All Things Beautiful, page 5
“We do this for several reasons. It’s our first step toward filtering potential applicants to find those who are sincere about wanting to learn classical methods. Our students know which of their classmates, friends, or family members are serious and will be a good fit. While not everyone accepted has had a former student’s recommendation, most have, so some of you may know one another.”
Casey glanced at Devin to find him staring at her. She’d get used to seeing him every day again, wouldn’t she? She looked away.
“It also serves to foster a pleasant atmosphere. By providing you with a letter of recommendation, those former students have vouched for you. Look around this circle.”
Casey did, finding Mark first, right beside her as always, then Mikala, who smiled at her.
Before she could look at the others, Leighton moved behind her.
Casey stilled. She remembered the nearness of Leighton’s fingers to Erica’s hair earlier. Where were they now?
“These are the people with whom you’re going to be spending a lot of time.”
The brush of Leighton’s touch on the worn upholstery of the sofa sounded close to Casey’s ear, making it difficult to keep her mind on Leighton’s voice.
“Our atelier family,” something, probably her hand, lifted from the top of the backrest then pressed down again, even closer, “scrutinized your portfolios for talent and work ethic.”
Casey leaned her head back, then caught herself. What was she doing? She sat straighter and adjusted her position.
“We also looked to accept students we’d enjoy getting to know. I hope we’ll become your second family and the studio your second home for this next year.” Leighton moved further around the circle.
Casey breathed a sigh of relief. How stupid could she be? Hadn’t she embarrassed herself enough already today?
Mark poked her in the side and gave her a WTF look.
She ignored him.
“We also believe in learning from those around us,” Leighton was still speaking from where she now stood behind Jaiden, “regardless of education, age, or experience. Stefan and I may be your instructors, but you’ll also benefit from Erica’s knowledge and by observing and talking to one another.”
Her eyes shone with an optimism Casey found enchanting.
“Our goal is for everyone to succeed, and to that end, besides attending classes and practicing your craft in the studio, I also expect you to volunteer four hours a week downstairs in the gallery.”
Casey smiled, remembering what Mark had said about Erica earning extra money from her sales.
“We think four hours is a fair amount of time, and it has a purpose. You’ll gain valuable experience talking with the public about your art and that of your peers’. You’ll learn ways to market and promote yourself and how to handle the financial aspects of selling paintings and running a gallery. It’s as much a learning experience as your formal classes.”
Andy flashed through Casey’s mind. While her time spent in the gallery could mean more money, it entailed four more hours away from him each week. But then, there was the possibility of being able to quit her job at the coffeehouse.
Leighton came full circle and stopped directly across from Casey again, then lowered herself to sit, balanced on the arm of Erica’s chair. “You aren’t required to put your work in the gallery, but we encourage it.” She went on to cover how they could receive up to ninety-five percent from the sale of any of their pieces if they were the seller. “We believe the five percent the gallery gets to be more than fair. Most galleries take fifty, and often the artist has to pay for advertising and promotional materials.”
Casey had to admit having a roomful of people promoting her artwork was a nice perk. Plus, she welcomed any additional income from her sales of theirs. She froze as she recalled the price of some of Leighton’s and Stefan’s works. They ranged into five-figure territory. Five percent of that would make a major difference in her life. The realization must have brought a smile to her face because when she looked up and locked eyes with Leighton across the circle, she was smiling, too. Casey tried not to fidget under her evident amusement.
“I believe you all met Maxine Shipton downstairs.” Leighton sent a glance to each of the first-years before continuing. “She runs the gallery and manages most of its operations, so you’ll schedule your hours with her, and she’ll cover the times when one of you can’t be present. In addition, she’ll work with each of you to price your art. She donates her time here as well as generously dividing her five percent commission on any sales she makes between all of you. Students have received checks every month since the atelier’s start, even if the sums weren’t always significant.” Leighton paused, her expression becoming serious. “Maxine is so giving of her time because she enjoys being a part of what we do here. She’s an ardent supporter of the arts, and she believes in me, my school, and your potential. I don’t take her for granted, and neither should you.”
Leighton’s demeanor made her point far better than her words.
With that, her smile returned, and she stood. “Erica, do you have the syllabi?” She held out her hand expectantly.
Erica pulled a stack of papers from between her hip and the arm of her chair and gave them to Leighton.
She took one and passed the rest to Jenna, who occupied the seat on her other side. When everyone was ready, she raised hers. “You’re holding your syllabus for the semester. It’s also online. It spells out what we expect to cover and in what order. Your homework is to read through it tonight and bring any questions you might have tomorrow.” Her warm smile returned as she looked around the circle, this time with a glint of something in her eyes.
Happiness? Pride? Casey wasn’t sure.
“That’s all I have for you today. You’re welcome to choose a station and put your belongings in your taboret. Familiarize yourself with the studio, open cupboards and see where we store things, check out the still-life objects on the shelves, and try out your access cards and codes. Be sure to introduce yourself to Maxine before you leave, if you haven’t already. Questions?”
Jenna raised her hand.
“Just speak, remember, Jenna?”
She lowered it with a sheepish expression. “What’s your policy on absences or tardiness?”
Leighton took a deep breath. “We expect you to be in class. Stefan, Erica, and I make the effort to be here, and I hope you respect us enough to do the same. I’m not wasting my time taking attendance, however, when you’re late, it disrupts the class, so please try to be here before it begins. You’ll notice we never start especially early, so plan to arrive beforehand and put in some open studio time if running behind is a problem for you. That said, you’ll get out of this what you put into it. It’s all about brush miles.” Her tone was frank. “If you want to be a great artist, you need to practice your craft. Any more questions?”
When no one spoke, Leighton’s expression softened, like a proud mother pleased to have her family together for the holidays. With a wave, she set them free. “We’ll be around another hour, if anyone needs anything, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
Casey rose and turned in a circle, taking in the room and the people in it. She couldn’t wait to spend hours here, lost in her art. She liked everyone she’d met, and she could tolerate Devin. Yes, Atelier Vaughn already felt like home.
If only what she felt in Leighton’s presence were as clear. She pushed the thought aside, retrieved her backpack from the floor, and headed to the stations.
Three easels held canvases, two of them larger than the rest. Casey assumed the latter were the instructors’. Half-finished paintings showed a female figure’s outline, one on a white canvas, the other against a stained ground that looked like raw umber. While both depicted the same model, the artists had taken much different approaches. She studied them but couldn’t be sure which one was Leighton’s.
Just like she never won at musical chairs, Casey ended up with the last easel. It stood beside one of the bigger ones and was closest to Leighton’s office. Mikala had chosen the next station and Mark the one beyond that.
After running her hands along her taboret’s lacquered top and opening the drawers and cupboard below, Casey unzipped her backpack. An excited hum filled the room as everyone started putting away their supplies. It reminded her of being a kid. The first day of school had always thrilled her. She recalled the unmistakable scent of a fresh box of Crayola Crayons, the tip of each colored stick flawless, but their perfection so fleeting.
Instead of crayons, Casey removed a gallon-sized plastic bag of paints from her backpack and organized the tubes of artist-grade pigments Leighton had instructed them to purchase in a row inside a shallow drawer. Even their names brought her joy, colors like ultramarine blue, dioxazine purple, and alizarin crimson.
She unrolled her new bristle brushes and laid them on top of the taboret, then arranged a smaller group of soft, sable brushes alongside them. Two wooden-handled palette knives and a couple of lidded palette cups came next, and finally, she pulled a jar of brush soap from the bottom of her backpack.
“So, is it Andrew?”
She turned to find Leighton holding a bag of paper towels.
“Andrew?” Casey tilted her head, a little confused.
“Your son. Is Andy short for Andrew?”
“Oh, no. Anders, actually.” No one ever asked her that. They assumed his full name was Andrew without question. Was Leighton really curious, or had she simply wanted to talk to her?
“Is it a family name?” Whatever her initial reason for asking, Leighton seemed interested now.
“No.” Casey couldn’t imagine naming him after anyone in her family. “He’s named after his father’s favorite artist.”
Leighton opened her mouth, then closed it, as though Casey’s answer had flustered her, but she recovered quickly. “How original.” She moved beside Casey and dropped the bag. She attached the roll of paper towels she’d had under her arm to a chain on the side of the taboret. “There.” She stood close, as if waiting for something.
Casey inhaled her perfume, the same evocative scent that had clouded her mind in the elevator. It’s effect was no different now. “Thank you.” She fiddled with the jar of brush soap.
“Excellent choices.” Leighton perused the supplies Casey had laid out. She touched the hairs of one of the sable brushes. “These are some of my favorites. It’s difficult to put a price on quality.”
How was Casey supposed to respond when Leighton complimented her brushes? She’d recommended the brand in the welcome packet. At first, Casey had thought ordering paintbrushes from England was a little much. She never spent money on herself, not since her parents cut her off. But as soon as she opened the package and snapped the hog hair bristles against her palm and felt the silky sable between her fingers, she envisioned how wonderful it’d feel to drag them across a canvas.
And now, seeing Leighton’s reaction, she was even happier with her choice. “Thank you.” She couldn’t devise a better response.
Leighton smiled and picked up the remaining paper towels.
“Oh!” Leighton swung around, coming face-to-face with Casey, who’d taken a step forward. She grabbed Casey’s shoulder to avoid a collision.
Startled, Casey froze.
Leighton let go of her but remained in her personal space. “You’re welcome to bring Andy when you do your volunteer hours in the gallery. I don’t want you to be away from him any more than necessary.”
Casey could feel where Leighton’s fingers had warmed her skin through her shirt. Leighton’s voice had become much softer than when she’d spoken to the group.
“He’ll have a ball in the enormous space and, I’m sure, charm potential customers.”
Then Casey received a wink of her own from Leighton, and she thought she might burst. “Thank you. He’d like that. I’d like that.”
“Good.” Leighton seemed pleased. She moved on to Mikala’s station with the paper towels.
Casey watched as Leighton walked away, her shoulder still tingling. She never would’ve even thought to ask if she could bring Andy to the atelier for any reason, never mind when she’d be in the gallery. Leighton’s thoughtful gesture meant a lot. Most people wouldn’t want toddlers, with their sticky fingers and runny noses, around art, but Leighton seemed to prioritize a child’s time with his mother. Her considerate offer made Casey’s heart give a little squeeze. Had Leighton any idea the gift she’d given her?
Chapter Six
Leighton stepped off the elevator into the reception area of the gallery after Casey had left. She checked herself. After all the students had left.
Maxine worked at her desk, her posture poised and erect, like she waited to receive marks on sitting like an elegant lady in an etiquette class. No doubt she could teach it. She could probably walk the entire length of the gallery with three of the Met’s exhibition catalogs balanced on her head.
Even this late in the afternoon, her raven hair looked coiffed, not a single gray showing, unlike Leighton’s, where they seemed to appear every other day. Yet, Leighton would resent the time-consuming and expensive upkeep, not that expense mattered to Maxine.
Maxine turned. “Are you finished for the day, dear?”
“Yes, and I thought it went well.” Leighton sat on the corner of the desk.
Maxine flicked Leighton’s hip. “Don’t be a neanderthal.” She removed some catalogs from a chair and pushed it toward her.
Maxine had been her mother’s best friend since before Leighton had been born. They’d met as roommates at Bryn Mawr, and their friendship had thrived for decades before Leighton’s mother passed away. Maxine had been as devastated by the loss as she’d been. Whenever Maxine brought up stories about Leighton’s mom from times Leighton hadn’t been privy to, it brought equal parts fondness and sadness.
Now bored with her retired husband and having no children of her own, Maxine devoted her time to the atelier; Leighton, whom she loved like a daughter; and Kalyssa, who’d fulfilled her broken dream of being a grandmother. Well, the type of grandmother who took a four-year-old to tea rooms and Christmas dinner at the Ritz, not so much the kind to whip up a batch of cookies or opine whether Anna’s or Elsa’s dress would make a better choice for Halloween.
Speaking of which, Leighton needed to get Kalyssa to pare down her costume shortlist from Anna, Elsa, Olaf, Puss in Boots, and the entire cast of Gabby’s Dollhouse to a more manageable size. Halloween would be here before she knew it.
Leighton settled into the chair Maxine had provided and crossed her legs. “Did you enjoy meeting the new students?”
“Yes, I liked them, and I reconnected with last year’s.” Maxine stroked her blood-red fingernails through her temples. “I dare say, I think Phoenix may have developed a thing for older women over the summer. He complimented my cosmetics and asked where I purchased them.”
Maxine appeared to have applied her impeccable crimson lipstick seconds ago, though Leighton doubted it. In contrast, her own always rubbed off on her coffee mug or Kalyssa long before now. Part of her wanted to tell Maxine that Phoenix’s interest in her beauty products was more likely a result of him discovering his true self rather than his attraction to someone mature enough to collect Social Security. “That was nice of them.” Leighton wanted to practice using Phoenix’s preferred pronouns after what he’d shared upstairs, even if he wasn’t around. She kept her mouth closed about the rest.
“Will you and Kalyssa be too busy for brunch on Sunday?” Maxine switched off her laptop. “I can cancel the reservation. It’s a hectic week for you.”
The mention of the mid-day meal called to mind another Leighton didn’t like to think about and hadn’t in some time, one she hadn’t even attended. Messy and lengthy divorce proceedings had followed, but she’d gotten the only three things she cared about: her daughter, her freedom, and the old brick building that housed her atelier. “We’d love to have brunch with you.” She squeezed Maxine’s arm. “I hope George can make it this time.”
Maxine gave a dainty cough. “As you know, I allow him to skip brunch to play golf once a month. Since he used his free pass last week, he’ll be there.”
They couldn’t be more different as godparents. As involved in her life as Maxine was, George was the polar opposite. Years ago, before his retirement, he’d been even busier. It always seemed to be something. Manufacturing, silver, stocks. He must have known what he was doing because they weren’t hurting for money.
“Tell Kalyssa she can drink a Shirley Temple and have as much whipped cream on her Belgian waffle as she wants. I haven’t spoiled her in a long time, and a bit of sugar won’t hurt. You made her order scrambled eggs last week, if I recall. I need to make sure I remain her favorite gallery volunteer.” Maxine gave her a little pinch on her cheek, something she’d learned was Maxine’s love language.
Leighton tilted her head. “What do you mean remain her favorite volunteer?”
Maxine pulled her purse from a lower drawer. “Casey, of course. Didn’t you notice her effervescence? Her adorable personality? Her smile? And those dimples. Kalyssa’s going to love her.”
Leighton tried to hide her shiver. Great. That was all she needed. What she really needed was a glass of wine.
Maxine glanced at her. “You look tired. Why don’t I pick up Kalyssa from preschool? Go rest.”
Leighton sighed. “She has ballet.”
“Perfect. I need to run an errand near there. I’ll be back long before she’s finished.”
Leighton dreaded fighting traffic. At least Maxine wouldn’t have to either. She paid her driver to do it. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
Less than twenty minutes later, Leighton poured two glasses of wine as Stefan rummaged through her pantry for snacks. She relaxed into her sofa with her chardonnay and struggled to forget about Casey’s smile and her dimples, but both lingered at the forefront of her mind. So, what if she’d indulged in a fleeting, pleasant interaction? Leighton had felt a strange connection as she listened to Casey explain her reaction to her painting.
