were really just large and funky circles of wood, carved and polished to a high sheen.
Like Victor, Gordon was great at making his art but terrible at getting the art into the world. Gordon was convinced that a hand-carved bit of wood that was not quite a perfect circle and not quite an oval had a wide market in the United States. He believed that he would make a small fortune if he could get his circles in front of the right people. The only problem was, Gordon didn’t want to go out of his way to make that happen. He just expected it. Felt a little entitled to it, truth be known.
Carly wished she had half his confidence. Or the confidence of any old guy who had always gotten his way and rarely had been told no, if ever.
One of her former coworkers at DBS had told Carly about him and his desire for some publicity. “He’s too small for us,” Alexis had said. “Maybe you could pick him up. He’s shopping around for a publicist now.”
Carly had done a lot of research into the art world and had discovered there was not a vast market for hand-carved wood art, and none for circles that she could find—but nevertheless, she’d put together a great plan for exposure and had submitted it. Gordon had called her in for an interview. At the interview, she’d handed him another copy of her proposal, of course, along with her résumé, both of which he’d promptly set aside and said, “If you think you can do it, I’ll give you a shot.”
Carly had been astounded. “Really?” She’d felt herself puff up a little. She’d done it. She’d studied the problem and had put together a kick-ass proposal, one that he could not possibly turn down, and she’d won this job with her creativity and assertiveness, just like Megan said she would. She was good at this. She could do this on her own! She was badass, and she had on her big girl panties, and she was going to get a plum job in New York. This man, this artist, had seen her talent and recognized genius, and so would someone in New York. “That’s . . . that’s amazing!”
“Yeah,” he had said with a flick of his wrist. “You’re the only applicant I had and I need the help. I’m willing to give you a shot.”
She had deflated, the air leaving her so quickly it was a wonder she didn’t fly all over that nicely appointed study like a punctured balloon.
Nevertheless, she’d taken that job to build her portfolio. Turned out, it was a much greater challenge than she could have anticipated, because good ol’ Gordon liked to second-guess her at every turn. That, and he had the computer skills of a Neanderthal.
“How in the fuck do I get into this damn blog?” he shouted at her on the phone earlier.
It had been Carly’s suggestion that he start a blog, nothing more than one entry per week, just talking a little bit about what he was doing and showing his work in various stages of creation. Well, actually, her original suggestion had been Instagram, which she thought would be much less work for him, but he’d scoffed at that. “I’m not some teenager looking for followings,” he’d said.
Followers, she’d corrected him in her head.
As she suspected, Gordon had once again confused his username with his password when trying to get into his blog. She had to hold the phone away from her ear as Gordon launched into a profane tirade of opinions about computers and technology. Carly had promised to drop by as soon as she could and fix it for him, and she would probably end up writing the blog for him while she was there, and then she would do what she always did, which was stick a Post-it on his computer with his username and password and beg his dumpy, sour-faced housekeeper, Alvira, not to throw it away. Alvira was delightful—she grunted at Carly when she came around and glared at Gordon when he asked for a drink.
“Well, okay,” Gordon said reluctantly when she’d offered to swing by today or tomorrow. “But can you please wear something normal, for God’s sake? Those clothes you like will have my neighbors thinking a hazmat team had been called out. You could cause a mass panic around here.”
“Very funny,” Carly had said. At the time, however, she did think she would love to