Blossom in Winter Page 7

  I wake up at ten a.m. to answer his phone call. I didn’t know my “punishment” would start so soon. He says he’ll come to pick me up at three p.m. Argh. I bet he’s doing it on purpose so I’ll feel sleepy the whole afternoon.

  I just have a couple of hours to figure out where to take him. But after quick consideration, I decide our first stop will be the Martos Gallery. There’s a new exhibit I haven’t seen yet featuring some of my favorite artists, like Alex Chaves and Mel Bochner. I’m not sure if Mr. Van Dieren will find it interesting, but I, on the other hand, am sure to enjoy it.

  Alone in my bedroom, I’ve spent the last hour trying to figure out what to wear. It has to be something not too girly yet not too androgynous; not too revealing and yet not too boring; sophisticated and smart, yet not too corporate; a touch of daring but not slutty… “I give up.” I sigh, looking down at my pathetic figure in the mirror. There is nothing in this room fit for the occasion. I should just cancel.

  A text notification pops up. It’s Emma. I’m so sorry for yesterday, babygirl! Are you ok? Does your dad know? Are you still alive? Can we meet this afternoon to talk?

  For some reason, I don’t feel it’s appropriate to share my plans with her. I can already picture Emma giggling and teasing about my encounter. It’s just to fulfill our agreement anyway, but I prefer to remain silent on the matter.

  Hi, Emma. I’m ok but can’t meet. I’m going to visit a new exhibit in downtown, wanna join? I text back.

  Lol. Art again? No, thanks, babygirl. Enjoy for me! Talk later, then. I knew Emma would’ve never accepted. She’s like Dad—they never got the point of art.

  Another text: Downstairs. Ready?

  God, it’s 2:59! Why so punctual? Alright, enough of this bullshit. A white shirt, jeans, a pair of sneakers, and we are good.

  I try to keep my composure, but despite my many attempts, my heart beats faster than usual. I take a light-pink cardigan just in case the galleries are chilly inside.

  I arrive downstairs, leave the building, and find Mr. Van Dieren leaning against the car. It’s the first time I see him dressed casually: a pair of jeans, a slim-fit Henley shirt, and a black leather jacket. He’s on the phone but abruptly hangs up upon seeing me.

  “Hi.” He smiles at me, running a hand through his wild hair. “Ready, Ms. Van Gatt?”

  Gosh. His blue eyes are even more insane in daylight. “Hi. Ready,” I timidly reply, walking toward him. Should I greet him with a cheek kiss? A handshake maybe? A friendly hug? I’m too shy to do anything. He opens the rear door and invites me to get in.

  “So you like this artist?” he asks while slowly pacing around the gallery and observing every piece of artwork I present to him.

  I just hope I’ve described them with such passion and conviction that he’s now wondering if I ate art books for breakfast.

  “Mel Bochner? Oh, yeah. His work is excellent. I’ve been following his growth since I was ten. I asked Dad to buy me one of his paintings at the time, but he never saw the point. Seven years ago, one of his paintings was, like, three thousand dollars. Now, the same painting would be worth fifty thousand, if not more. Imagine if he becomes like Jeff Koons.”

  “Jeff Koons?” He seems embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Petra. I know nothing about contemporary art.”

  “You don’t even know Jeff Koons? His art is the most expensive of any living American artist. One piece signed by him is easily worth between ten and sixty million dollars. Imagine if you had bought some when he was starting out.”

  “I see… Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” I reply.

  “Why economics? You love art so much. You are so passionate about it. Why not a degree in this field?”

  I don’t like his question, but I’ve thought this through. “I’ll inherit Dad’s part of the company one day, so economics makes more sense. After all, I’ve got to understand the ins and outs of his business.” I smile at him, quite proud of my perfect answer.

  “That’s a good reason, Ms. Van Gatt. But what is the real one?”

  I can’t help but feel a squeeze in my chest. Alex always knew how to read me, how to remove my mask… which was cute when I was seven, but not now. “Dad thinks it’s the most appropriate degree. He assured me I’ll like it.” I look up at him and add confidently, “I’ll give it a try and see.”

  “Well, my proposal still stands. If you want to have your own gallery to show your paintings or those of your favorite artists, I’ll help you out.”

  I find it suspicious. Is your offer some sort of apology for the ten years you’ve been absent, Mr. Van Dieren?

  But I keep it polite. “Thanks, but Dad doesn’t like art. He thinks it’s a waste of time.”

  “Your dad is a bit close-minded sometimes. It could be a very profitable business in my view—you can invest in emerging artists, buy their artwork when they are not yet renowned, and once they become famous, their value will go through the roof, just like stock and shares. Then, you can sell your collection in auctions and to other dealers. If you present it as a business model, Roy might like it more.”

  “Oh, I never thought about it that way.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Maybe that’s why he wants me to have a degree in economics.”

  “Your father loves you a lot. He might be cold and rigid sometimes, but he cares a lot about you.” I don’t reply. He looks down absently, thinking something through. “Why don’t we do the following—you’re going to be an intern with the investment team, right?”

  “Right.”

  “We should open a small fund for you. Nothing big— just, like, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars so you can invest in your favorite emerging artists. What do you think?”

  My jaw drops. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Oh my! This is… I… I can’t believe it.”

  “Consider it your graduation gift.”

  And to my surprise, I hug him. “Oh, Alex, thank you so much.”

  He gasps, feeling my arms wrapped around his neck. “Alright,” he breathes. I release him from my overly tight hug. He straightens his shoulders, his face unsmiling. “But… I have some conditions. I want you to pitch me what you have in mind before spending a dime. Are we clear?” I nod. “You need to diversify your portfolio with at least ten different artists and get the best deals out of each acquisition.” I feel him studying me. “As a matter of fact, when you pitch someone, think numbers and data. They’re the most convincing. To get a strong pitch, you’ll need to research similar artists and the value their artwork reached and why. It’ll be very time-consuming,” he warns seriously. “You’ll have to be able to justify every investment and the potential returns.”

  I ponder for a moment. “I’m sure I can get this done. I read a lot about emerging artists and art trends. And since Dad is out nearly every night, my best friends became my books and laptop,” I add.

  “Great. Oh, by the way, there is a small luncheon at my estate after your graduation rehearsal. And no, you cannot skip it, since it’s in your honor.”

  “Why on earth would you organize that for me? It’s totally unnecessary.”

  “Hey, it’s not every day my only goddaughter graduates from high school.”

  “Oh, dear Lord. Alright, but please, from now on just call me ‘Petra.’ ‘Goddaughter’ sounds way too dated to my ears.”

  “As you wish, Petra.”

  Chapter 6

  Bedford Hills, May 28, 2019

  Petra Van Gatt

  Following the graduation rehearsal at Loyola and the usual family picture with my graduation cap, gown, and degree certificate in hand, Dad and I are on our way to Bedford Hills for the celebratory luncheon. Unlike the rest of my female classmates, I’m not wearing a dress or skirt. Instead, I’ve opted for skinny jeans, a striped white-and-navy-blue top, and a matching jacket. I’ve decided against wearing heels too, just beige flats, and I have only the tiniest amount of makeup on.

  The drive to upstate New York feels like an
eternity. In the back seat, Dad is entertained reading while I keep constantly staring outside. “How many people will be there?”

  “Less than a hundred,” replies Dad, eyes glued on his iPad.

  I let out a sigh. “Why such a big gathering?”

  The car stops as we wait for the black metal gates to open.

  “It’s just friends and acquaintances, don’t worry. You should get to know those people, Petra. They run New York.” Oh God, why me? I’m not impressed, it just feels like a tedious obligation. “Don’t forget to be polite and to thank your godfather for the gathering,” he adds.

  The car starts moving and drives onto the estate. I look again out my window. I didn’t remember how vast the estate is, with large green fields, acres of trees, and perfectly manicured lawns. Sometimes I feel jealous that I can’t live like Alex or Emma on a property in the middle of nature—far from urban and noisy Manhattan.

  We finally arrive at the main entrance of the manor. I see that Alex is already there, chatting with friends, drinking champagne, and probably waiting for Dad. He’s resplendent as always, sporting a fit beige spring blazer with a silk pocket handkerchief, a white shirt open at the collar, and navy-blue pants—quite elegant but not formal.

  Dad promptly walks toward him and gives him a friendly hug with a clap on the back. “Many thanks for organizing this, Alex.”

  “My dear friend, it’s the least I could do.”

  As I predicted, I feel totally left out, standing timidly by the car, while Dad has already gone inside, along my godfather and his friends. I look around, taking in my surroundings. I can’t miss the rows of expensive cars littered about the courtyard. Cars have never appealed to me—I’m glad I don’t own any of them.

  “Congrats on your graduation, Ms. Van Gatt.”

  Having left his friends behind, Alex has come back and walks toward me, causing my lips to spread in a smile.

  “Thanks. Small gathering, huh?”

  “Well… it’s all relative.” He winks at me. “Come inside, I will get you a drink.” And he takes me by the hand.

  “Am I allowed to drink alcohol today?” I ask, surprised.

  “I don’t think so. However, I’m sure the bartender will prepare something nice for you.”

  He escorts me inside, softly putting his hand on the small of my back and letting me go first. As I step into the entrance hall, a strange energy shivers through my entire body. In my mind I can hear a little girl giggling and running around, but there is no child to be seen here. Instinctively, though, I knew it was me. I used to play here.

  “Is everything alright?” He asks.

  Oh, Alex, you have no idea how painful it was when you left. “Of course.” I smile, silencing my childhood memories.

  “Great. Let’s go to the bar.”

  Alex is staring intently toward the entrance of the living room. Suddenly, his face beaming, he runs forward a few steps and cheerfully greets a young man, a stranger to me. They hug each other. “Hey! Here you are, my little bastard.”

  Bastard? Really? I didn’t know Alex had a son. They enter the room, and Alex brings him over to where I’m standing by the bar, still baffled. “Petra, I’d like to introduce you to my younger brother, Jimmy Van Dieren. I mean, half brother, since we just share the same father. Jimmy’s a famous pop singer now, so be careful—he’s becoming a total ass.” I gape at his vulgarity, but laugh in relief.

  Jimmy feigns offense, shaking his head. “He’s just jealous,” he replies with a broad smile, before extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Petra. And congrats on your graduation with honors. Your father, and godfather, must be very proud of you.”

  I notice how Jimmy also has blue eyes. Looks like they share more than the same father. He’s at least four inches shorter, though, and less athletic. His style is also the opposite of his brother’s—Jimmy wears a black leather jacket, some silver jewelry on his neck and wrist, black ripped jeans, and a white V-neck T-shirt.

  “Thank you, Jimmy. It’s very nice to meet you too.”

  “Just be careful with him. My brother thinks all teens have a huge crush on him.” Alex seems to be particularly witty today, but Jimmy can’t stop shaking his head in amusement.

  “Do you live here in New York?” I ask.

  “Nope, Amsterdam. But I have a concert Saturday night in Manhattan. Do you like pop?”

  I don’t like pop, but with such an interesting male figure around, I couldn’t care less what I really like or not. “Of course I do.”

  “Well, then, you should come over. I’ll text you the address. What’s your number?” He pulls his iPhone from his pocket, ready to add me as a contact.

  “That would be brilliant,” I lie. I’ve never ever attended any concerts, because of my panic attacks. But I take his phone and type in my number. “Added as Petra Van Gatt.” I can only hope I’ll have a private box to watch the concert from.

  “Great. Also…” Jimmy leans slightly closer to my ear. “I’m hosting an after-party in my suite at the Four Seasons. Only A-list people. It’ll be fun,” he whispers.

  I feel a shiver running down my spine. While it seems fun to attend, after all the bad experiences I’ve had lately, I’m not really convinced. I just smile at him in return.

  Alex didn’t hear Jimmy’s whispers, but he did see Jimmy getting a bit too close for his comfort. “Alright, enough chitchat. Let’s go to the terrace. Lunch will be served in a minute.”

  We move from the living room to the outdoor terrace. Amid at least ten round tables covered with white tablecloths, I find Dad waving at us from one of them with three empty seats.

  Alex nods. “Looks like Roy got us some seats.”

  I don’t recognize anyone else at the table except Dad. They all look like corporate executives—Dad’s friends in suits without ties. I’m glad Jimmy is here. This lunch would have been so tedious and boring without him.

  “Here she is! The star of the day!” Dad stands up, his arms wide open to welcome me and give me a hug.

  My face beams with joy. “Hi, Dad.” I trot toward him and embrace him warmly.

  “I’m very proud of you, darling,” he replies in a low, tender voice before giving me a kiss on the forehead.

  I sit between Jimmy and Alex.

  Suddenly, I feel all these middle-aged men staring at me like the main attraction in a fair. “Very well done, Ms. Van Gatt. Your father couldn’t stop praising your achievements.”

  Humbled, I tilt my head slightly down. “Thank you.”

  I notice how everyone is drinking Pinot Noir but me. I only have a glass of water and a cold-pressed juice in front of my place setting. I let out a sigh but feel a sudden vibration on my lap.

  Discreetly enough, I look down at my iPhone and read the new WhatsApp message from Jimmy. Would you like to hang out after lunch? I can grab a red from my bro’s winery.

  I smile broadly and text him back: Yes, please!

  I can’t thank my godfather enough for having introduced me to his younger brother. Jimmy might not be as charming, vigorous, or athletic, but he is nevertheless a handsome and confident young man. And he’s got the same mesmerizing eyes.

  After lunch, while everyone seems entertained with drinks and cigars from Alex’s curated collection, Jimmy and I decide to plan a careful escape to meet up by the lake. He leaves the table first, and after fifteen minutes, I excuse myself to go to the restroom. There I check my teeth and lipstick, apply some fresh mint gloss, and style my hair quickly. Alright, no one is calling me. Perfect. Time to go to the lake!

  Walking through the vast gardens, I can finally enjoy the fresh air—some birds even singing—and the breeze playing with my hair. It’s the perfect kind of afternoon, not too hot and with a bright blue sky. I love this place so much. I recall spending a considerable amount of time here when I was six. I used to play hide-and-seek with my godfather while Dad was absent. It was such a great time…

  I see Jimmy in the distance; he’s holding a bottl
e and two wineglasses, and stands admiring the lake.

  “I hope it’s a good one,” I shout.

  He turns at my voice, checking me out. His face softens with a smile as he looks briefly at the bottle label. “Should be. Alex only likes quality!”

  Once I’m beside him, he hands me a glass, opens the bottle, and pours the wine.

  I inspect the texture, take a quick sniff, then tasting the Pinot Noir, I say, “Hmm… very good. You can pour more.”

  “Do you know about wine?”

  “I’ve attended many wine tastings with Dad for the sake of knowing the basics. But I’m no connoisseur.”

  “I see. Well, to your graduation, Miss.” I beam with joy as we clink our glasses and quietly take our first sip. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” I reply.

  “Forgive my curiosity, but where is your mom? She’s alive, right? I thought she’d be here by your side on such important day.”

  My eyes widen. “Mom doesn’t like New York. I’m the one who travels to the Netherlands to visit her.”

  “So your mother never came here? Must’ve been tough for you to grow up without her around.”

  “Well, it wasn’t easy, mainly knowing she was alive and healthy enough to visit me. But your brother and Dad have been incredible.”

  “Yeah, Alex cares a lot about you.” Really? He takes another sip of his wine. “You know, I wasn’t even going to come here, but he insisted…”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “I don’t blame you; I didn’t want to come either.”

  Jimmy seems thoughtful, looking intently out at the lake before turning back to me. “You’re so mature for your age,” he praises. “You seem to have your whole life figured out. It’s quite impressive.”

  “My life has always been figured out,” I correct. But my tone sounds rather melancholic—maybe it’s a subject I shouldn’t tackle. I brush some hair behind my ear, and with a small smile, I keep looking at the lake.

  He doesn’t reply. He must be wondering if I’m happy with the life Dad is making for me, or if I’m crying and screaming on the inside—desperate to leave it all behind and try something else. And to be honest, I’m thinking exactly about that.