, brooding thing going for him. He suddenly realized it was true. Merrick was handsome, to be sure, but there was something about him which said there was a lot more to him than just good looks. Kind of scary, but definitely fascinating, too. I could do an interesting series revolving around him, given half a chance. Won’t happen, though. Tonight was undoubtedly the last I’ll see of him.