Earlier chapters

by Mike Schwarcz, text and art

"For Christ's sake!" Sarah moaned, her foggy brain forced one eye open to check the time; eight o'clock. It rang, again, then again.
"Hello? —Shut Up!!" she gasped.
Miguel silently marveled at his lack of a hangover. He lay motionless, one eye barely open, watching Sarah toggle through seven astonished expressions, eyes darting everywhere to avoid eye contact with him. He couldn't hear who was on the line, but he gathered that it was about more than some coyotes in the neighborhood, or the busted radiator hose last night.
"Okay, Okay. Bye," Sarah hung up.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Wait until you hear this," Sarah said, shaking him to wake him completely.
"A messenger dropped off a package at Cece's condo a few minutes ago."
"What? Why?" Miguel asked.
"They want to hire Cece so badly that they delivered her an offer and contract to manage their new Santa Fe location this morning. They sure don't waste any time." Sarah marveled.
"I'm glad you're so happy for her. Be nice if you were that excited for me,"
Miguel said, feeling a familiar knot in his stomach.
Sarah was silent, giving him a cross look as she put on her robe.

Miguel was happy for Cece. She deserves it. But he remained undecided. The risk-to-reward ratio wasn't in his favor. He knew where Sarah stood, and a happy or angry Sarah was a vital element that, he had learned, had to be factored into all his decisions. As he got out of bed, the doorbell rang.
"Get that, would you?" Sarah yelled from the kitchen.
There was no one there when he opened the door, only a package a few inches thick leaning against the door jamb. He picked it up; it was hefty. He flopped into a chair downstairs and opened it..
Inside, he found gallery catalogs from SpACE exhibits over the years. Glancing through one, Miguel was surprised to learn the size of the SpACE organization; he had no idea.
SpACE's New York gallery alone, including outdoor exhibit space, covered sixty thousand square feet in Chelsea, the heart of Manhattan. Add galleries in London, Hong Kong, Los Angeles, Geneva, Seoul, East Hampton, Tokyo, and Palm Beach, and soon Santa Fe, and what you had was one of the world's leading art dealers. The list of artists they represented over the years was everything Aisha had bragged about, and more.
An 'I'm not worthy' sensation Miguel hadn't experienced since he was a kid suddenly popped up and stole his appetite.
"Cece said we should meet for lunch". Sarah said from the kitchen.
"I'm not hungry, but based on last night's conversation, I think Cece's going to need a lawyer. I'll bringing Ron Hagen along. I want to know what she's getting into, and Ron is the only lawyer I know who will work short notice for margaritas," Miguel said.
His friend Ron Hagen was a retired corporate attorney from New York, which made him familiar with contracts. He also had an MFA, art being his first love.
Miguel got him on the phone, giving a quick recap of the events that had transpired since the night of the opening, and Ron agreed to meet them for lunch.

Miguel poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the island in the kitchen while Sarah made herself breakfast.
"You didn't sound too enthusiastic about any of this last night," he said.
"Miguel, even she agreed, you're too old. It's risky. Besides, I still think it's some sort of scam," Sarah explained.
"You did a pretty good job of insulting Aisha last night, you called her ridiculous, remember?"
"Well, the whole thing IS ridiculous. Screw it up, and people will forever be whispering behind your back about what a loser you are," Sarah responded.
"Could it be that maybe you're more worried people will forever be whispering behind your back about what a loser your husband is?" Miguel suggested.
Sarah scoffed, "Whatever."

A foreboding feeling engulfed him. A golden opportunity to take back his destiny was staring him in the face, and the only thing standing in his way was his wife.
"So, I have to settle for the watered-down retirement you're ready to settle for?" Miguel asked.
Not waiting for an answer, he headed out to the back patio, then, suddenly, he turned and got in her face at the stove.
"You know, everything I got in life has resulted from taking a risk on myself. Now I have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, probably my best and last shot at personal redemption, and you want to deny me that?"
"I'm just saying, why stress yourself? It's probably a scam anyway, Aisha seems just a little too slick and sure of herself," Sarah said.
"Why do you keep saying it's a scam? What do we have that they would even want to scam us out of? I think you're losing it." Miguel shot back.

Endless possibilities for personal reward— versus huge responsibilities to Sarah. Thanks, Aisha, he mumbled to nobody.
"Huh?"
"Nothing." Miguel continued sipping his coffee, a million miles away.
By the time they left to meet Cece and Ron, Miguel was leaning toward taking the leap. Every good thing in his past life had resulted from taking a risk on himself. Did he miss that part of his life so much? If so, this was almost certainly his last opportunity for a chance to take it back.
To depend on his wife or social security to fund a watered-down retirement, that's what he dreaded. He paced by the door, itching to leave while Sarah was still upstairs getting ready.
"Let's go, I want to be a little early."
"Okay, okay, I'm ready," came from the top of the stairs.
"Oh, grab that package on the bed, will ya, I almost forgot," Miguel said.

At the restaurant, Ron was standing at the hostess station. Miguel slapped him on the back and pointed out Cece, already seated at a table for four. The three walked over and sat down.

"Hi, Cece, you remember Ron? I asked him to join us; he's an attorney. He works for margaritas and specializes in short-notice work," Miguel said.
"Hi Ron, I'm glad to see you again. Happy you could find time. I received this this morning." Cece slid her manila envelope over to Ron.
"Here I am, only 34, and they're laying this in my lap." Cece slipped the envelope across to Ron. "What's in that envelope would be the crowning culmination of an entire art career. Of course, I have to take it," Cece declared.
Ron extracted the contents and started to read while Sarah asked for menus and a pitcher of margaritas.
Cece and Miguel looked at each other for a long second and started laughing, both wondering what might be in store if something came of this.

"Ron, my question: Is this a gift horse I'm looking in the mouth, or a Trojan horse? Cece asked.
"Let's start with the cover letter," said Ron, scanning it briefly.
"Okay, so Aisha represents one of the most exclusive galleries in the world. If they were to open a SpACE Gallery in Santa Fe, and stock it with the star artists Aisha mentions, it would send shivers down the spine of every gallery owner in Santa Fe," Ron chuckled.
"Cece, what are they offering you as far as the gallery goes?" Miguel asked.
"Well, big surprise, they say they own my building. They will buy out my lease and reimburse me for the improvements I made. It's not worth fighting with them over." Cece said.
"They are giving you a small percentage of the gross as managing partner, plus a percentage and override on in-house sales. So it's attractive from every point of view. A new, larger gallery with five-star artists and an unparalleled client list. What's not to like?" Ron wondered.
"Nothing. What choice do I have anyway? If I say no, they evict me, and in my old gallery is my new competitor, who has the hottest artists in the world and unlimited money! No thanks, I'm taking the deal. I just want to know the legal downsides, if they exist. Cece said.

Sarah raised a hand, and a server appeared to take their order under the giant umbrella that shaded them from the ever-present sun.
"Nothing for me," Miguel said, feeling a complete loss of appetite between last night's gorging and his stand-off with Sarah.
Cece and Sarah looked at each other and nodded in unison."Caesar salad."
"Breakfast burrito, Christmas for me," said Ron.

"I can't say it's going to happen, but how would you feel about us working together?" Miguel asked Cece.
"I've been kicking that idea around in my head all morning. No negative reactions. We're doing pretty well with the current show. I'm not sure how much we would be interacting anyway, aside from sharing the newest nicest studio and exhibit spaces in Santa Fe," Cece said.
"It's true, our jobs differ, we work independently on different aspects of bringing a show about. For a show's run, we work together, then we would be back to working separately again," said Miguel.
"For me, the downside would be taking orders from New York and giving up my autonomy. It's a given that they will set the show schedules and such. I'll be the poor administrator who is tasked with tending to HR duties, printing invitations, catering, doing follow-up phone calls, crowd control, not to mention warehousing, shipping and receiving, cultivating art advisors, and playing hostess with the mostess on show nights, you know what I mean," Cece said.
"Yeah, well, it shows you don't suffer any delusions about how glamorous running a gallery is," Miguel laughed.

The server brought the food and refilled the water, while Miguel related to Ron the offer Aisha had made to him for exclusive representation.
"Congratulations, That ought to elevate your retirement prospects," Ron said.
"If he lives every night like last night, he won't need a retirement; he'll be dead in no time," said Sarah.
"That's an amazing opportunity, but why wasn't Miguel sent a contract, while Cece was?" Ron asked.
"I didn't sound too enthusiastic about the idea last night; it all came at me too fast," Miguel said in defense.
Unlike Miguel's package, which included only the show catalogs and promotional brochures for the various SpACE Galleries, Cece's package included a rather lengthy contract for her signature.
'Selling my soul to the devil? Is she even the devil? Maybe she's my saving grace?' So many questions, Miguel pondered as he dipped a chip, took a bite, and reached for his margarita.

With their plates bare and the margarita pitcher empty, everyone began packing their phones, glasses, and purses. He and Cece split the tab. At the valet station, Ron handed Cece his card while waiting for his car. Cece called an Uber.

Miguel and Sarah decided to walk off the booze and do some window shopping. As they strolled, he considered getting a Groucho Marx fake nose and eyeglass setup if he ever became famous, such passive/aggresive behavior always drove Sarah over the edge. They walked mostly in silence, each of them aware of which way the other was leaning.
"I'm happy for Cece, but I still feel it's too good to be true. Even if a blind trust owns the hacienda where the gallery is and that trust has been acquiring adjacent properties over the past three years, that doesn't mean that any of this is guaranteed to happen," said Sarah.
"What's guaranteed these days? I wasn't asking about Cece, I thought you would be more interested in my future than Cece's," Miguel said.
"Well, real estate has always been good to me; it can take care of you also."
"SpACE is obviously a well-run organization, it's legal, and they've been doing it forever; what's wrong with that?" Miguel asked.
"I don't think you'll be happy working all the time," Sarah said.
"No problem if I was working with Cece?" he said.
"None, Cece's great, you're way too old for her anyway, it's that Aisha I don't trust," she said.
"She's a big city girl, Santa Fe's just a dusty backwater to her," Miguel suggested.
"You hear the way she talked to me at dinner. She's a first-class bitch. Believe me, I know the type," Sarah spewed.
If Sarah was intent on making war, Miguel decided he'd better be prepared.

To be continued

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