A Likely Story by Leigh McMullan Abramson

Author:Leigh McMullan Abramson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria
Published: 2023-03-14T00:00:00+00:00

ISABELLE MANNING UNDERPAINTING

Eight months too late, Aiden was finally getting what he wanted. Tonight, Aiden Connors: Looking Back, a curated exhibit featuring ten works that had been found postmortem, was opening at the swankiest of swanky SoHo galleries. Aiden had had plenty of shows, but this one, at this place, with this invite list, would have validated him in the fine art world in the way he’d believed was his due.

The gallery was full of obnoxious people who insisted upon double kissing my cheeks, so I was especially glad when I spied Sam arrive from across the room.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” I said when I reached him. “These art people are brutal.”

Sam smiled and offered his arm. “Shall we look around?” We strolled the gallery, admiring Ann-Margret, Sylvia Plath, Frida Kahlo, and Katharine Hepburn. They all had sizeable crowds around them, but nowhere near as big as the portrait at the far end of the gallery. We walked until the packed bodies blocked our way. We stood silently, taking in the image of Zelda Fitzgerald. In the painting, Zelda is not more than twenty. Her look is wistful, yet intense, within her stare a kind of plea.

“Iconic,” said a woman next to us. “Aiden Connors was such a feminist.”

I quickly turned my guffaw into a cough.

“This one does live up to the hype,” said Sam. “Magnificent.”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose it does.”

“Livia, do you notice someone staring at you?” Sam motioned to a woman standing against the wall, who was indeed eyeing me. She was very young, with hair that sat perched in two little buns on top of her head. She wore a spaghetti-strap dress and had spindly legs punctuated by boat-sized Doc Martens. There was another similarly aged skinny woman standing next to her in a tank top and kilt skirt.

“She’s very interested in you,” said Sam.

“Oh,” I said, “probably some mega fan of Aiden’s. Sometimes the fascination trickles down to me.”

“I’m fascinated by you,” said Sam, kissing my hand.

I felt a tap on my leg. “Yoohoo!” Startled, I turned to see my mother grinning in her chair.

“Mom!”

“I hope it’s okay, she insisted she was up for it,” said Gloria.

“Of course.”

“I couldn’t miss this,” said my mother. “Bring me closer to Zelda.” My mother didn’t know her own phone number, but she had no trouble remembering Zelda Fitzgerald. She squinted at the picture. “One of your best, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” I said, heat rising in my cheeks, “it’s not mine, Mom. It’s Aiden’s.”

“Nonsense. I think I know my daughter’s work.”

I quickly looked at Sam and shrugged.

“It’s beautiful,” he said to my mother, then softer to me. “Sometimes it’s kinder to go with it.”

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