The Art of Love and Treachery

Chapter 1: The Art of Love and Treachery

            It was a bright spring day as Cassandra turned the key to let herself into the glass doorway of the art gallery. The early sun’s glare off the glass façade promised that it would be an uncharacteristically hot day. She locked the door behind her again, as the gallery was generally open for appointments only. Three days a week she hired an assistant to be there with her for walk-ins, but the rest of the time Cassandra only agreed to see the lucky few who managed to get appointments. They weren’t her own art pieces – she dabbled in sculpture as a hobby, but she only sold a few of her own.

            She had a creative streak, but Cassandra’s real strength was that she knew art – through a combination of innate instinct and a lifetime of living in the art world, Cassandra knew art. She knew the art industry, the artists themselves, and had that indefinable aesthetic quality so impossible to fake. Her own talent paled in comparison to her intrinsic knowledge of aesthetics. And a lifetime of first being raised by an art patron and then living amongst artists since the age of fifteen had made her knowledge of the art world incomparable. Not everyone understood what it was that she did – she had multiple degrees in art history and painting and sculpture, but she had completed them erratically and had never given them much thought. She had been a lover or girlfriend or muse to many artists over the years and had always got by financially with the help of her friends. The art gallery in Manhattan was the most stable business scheme she had ever owned and it was doing well.

            At ten, Whitney Morningside was due to arrive to look at a painting by Cassandra’s good friend Demios. A renowned Greek painter, now in his late seventies, Cassandra had grown up seeing Demios as an uncle, and he trusted her to sell his pieces to the right owners who could both afford them and appreciate them.

            As soon as Whitney Morningside walked in the door, Cassandra knew she wasn’t the type of person who would really appreciate Demios’s art. The woman might have money to throw around, but probably only from the generosity of some rich father or lover, and her taste simply ran to those things that would showcase how wealthy she was. A Demios painting would certainly demonstrate that she had money, but that was as far as Whitney Morningside would appreciate it.

            She was tastefully dressed, with immaculate hair, nails and makeup. While she wore too much jewelry for Cassandra’s liking, she had to admire the individual pieces. It was only the diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch that Cassandra thought went too far, regardless of the wearer or the setting. But well-dressed or not, the fact that Whitney Morningside was a complete philistine oozed out of her every pore.

            While she wasn’t going to sell Whitney the painting, Cassandra had to handle the situation delicately. “Welcome. Miss Morningside, I presume?”

          “Yes,” Whitney trilled. “Thank you for seeing me.” Even a snobbish philistine knew to be grateful to get an appointment with Cassandra’s gallery.

            “We discussed a Demios painting earlier. However, if you tell me exactly where you plan on displaying such a piece, perhaps I can be of further help in selecting the right artist, medium, and style.”

            “Oh, it has to be a Demios,” Whitney said. “I want it to surprise my boyfriend.” Ah, the trophy girlfriend of some ridiculously rich businessman, probably.

            Cassandra gave a thin smile. That was unfortunate. However, it just further cemented her belief that Whitney Morningside would not be purchasing a Demios today, for love or money. Both women were similar in age – in their late twenties – but Cassandra had all the power in this situation. She wasn’t going to be rude to a customer, but there were many tactics that she had perfected over the years to put a buyer off a certain piece. Time for stage two, then. “I’ll just pop into the back and get the piece.”