Perspectives
Who: Angelo and OPEN TO ALL
Where: A gallery uptown
When: Evening
The absurdity of it all was how Angelo felt split between two very different moods tonight, how he nearly felt like two different people battling for control of one body. On the one side, he was enthused and delighted by the turnout, genuinely heartened by how much weight a Walker endorsement seemed to carry. The gallery itself was nearly full, and had been since not long after opening the doors, sustained by a steady trickle of people moving in and out like leaks in the wall of a dam. And whether they were in suits and dresses that cost more than Angelo made in six months or repurposing their Sunday best for tonight's outing, it seemed like they were enjoying themselves.
Of course, on the other hand? He was nervous, even queasy at moments as he milled around the gallery, stopping now and then to either speak to guests or eavesdrop on their opinions of his work. Maybe it was the new suit, a subdued tan three-button that he feared didn't fit like it should. Maybe it was the murmurs he hadn't fully heard but instantly feared, bits of words that could've been critiques of a sophomoric technique. Or maybe it was just that it had been ten long hours now since his last fix, and nothing else would've soothed Angelo's nerves so well.
Still, it wasn't for lack of trying, and he did have little pockets of salvation in the gallery. Shannah was here somewhere, she'd said Elle would be too, and who knew who else? He'd hired the piano player from the Kitten for the evening, and the light notes of music floating around conversation were a soothing thing. Even the lighting that he'd tweaked helped in it's own soft, subdued and warm way. All he really needed was to ignore the idea of the silent bids and purchases being made, keep a warm grin on his lips, and try to offer silent thanks to every person he didn't have a chance to speak to, just for being here. It was something, that was for sure. To Angelo? It was the whole world, if only for tonight.
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Maya wouldn't miss this for the world. Then again, there were few social occasions of the right stature that she would miss. She liked to have her face out there, be seen in the right places with the right people, and so much better for a gallery function that she was known to be sponsoring than the tacky nothingness of the 'Boardwalk', which everyone who had an ear to the ground knew was being run by the Syndicate. Well, it said a whole lot about the lack of class in that organisation - the Kitten Club, now the Boardwalk. And they wanted power in this city. Maybe they'd get in, but it would only ever be amongst the dregs.
A glass of wine held delicately between her fingers, she surveyed the room, taking in everyone, looking for names, faces, or those who would be interesting enough to hold her attention.
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Generally speaking, Benny didn't do this sort of thing. He loved a high society function, of course; any chance to buy a new suit and make it look good was one he never wasted. But art in general wasn't a subject he'd ever had much interest in, too often it was simply that the motivations and meanings were beyond him. However, when his employers were the ones holding the event? It could've been a gathering in Fontaine Park to watch the grass grow, Benny would be there. It would be unseemly not to be, not to mention that he suspected his ward was here somewhere, mixing in the throngs of people.
And while he hadn't spotted her yet, he had seen Maya standing with her back to an admittedly captivating painting, watching the rest of the gathering. "Mrs. Walker," Benny greeted as he strolled her way, raising his own glass in greeting, "Your family certainly knows how to hold an event that impresses."
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Maya turned to Benny and tilted her own glass, before taking a sip. "Thank you - we do try," she said, from around the rim, smiling a little. Her family had a reputation to uphold, after all. the Walker name was a brand of quality. People would scramble to be attached to it. There was a real usefulness in wuch a thing. "You're looking quite dapper tonight - how are things progressing?" she asked him.
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"Well enough," Benny answered, grinning at the compliment and idly straightening his tie, "And you're looking rather tempting yourself." Not that he'd actually try to seduce a woman like Maya, that could blow up in his face far too quickly. Now, if she made advances on him, as a fair share of women had? Benny could breathe easier. But that wasn't exactly a probable thing, was it? No, so for now the compliment was simply playful in nature, matched by the gleam in his eye.
"Cheyenne is well, of course, though her fears are a true challenge. Her pursuer appears less frequently in her pictures, but is still there, and for all I know he's simply learned to avoid the camera's lense," he explained in a low, tactful voice, mindful of how many eavesdroppers someone like Maya would have to endure. It didn't seem likely, though: Benny had gotten the impression that the man, whoever he was, wanted her to see him in some aspect. "But I feel that she's more willing to head into the city with me there, of course," Benny added, sipping his wine, "And when she feels like practicing, she's doing well with our lessons. Still, I wish I had more good news to share."
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Maya nodded, taking this in. "Well, thank you for the update in any event," she said, as though they were talking about the weather, also mindful of where they were. "Does she often not feel like practising?" she asked, raising an eyebrow slightly, picking up on that.
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The butterflies in her stomach had started an hour before Alec was due to arrive and they'd not alleviated much, though she did breath a little easier once they were inside the gallery. People were busy milling about, chatting and thankfully only a few eyes glanced at her. Actually most of their eyes settled on Alec, and for the first time Marian realized that this was his world, where he belonged, even if to her he seemed more at ease in his booth at Nighthawk's.
They'd made a loop around the room, taking in the different paintings, and Marian had found herself in front of the original painting Angelo had showed her, the one with the stars in the puddle. "It's lovely, isn't it?" she asked Alec, looking up at him. They were standing close, both due to the crowd and so she could be heard over the din of conversation around them.
Alec's leg was still bothering him and he had his cane on him again that night. It had been going rather smoothly, provided he ignored the whispers that had happened when he came in with Marian. Marian didn't seem to notice them, but Alec had been around this his entire life. He knew when people were being talked about. He just ignored it and pretended that it was just him and Marian there. It was working really well so far. Marian seemed pretty relaxed and that had Alec relaxed. "It is," he agreed, looking at the painting. It was nice. Peaceful.
"This one was the first one that caught my eye," she told him, turning her eyes back to the painting. "Angelo says that sometimes the stars aren't as far away as they look in the sky." She smiled a little to herself as she explained, still not entirely understanding what she was repeating, but liking the way it sounded.
That didn't really make a lot of sense to Alec, but he was wise enough not to say so. The water was simply reflecting the stars. "It's a nice way to look at it," he agreed and shifted his grip on his cane a little bit. He'd taken some medication before leaving and while his leg was feeling better, it still twinged a little. "What do you think? Do you share the same opinion as the painter?"
She'd be lying if she said she didn't like that about him, the way Alec always asked her what she was thinking and in a tone that sounded like he really wanted to hear. Most of the time people only asked her that when they were ordering food and in the end they always went with their own choice anyway. "It's a nice idea isn't it?" she said with a little shrug and looking back up at him. "Makes dreams and things seem less silly." Like dreams about the handsome customer who took her nice places, but didn't want to use her in return.
He smiled down at her a little bit and looked at the painting. He was glad that she had answered him genuinely, because he had meant it. He wanted to know what she thought. "Dreams are never silly. Without dreams, you wouldn't have this country. You wouldn't have the diner you worked in. We wouldn't have the lights or this painting or cars or anything. Dreams are ideas. Thoughts that make the world go around." He looked back down at her and winked. "Dreams are never silly."
The wink made her flush a little, dropping her eyes from his and hiding behind her hair with a shy smile. "That's what Zhen says," she told him as if he'd know who Zhen was. "But poor waitresses don't dream of anything like that. They dream of waking up and not being hungry or they have nightmares of how they've let their family down." A little sigh escaped and she didn't look back up at Alec, she couldn't.
Hesitantly, Alec reached behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed a little, wanting to offer some strength. She sounded like she could use some and if he could offer it, he would do so. "The thing about family is that sometimes you think you've let them down when in fact you're just letting yourself down and you convince yourself that you're letting someone else down because it's easier to swallow. Which is why you should talk to your family. Make sure everything is okay."
Marian tried very hard not to tense when he touched her, and wondered if she was supposed to lean into him. Unsure she stayed steady, but didn't make any move to shrug his hand away. "Maybe I should," she said, looking up at him and thinking of Roy. Things had gone so badly the last time she saw him. "I just wish I could do more for them. Sometimes though I can't even stay afloat myself." Marian blushed again, closing her mouth quickly. She didn't usually talk about that sort of thing regularly.
Alec only knew that Marian had her brother, who sometimes he'd seen walking her home, but it sounded like there was more there. "In the end, we need to take care of ourselves first because what use would we be to other people if we weren't taking care of ourselves. And usually that serves a bigger service to our families. Where we're okay could mean that everyone else does better because they don't have to worry." He squeezed her shoulder again before pulling his hand away.
She felt tears starting to well up in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back. "They're young though. Not all of them, but most are kids. I can't..." she trailed off chewing on her lower lip a little. The lack of warmth from where his hand sent a small shiver down her spine. She didn't know if she wanted him to touch her again, but she felt the difference when he stopped.
Alec exhaled slowly and glanced around. "Come on. Let's get out of here and get something to eat." Because even if she was holding back tears, he could still hear it in her voice and that meant that right now? The gallery showing didn't matter that much.
"What?" Marian asked, surprised and glancing back at him. "We don't have to...oh I'm sorry. I didn't meant to be boring or I was talking to much? I'm sorry," her voice was hushed and full of the apologies she was voicing.
Alec's hand found her shoulder again and this time started turning her towards the door. "We've seen all the paintings and Mitzy Frierson is heading in this direction and I really don't want to talk to her so let's go. How 'bout some pie?" Pie was good and the Mitzy was a lie but by the trace of anxiety in Alec's voice, it came off as truth. That Alec was the one that needed to get out of there. "You don't mind, do you?"
Marian glanced around looking for another woman though she spotted more than one who was looking at them. She let him guide her, now finally noticing all of the looks that she was getting. People were watching them not just him. Her eyes widened a little, and she nodded. "Pie sounds fine," she said softly, looking up at him.
He gave her a smile and nudged her in the direction of the door. "I'm thinking apple."
Chie and Lucas
Dinners and fancy parties weren’t really Chie’s scene. That wasn’t to say that she was uncultured, but these expensive, very American events didn’t do much but make her feel out of place. And what she did when she felt out of place was put on a mask that belonged here. She drifted among the gallery’s crowd, holding a glass of wine with an air of complete nonchalance. She was at ease here and nothing could topple her. She caught sight of the familiar back of a head (she’d done a lengthy back tattoo of his) and came up to his side, quiet as a mouse. “I didn’t know that you liked art, Lucas,” she said, looking not at the reporter, but at the painting in front of them.
Lucas had spent most of the time bored out of his damned mind. His mother had showed him around some, commenting on his suit and his latest articles until he managed to peel away. Of course Sam wasn’t anywhere to be found and when he asked after her, there was a nasty rumor bubbling that the last place she’d been seen was visiting her cousin Ian’s apartment at the Drake. That, although interesting, had left him without an informant to pester and at leat another hour before his mother was ready to leave. When Chie walked up he’d not even been looking at the fucking painting, just counting brushstrokes because it seemed more entertaining than counting the seconds. He glance to the side, taking her in for a moment before answering. “I don’t really. But the dutiful son always does what mother asks. I didn’t think you liked parties.” The way he said parties definitely meant he was indicating mob family parties, which, despite all their pretense, that was exactly what this was.
“I don’t,” Chie said, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m here for a friend.” Which was... sort of true. Angelo was her client and she was his dealer, but that didn’t mean they didn’t sometimes talk, or that he hadn’t invited her to his gallery opening. She could always appreciate the work of another artist, and she wanted Angelo to go far in his life. Besides her own mother and father, he was the only person she could say that truly deserved success. “I didn’t know you were a dutiful son.”
“A friend? Must be quite the friend,” Lucas commented, wondering if the friend was him. “I do what I can to be. Be kind of a waste if I wasn’t would I? Plus, my mom gives me less grief about not marrying or working at the paper if I show up to these things every so often.”
“That, and quite the artist,” Chie said, tilting his head as she examined the painting. Chie was usually too busy to go to galleries and museums, but she went when she could, and Angelo’s work looked like it belonged here on these walls. “So you’re not really being a dutiful son, then. You’re just trying to have your own way.”
“Having my own way by being a dutiful son. If I was really being a dutiful son, I’d have significantly less of your artwork on my body and I’d be married. That’s not the life for me.” He looked over at her again, grin playing along his lips. “You take any second thought to my offers.” The plural comment was on purpose; there’d been more than one offer tossed around in that small room.
Chie tilted her head just slightly, her dry look in Lucas’s direction telling him just what she thought of his other offer. “I’m still wondering why you think I want to believe you so much.”
He chuckled with a true grin, knowing that she’d turn him down. He also knew he’d probably try again. “I’m still wondering why you’re so hesitant to believe me. I’ve been a reporter for years, and never once have I given away a source, I’m not about to start now.”
“Just because you won’t give up your source doesn’t mean others don’t have ways of finding out,” Chie countered, turning towards Lucas with an arched eyebrow. “Or that people won’t blindly strike out until they’re satisfied.”
“Then we make sure they don’t know it’s you. And if shit goes down we hide you out somewhere,” he said like it was simple. He’d done it before.
“Hide me out?” Even much shorter than Lucas, she was looking up at him with a ferocity that ignored their differences in height. “So you would uproot me and my family so you can have your little story?”
“What if my little story brings them down?” Lucas posed, seemingly not phased by her ferocity. Ignoring it he leaned in close so he wouldn’t be heard by anyone else. “You think of that? You could be rid of them forever,” he whispered.
“And what if it just makes things worse for everyone?” Chie countered. She looked away from him for a moment, loosening her grip on her wine glass--she’d been holding it so tightly, her palm was red. “You can’t always be the hero just because you want to.”
“That’s the conversation I want to have then,” he told her, watching her hand loosen. “You tell me why we won’t be better off without them on the streets. That’s a conversation worth having as well.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out another card, holding it out to her. “You change your mind, you call me. This is just in case you threw the first one away. Maybe we’ll have dinner.” Lucas leaned in again, ghosting a small kiss across her cheek then strolled off.
The kiss, the card. Chie had always found Lucas’s devil-may-care attitude worth an eye roll or two; sometimes she even found it charming. But now it was a little aggravating, him putting on his cape and casual smile that he thought he could rock the whole world with. But the conversation wasn’t about how great it would be to dismantle the Lotus from the top down--it was about how awful it would be if his attempt failed. Still, she let him go, holding onto the card (she hadn’t thrown the first one away) moving into the opposite end of the gallery.