Strokes of Desperation (Cook's Cove Women's Fiction Mystery Novels Book 3) by Leslie Judy

Author:Leslie, Judy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Judy Leslie
Published: 2024-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

Vicki took a breath and left Jenny’s bathroom, the memory fading from her mind. Returning to her studio, she glanced at the half-finished painting of Catori on the easel. They both had suffered because a man left them to fend for themselves.

Fend for ourselves. Vicki looked at the row of paintings. What did Catori do after her lover left? It couldn’t be as bad as what she endured in New York City—could it?

Vicki got a flash of Catori sitting on the curb, her head down, crying. The room began to spin, and Vicki reached behind her to break her fall, knocking over a picture as her knees buckled. She lay there, surrounded by a gang of paintings. Overpowered by emotions, she curled into a fetal position and sobbed. Thoughts of New York City pushed at her like a river breaking through a damn.

In the beginning, she had been hopeful, even optimistic, about making it on her own as an artist in New York. She figured if she just put her head down and got to work painting, things would work out.

Wandering the vast, empty warehouse, Vicki found a little corner to call her own. As she pulled out her supplies with trembling hands, she stared anxiously at the blank canvas on the easel before her. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Concentrating was impossible, with the pounding rap music blaring relentlessly in the background, fraying her already scattered thoughts. What on earth was she going to paint? Still life? Landscapes? She didn’t know how to even begin to break into the cutthroat New York art scene.

As she half-heartedly dabbed at the canvas, she overheard a group of artists talking and laughing nearby, listening to them discuss scrambling to get shows at hole-in-the-wall galleries across the city.

One girl caught sight of Vicki’s quaint little seaside scene taking shape and let out a laugh that cut straight to her core.

“You must be out of your mind if you think anyone wants cute beach paintings in this city,” she sneered, her eyes glinting cruelly. “No one can relate to that crap. You need raw portraits of real people and their struggles or colorful abstracts if you actually want to make it here.”

She blinked back humiliated tears as the girls chuckled amongst themselves. Doubt crept into her mind, strangling her fledgling confidence. Maybe she didn’t have what it takes after all.

Over the next few soul-crushing weeks, she desperately lugged her artwork around on buses and subways, going from shop to shop, her blistered feet screaming in agony. All she encountered were slammed doors, and dismissive head shakes. Her hard-earned savings dwindled as she replenished her rapidly disappearing art supplies.

Desperate, she spent the last few precious dollars renting a booth at an outdoor fair, hoping against hope to finally make a sale. But the crowds drifted past all day, barely glancing at her work. By the time she packed up that evening, she was drained and on the verge of tears.

Then the absolute worst happened—she discovered her cash box stolen.

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