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by Mike Schwarcz, text and art

In her office, twenty-three floors above the streets of New York City, Aisha Levine's intercom was buzzing. She picked up the handset.
"Who?"
"Hayden on two," her assistant answers. She clicks over.
"Hayden, how are you? A good weekend?" She wanted to sound cheerful for the only client of her law firm.
"Fine, thanks. Guess what went down at Galería de Santa Fe, that gallery the Goodmans are so hot to acquire over the weekend?"
"Nothing bad I hope, fill me in," Aisaha said.
"The gallery hosted a one-man show. The artist surprised everyone when he lit a bunch of his paintings on fire. Now it's all over the Internet. and the whole country wants to know who the artist is," Hayden went on.
"I regret missing that," Aisha said. She hated the idea of Hayden being better informed than she was.
"This is going to change the dynamic of the Santa Fe acquisition. I want to act now. Close a deal on Catherine Corner's gallery for me, and I also want to sign this artist, Miguel, something," Hayden said.
"Okay, forward me what you have, and I'll look into it," Aisha said.
"I'll email you Instagram, and Facebook links," Hayden said before hanging up.

Another busy day for Aisha. Her law practice had only one client, SpACE Galleries International. SpACE was Hayden Rookwood's baby. As top tier representatives of top tier artists, their client base was a who's who of billionaires and millionaires, all active buyers, sellers or collectors in the international art market. The owners of SpACE were Hayden Rookwood, George Goodman, and his wife, Mary.

Aisha's value to SpACE lay in her expertise in exploiting legal loopholes to facilitate questionable financial transactions for wealthy individuals seeking tax shelters or engaging in money laundering through the use of fine art. Handling the detailed legal work surrounding multiple partnerships and syndicates, as well as Freeport access, tax shelters, shell corporations, and trusts in tax havens provided more than enough work for her staff of twenty. And, it put plenty of money in her 401K.

Hayden had hired Aisha straight out of law school some two decades ago, and she has been aware of the details of every deal since. He called her his Consigliere, and she was that and more. Counselor, right-hand woman, chief negotiator, and creative problem solver. Plus, she loved being involved with the art and artists.

What she loved less was Hayden, who was now over seventy and showing no signs of giving up the reins. She was his only logical successor, and every day that passed without him acknowledging that, caused her to lose a little more respect for him and grow a little more restless. Adjusting slowly to being in her fifties, she craved excitement and new challenges, not just being Hayden's enabling shadow, always in the background.

After lunch, she opened Hayden's email. The artist he was interested in was named Miguel Angelo. First, she took a look at his website, which displayed a variety of different styles. His oils were reminiscent of several abstract expressionists. For his Santa Fe show, he exhibited scenic watercolors of Santa Fe.

Hayden thinks this guy could be somebody? She had doubts.

Next, she went to Instagram and watched the artist embarrass some guy named Jake by lighting his paintings on fire while the crowd went crazy. There were several versions on Facebook as well. They all had thousands, and in some cases, tens of thousands of likes. She was surprised that the crowd seemed to like it. She asked her assistant to get Hayden on the phone.

"Hayden, this artist you found? Isn't he a little flameboyant?" Aisha smirked.
"Very funny."
"I don't see much redeeming value, but you're the man with the golden eye for art. The gallery — I agree with the Goodmans; I think it would be a good fit for SpACE. This Miguel guy? Not so sure," Aisha said.
"Contact Corners, learn what you can about her situation and this artist. Also, consider calling Mary; she always has insightful perspectives. If it sounds promising, fly out to Santa Fe and take a look. If it feels right to you, I'll sign them both. Our expansion plans are moving ahead. The building department is hearing our permit requests on July 8th. This will allow us to move things up while also promoting the Santa Fe expansion," Hayden said.

Aisha dialed the Galería de Arte Santa Fe.
"Galería de Santa Fe."
"May I speak to Ms. Corners, please?" Aisha asked politely.
"I'm Ms. Corners, but please, call me Cece."
"Hello, Cece. My name is Aisha Levine. Are you the gallerist who put on the Miguel Angelo show last weekend?"
"Yes, Miguel, he's having a very successful one-man show currently."
"What struck me was a video on Facebook. He lit his paintings on fire, is that right?"
"He did, he was making a statement about the value of art," Cece said.
"I hope he didn't burn them all?"
"No. Luckily he didn't burn them all."
"What can you tell me about him, his background?"
"He's been in Santa Fe for less than two years. He moved here from Los Angeles, or Venice Beach maybe," Cece said.
"Is the show sold out? Is there any chance that a few pieces are still available? I'm very interested," Aisha pushed.
"There is a limited inventory, but I have a few available. We have problems keeping up with demand," Cece pushed back.
"Cece, unfortunately, I'm based in New York, but I would love to meet you and the artist. If I flew to Santa Fe, could I get a private showing? I'd be happy to take us all to dinner afterward," Aisha said, baiting the hook.
"I think we could arrange something like that," Cece said.
"I don't know much about Santa Fe's art scene. How long have you had your gallery?" Aisha asked, adding to her data.
"My gallery has been open for five years. Santa Fe vibrates with art. We have over three hundred galleries, museums, and shops. Openings practically every day, both winter and summer," Cece proudly proclaimed.
"You've lasted five years, you must understand your market. Are you from Santa Fe?" Aisha queried further.
"Yes, originally from Santa Fe, but I spent a few years in Chicago working in galleries there as well."
"I'm curious, which do you prefer, Santa Fe or Chicago?"
"As much as I love the hustle of Chicago, I find Santa Fe a more grounded experience, if that makes any sense. And here, I'm my own boss."
"I understand completely, when does the show end?" Aisha asked.
"It was originally scheduled to run through Memorial Day, but we have extended it to mid-June," Cece said.
"What days are you closed?"
"Like most galleries, Mondays and Tuesdays," Cece said.
"I'd like to fly in on the Tuesday after Memorial Day, to avoid the crowds. Would that be possible?" Aisha asked.
"That sounds great. Text or email me the flight information once you have it. I'll arrange for you to have the gallery to yourself and spend some time with Miguel as well," Cece promised, giving Aisha her cell number.
"Thank you so much, you're a gem," Aisha signed off.

Next, Aisha dialed the Goodmans, the elderly couple who fronted for Hayden's 51% ownership of SpACE Gallery. She spoke to Mary Goodman and explained what Hayden had told her.
"Oh, Cece Corners. Of course, we've been watching her. On our trip to Santa Fe last summer, we stopped in and had a look. She has the potential to be a great gallery manager," Mary said.
"So, what do you know about this artist, Miguel Angelo?" Aisha asked.
"Not much, but I did catch his fireworks show. I'll bet Hayden loved that," Mary said.
"You're right. He wants me to fly out there and take a look. If it's on the up and up, we'll sign them both to help get the Santa Fe project off the ground," Aisha assured Mary.
"Great, I've been begging Hayden to buy her out and hire her to manage the new gallery; we've waited long enough," Mary said.

Next, AIsha dialed Hayden's cell. He was on the golf course. "I'm flying to Santa Fe on Tuesday after Memorial Day and returning Thursday. Can I count on you staying out of trouble while I'm gone?" she asked.
"I'm in trouble right now, in a bunker on the twelfth. I'll call you later from the clubhouse," Hayden replied.
Aisha chafed when Hayden discounted her work and, worse, her results. Typical egomaniac.
It's all about me, she mouthed silently for the millionth time.

Aisha planned a full spa day on her trip as a small payback for Hayden's rudeness. She had her assistant book a room at the Four Seasons, a private dinner for four at La Pinon on Tuesday night, and a full spa day on Wednesday. She planned to expand the spa day with some pool time before flying out on Thursday afternoon. Work and the gym were her main diversions; she loved the results: cash in the bank and a lithe, agile body. But this trip, she wanted to relax for a change.

Aisha's father practiced a strict disciplinarian approach to raising his daughter, making her a serious student in school. Top grades at top schools gave her every right to expect a great future upon graduation. She met Hayden Rookwood at a law firm recruitment event. They chatted for an hour before Hayden hired her. His motives were simple; she understood international art markets — her doctorate had proven it. As a gallery owner with ambitions to expand internationally, he knew letting her get away would border on malpractice. Hayden operated the perfect subterfuge to avoid taxes and launder money. He needed a lawyer who understood the market as well as he understood the blue-blood clientele. His methods of operation had to be opaque to competitors and, especially, to governments, which could, by changing a few laws, render his entire business model invalid.

When they met, Hayden was in his mid-fifties, in his prime, a force of nature, making deals no one else could, signing top artists every decade since the sixties. SpACE Galleries (which he now co-owned with the Goodmans) had grown into a worldwide network dealing in multi-million dollar works of art and representing over one hundred artists at one point. Aisha stepped into the center of it all, eager to learn, and more than able to deliver.

Hayden found her irresistible. Physically? Of course. She learned he was what Americans call a hound dog very quickly. Repelled twice, he had wisely decided to give up the hunt, rather than lose her to his own stupidity. That was the Hayden of the past, smart Hayden. The one Aisha respected.

Today's Hayden was a different animal, impulsive, always on the hunt for female companionship, forgetful, and dismissive. In a nutshell, he was getting old, and his ego was getting in the way too often for comfort. And everything pointed to him only getting worse.

"Hayden on one," The speaker announced.
"Hi, is your round over?" she asked.
"Everything but the cigar and whisky. Are you set for Santa Fe?" Hayden shot back.
"Leaving Tuesday, coming back Thursday. Our standard contract for the artist, but with a reduced percentage. And a manager's contract with points for Ms. Corners if she joins the new SpACE Gallery in Santa Fe," she said.
"Well, get out of that New York humidity, go enjoy the desert, or whatever Santa Fe is, and let's see if you can bring me back a deal," Hayden taunted her.
"Only if it's a good one." Aisha abruptly hung up.

If Aisha decided to sign Miguel Angelo, he would become the ninety-fifth artist represented by SpACE Galleries and the first from the Southwest. That, along with his age, his ethnicity, and the hodgepodge of art she struggled to categorize on his website, made her feel Miguel had everything going against him. But she flew into Santa Fe on Tuesday afternoon anyway.

Santa Fe's adobe-colored buildings had just begun to glow in the early twilight as the Uber delivered Aisha to the Four Seasons Resort. Having never been to New Mexico, she had no expectations.

Surprisingly, she found Santa Fe fascinating. The uninterrupted horizon, mountains, sagebrush, grazing livestock, it all seemed right out of the Wild West to the naive English girl. She loved it all, except the clothing of the people on the street. She was glaringly overdressed; everyone was attired mainly in shorts or blue jeans, and T-shirts.

Her second Uber of the day discharged her at the entrance of the Galería de Arte Santa Fe. The courtyard's night jasmine wafted through the air, bracing her as she approached the ancient mesquite doors, curious what waited on the other side.

To be continued

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