The Art Dealer

Exquisite pain. Had she heard him right? Her feet that had taken her away from him suddenly stopped as if a wall had been placed in front of her path. Her arms hung loosely down her sides and her head was cocked to the side as she turned around to look at him. She wanted to ask what such a statement meant but his words were quicker out of his mouth than her’s. There was sincerity in every word that he spoke made her listen. His pain was one that she knew so well that they were on a first name basis. Le cœur plein, the full heart, that is what she called it. When she cared so deeply for another it would sing as hearts do when they beat in steady and then erratic rhythms that can be heard in one’s inner ear. 

He spoke of Ethan in so few words but it was enough to avert her gaze from him. That had the potential to be more than what it was. Everyone saw him as Richard plainly stated but she had seen past it. It was merely a facade, a window dressing really, in her eyes. It was just another thing painted by the perceptions of others from a distance. She had held onto that belief but like so many things in her life there comes a time when she must let go of it. So like the string of a balloon, she let go and watched as it ascended higher and higher towards the sun before the atmosphere made it pop and descend quickly and ungracefully back down to the ground. 

Had Richard never seen it? Long before she was entangled with Ethan and only a short time after her arrival in Launceston she had met him and smiled. One of the first genuine smiles she had that were not caused by anything doing with Montmartre. He was charming and kind. He was French and described his art in such a manner that she would swear that what he created was ripped from her memory. She found him easy to converse with and even easier to smile at. He was that much-needed rainstorm that made your toes curl and smell the air like it is the first time you have ever been in the rain. He was all of these things and nothing happened. She was too new, too immersed in her work, and too subtle at that time for him to see it. Richard, it seemed to her, never saw her smile like Leonardo da Vinci saw the Mona Lisa’s. 

There was so much to say to him. So many words strung into sentences that had been trapped inside of her head as she listened to him. Every single thing wanted to get out in one long reply but instead, she shook her head. None of her words would top his. None of her gestures would seem right. So, she did what she always did, she smiled and hoped to God that this smile, this one that was just as genuine as the first smile she ever gave to him would be enough for him to see. Her smile could be as bright as the sun but she still spoke the only words that mattered. 

This kiss was different than others. It never felt like those rendez-vous he shared with many women that wanted a French bro around her arms or the one that he would strip down from his Vixen Bingo. As he would scream at Oliver, Laurent and Gustave that he conquered another one. They would laugh together and continue with what they are doing. This is something else. This was special for the man that easily couldn’t open his heart after Camille. Now he was ready. He closed his eyes, a took small breath. His face inches from hers. “Toi et moi. Nous allons comprendre cela.” You and me we will figure this out. He nodded to confirm his own answer. “ Nous apprécions ces moments ensemble. Je veux vous assurer que nous pouvons passer du temps ensemble. Elle, nous trouverons le bon moment pour dire Laurent. Nous avons tous deux soin beaucoup sur lui. Je veux qu'il revienne, parce qu'il est mon frère. Il est important pour lui. Très important.” he once nodded again, as he kissed those soft lips again that everything will be fine.

The events were astounding, inspiring, unbelievably dramatic, and sometimes fascinatingly horrific. So much happened in so short a time that the great writer Chateaubriand later claimed that many centuries had crammed themselves into a quarter century. The personalities were no less absorbing: the tortured, repressed Maximilien Robespierre; the flamboyant, careless, but ultimately heroic Georges Danton; the fanatically determined Jean-Paul Marat.

Bastille Day, July 14th, celebrates the storming of the royal fortress that indicated the beginning of the French Revolution.  David A. Bell’s Shadows of Revolution reflects on the French Revolution and how it continues to affect France and the rest of the world.

Her name is a lullaby that is hummed when you rock her gently to sleep. You could almost forget about your troubles if you stared at her long enough. Maybe you could forget about yourself, your life, and your choices. Would it not be easier to forget? There are individuals who ask if you could start over, would you? Your mother, your father, and even your sisters ask if you would take back anything that got you here. That gave you Isabel. For once in your life you are certain. You would never change a thing in your past because it was your past that gave you your present. Without Elle’s missteps, she would have never left France. Okay, one day she would have left France to build her business but that one day was just a one day in the future, not the next day.  

Elle would never have made it to this city where there was more than meets the eye. She would have never been tied to the French but sometimes ties can turn to bonds that may lead to a friendship. From day one she had a purpose, a driving force, that never made her stop. It was always to fix things. Fix him. Take back a mess instead of accepting that messes happen and mistakes that can be made. She had wanted so badly to right a wrong for so long that she would have almost broken into two if she had not stopped to assess her life. Had not stopped putting others before herself. She was not the same young woman she was eight years ago nor was she the same woman she was a year ago, hell, even a month ago. She grew and she changed. Like so many things in her life she adapted and moved on. 

She whispered ma chérie to the child so pure and unaffected by the world around her. Her red lips left a mark on her daughter’s closed fist as she pulled away. She could leave that mark there if she wished. She could continue to back up quietly and let the stars, the moon, and the sun that dangled over daughter’s crib see the love that she had for Isabel, but those things already knew of her love. Love no longer in her eyes had to be a permanent mark. Her home was peaceful Clair de Lune played softly in the background as she stood in her kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. 

He stood there, as he stared the woman with those blue ocean eyes, those eyes that could drift him away. It remind him of the different blue patterns of the Mediterranean sea back in France. His hometown Nice, where the sea gave him the calmness and rest as the sunset collided with the darkness of the night. He waited, as he tried to find to the right words to speak the exact feelings he felt. “La douleur exquise.” The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have. He tried to make sense to her out of it. It felt a relief to throw the feeling that he longed for so long, but was in the conflict between friendship and love. The tragedy that a painter could use as inspiration for his painting, a writer could use for his book, a poet could use for his poem and Richard could only be conflicted about.

“I tried to deny those feelings that i am feeling for you, Elle. But i can’t.” he continued to speak in French, with his mother tongue he could better express himself more than anything. English was the language that he learned when he arrived in Launceston, to adapt and to get used to everything. “I want you.” he admitted as he tried to stay distanced from her, so he could exactly say what he wanted to say to her. “I have seen you fall for such an asshole. I let you slip away, because i was a foolish coward to let him have you.” Ethan fucking Hathaway, the biggest douchbag almost got her. He didn’t want to be that guy, that didn’t treasure what he exactly had and screw it up like he did. Elle made feel like he wants to be a greater person, set high goals in his life to succeed so he could be worthy of the woman in front of him.

If looks could kill.