The Girl at the Gallery (Darcy and Torben)

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

Torben had never attended a gallery alone. Gwen had always accompanied him to the dress and tie, aristocratic events he planned. He liked his art being on display and bought to furnish homes and museums. But he hated the people that bought it. When he was younger, the people who bought his art were other artists who were moved and touched by something on the canvas. But now that his signature had its own price on it, the only people who wagered money on his pieces were the elite who bought it for the name, bought it because they could afford to. Gwen was the one who was good at talking to them—her parents were those kinds of people—but she was good at talking to everyone, good at smiling and making polite conversation while Torben tried to not look too uncomfortable. He almost came here with his socks on, but that would have been a disaster.

But Gwen was sick. Not sick, but fragile these days and Gabriel, the only man in the house who had experienced a successful pregnancy and understood every thought Gwen did (sometimes before Gwen). So Torben had to venture out alone, worried to bother Tristan again and ask for another favor. So he stood to the side and thanked people for coming, munching mindlessly on the catering table and avoiding eye contact out of hopes that no one would ask him questions about his art.

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

The crisp Autumn breeze blew Darcy into the art gallery more than anything; she had hardly dressed appropriately and was now severely regretting it. Well, she had dressed smartly as far as fashion was concerned, and that was the only intelligence she needed when choosing her wardrobe. Besides, the tight black leggings, long silky forest green tunic, and braided brown belt afforded her no end of head turns since she'd stepped out of her apartment. Pair it with a sexy pair of heeled booties and she was in business. There was just no parallel to the female sound of heels on tile, and she enjoyed it especially in the hushed atmosphere of the snooty little gallery. All considered, she wasn't too worried about forgetting to don a more suitable outer covering than the shawl that cloaked her fashionably. 

But as soon as she took one look around, Darcy was a little disappointed. The gallery was exclusively showing one artist. While this did not bother the curvy blonde in theory, indeed she was hoping similar galleries would exclusively show her work, she was steeped in distaste. It wasn't for the art; the art was moving, and true art was so rarely ever wrong. Her problem wasn't even for the artist, because Torben Blau was a name the art scene knew and respected. Her true conflict was with the patrons, or in this case, wealthy vultures just looking to outspend one another in a one-upmanship that placed the art in improper spaces and made it kitsch. The people who could truly respect a piece were not in thousand dollar suits or antique pearls, they were living in studio apartments and making a difference with their lives, not their pocketbooks. In this regard, Darcy was torn. Other artists might label him a sellout, but a lot of those people were jealous of his well earned respect in the buying community. She recognized the hypocrisy with this line of thought given her wealthy background, but she had grown up in a home that embraced art. Her parents had...

Her parents.

Congratulations Darcy, she chided herself sarcastically, You almost made it a full day without thinking of them. She sighed, and headed for the canapes, hoping a little lobster (and boy were they little) would sooth her, even as she knew that only one thing would. Troubled, she looked over the appetizers displayed with a pout, steadily ignoring the man standing next to her, content to be left alone. But she didn't see anything that looked good except that. The man who was destined to not make eye contact was currently in possession of a napkin, and on that napkin sat two zucchini rolls stuffed with what looked to be goat's cheese. Having grown up in a well to do manor, she had sampled many of the chef's finest creations slipped to her under the guise of expanding her palette. The funny thing was it had worked, and she wasn't leaving without one of her favourites. "Excuse me," she said, her voice like warm whiskey, interrupting his staring contest with the floor, "But I will bet you ten euro's that I can show you a magic trick you've never seen before." Her honeyed tone was good humoured, and she hoped that he went along with it. She reached into her clutch to remove the money, and set it on the table. She raised one eyebrow in his direction in what could only be classified as a dare.

ooc: I had to search different canapes because I'm not as fancy as my charrie... *drool drool* bic:

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

Torben didn’t know why he even put these things on anymore. He remembered each piece he made with pride. Until he and Gwendoline adopted Leopold, these colorful canvases were his children, his life blood. He slaved day and night evoking a feeling, getting it “just right” on paper and it felt like no one cared. He thought about the piece of his that Tristan had hanging up in his office, how happy his friend was when he unwrapped it on Christmas. It was worth a fortune on the market, but on Tristan’s wall, it was priceless. And that was what mattered. He thought about the little scraps of paper he and Leopold doodled on, knowing his son’s skill would one day surpass his own. Those were the paintings that mattered most to him. In college, all of his teachers said he’d never get far with his art, and though his art paid for a six bedroom house just outside of Paris and Vienna had a statue of him at his alma mater, he couldn’t help but think they were right.

This was why he needed Gwen here. She always talked him out of these funks, always said the right things. But she needed him now. He needed to pull her out her own nadir while doctors fussed about her and shook their heads sadly in their direction. He looked down at his napkin. This food was sh*t. With Gwen in an out of hospitals and appointments, she didn’t have time to cater this time (not that he blamed her) and it was up to Torben to call the first, last minute restaurant he could find. He fiddled with the green and creamy swirl on his plate disappointedly.

"Excuse me,” a warm voice said and Torben looked up for the source, his eyes falling on a fashionable young woman. ”But I will bet you ten euro's that I can show you a magic trick you've never seen before."

Torben cocked his head and sighed deeply, sadly. “Sorry, but unless the magic trick is getting rid of all of these scum of-the-earth-wannabe artists, I’m not interested. But thank you.”

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

Darcy was having a personal crisis. Of course, there was a core habit of being timid, always shying away and not usually starting a conversation. But then there was ambitious Darcy, assertive Darcy, who she was trying to tap into more often. And hungry Darcy said that she needed that canape. Usually she was good at getting what she wanted, but stealing someone's food out of their hands was not a usual request. And so she thought to sacrifice ten euro's; she gets him to give him her hands for a few seconds, steals the canape that he must set down, and just tells him she lost the bet. Simple! Until he let out a long suffering sigh.

“Sorry, but unless the magic trick is getting rid of all of these scum of-the-earth-wannabe artists, I’m not interested. But thank you.” Darcy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, if she was scum of the earth then stealing a canape was hardly going to be the worst thing about their meeting. She plucked it off of his napkin. "Don't you think you're in the wrong place to scoff at artists?" she questioned, popping it into her mouth. Pretentious *ss! Artists were not made, they were born; who the hell was he to disparage those who were trying to make it? "I guarantee that the easiest way to rid yourself of them would be for you to leave." 

Miffed, Darcy picked up a flute of champagne and sipped it, the bubbles dancing on her tongue. Too sweet. She used to love champagne, and sipped it with her mother when she was younger, shared a bottle with her when she was older, drowned herself in it when she'd died. She now drank her wine dry and red when she did at all, and mostly drank neat whiskey like her father had. But alcohol was alcohol, so she sipped it again then set it down, gratefully self aware enough to keep herself from knocking the whole thing back. "I suppose since I've now stolen your food I should introduce myself. Darcy Javier, Scum of the Earth," she said, holding out a hand brazenly.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

Before Torben could add anything else, the woman snatched the clammy-looking roll of food off his napkin and ate it. If this was her magic trick, Torben was highly unimpressed. She looked angry as she chewed away at the morsels and Torben wondered if the food was really so bad that it made her look so irate. Once she swallowed, "I guarantee that the easiest way to rid yourself of them would be for you to leave."

I would if I could, Torben thought, folding his napkin into a small triangle before setting it down on the table. The hungry, mad woman picked up a flute of champagne and drank it lividly. "I suppose since I've now stolen your food I should introduce myself. Darcy Javier, Scum of the Earth," she said, proffering her hand for Torben to shake. He stared at it a moment before grasping the dainty appendage in his own large palm.

“I like you, Darcy. You remind me of my girlfriend. She’s…” Torben searched for appropriate descriptive words. “…Gusty, too.” It was true. When Gwen wasn’t coddling and mothering people, she was in the kitchens of strange restaurants instructing the head chef how to “really” bake a chocolate torte, or arguing with toll booth operators about the size of the coin slots and how “no currency in the world could possibly fit through them”.

“Now tell me,” he said, folding his arms quizzically, turning to look at her. She was interesting. Any person who yelled at an artist at his own art exhibition either didn’t know who he was, or was challenging him to see what he would do if her claws came out. “What do you think counts as a real artist. You seem to claim to be an expert on the subject.”

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

Darcy was a little surprised when the stranger took her hand instead of taking his exit, and decided that if he was willing to roll with the punches then she would be too. After all, it's not like she had anything to lose. Clearly she would not gain any esteem in his eyes, and at this point she hardly cared to. “I like you, Darcy. You remind me of my girlfriend. She’s…” A pain in the *ss? Darcy supplied silently as the not-so-gentlemanly man searched his vocabulary for her descriptor. “…Gusty, too.” Darcy's lips turned down in a confused frown. She had been called a lot of things in her life, but as the shy heiress from southern France she had never been called 'gutsy'. But then, a lot had changed since she had moved to Paris and had started chasing anything to make her feel a little more alive. Maybe she was a little more out there now, but it was still taking some getting used to; both the act of it, and hearing others perceptions of her. If they only knew she'd rather stay in bed all day, wouldn't they be surprised?


“Now tell me,” the well dressed man implored, “What do you think counts as a real artist. You seem to claim to be an expert on the subject.” Darcy scoffed. "Wouldn't that be nice!" Since he had paid her a compliment earlier, she supposed she ought to at least try to reclaim a little friendly ground. 

"I'm no expert, Monsieur, in anything. But I do create art, and I do not believe that artists are to be scorned for trying to make a living. Even if some are more... zealous than others," she said, with a pointed sideways glance at a box-dyed redhead carrying a portfolio and enthusiastically speaking with a very bored looking gallery manager. "Of course, some of us just stopped in to take in the art that is already here. Or is this now unacceptable in a gallery?" she questioned him, finishing her champagne. 

Maybe this man would not be particularly pleased to see all of the artists here, but to Darcy art was meant for viewing and it did not matter in the slightest who the eyes belonged to. She had just as much a right to be here as any other, and the implication that she didn't made her bristle. Maybe it was a lifetime of privilege that had given her such a sense of entitlement to her detriment but she was set on taking the art in whether this rude creature wanted to or not.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

"I'm no expert, Monsieur, in anything,” Darcy said, her voice taking on an almost innocent professionalism. “But I do create art, and I do not believe that artists are to be scorned for trying to make a living. Even if some are more... zealous than others. Of course, some of us just stopped in to take in the art that is already here. Or is this now unacceptable in a gallery?"

Something in her voice hinted that Torben had offended her. He was no genius at picking up social cues, but her words bit him just hard enough to get his attention and take him aback. What had he said? The only people he may have insulted were the people who wanted his art for the mere purpose of saying they had an original Blau piece. His art was for those that it spoke to and comforted. His art was for other artists. His art was not for rich hoity-toitys with a social agenda and need for the latest and best thing, even if that latest and best thing was his acrylic on canvas, even if the 10K they put down on it would help get his one-point-five kids through college. He never said anything negative about this woman unless she was merely here to look good. But she said she created art, in which case she was welcome.

“Of course it’s acceptable for people to come in and view art. What’s not acceptable is people buying art just because they have money to throw around and want to look good. Art is for artists and those that it affects. It’s not for people who want it just to have it. Seeing as you’re an artist, you have every right to be in here. It’s them I don’t like,” Torben said, nodding towards a couple draped in fur and jewels with their noses up in the air, buying a picture of his son posing with a dead ferret. The piece didn’t speak to them and he knew it. He didn’t become an artist to get rich. He became an artist because he saw visions of the world that had to get out on paper. He became an artist because it was often the only thing that made sense to him. “Tell me, Darcy,” he said, picking up his own flute of champagne. “What do you think of that piece they just purchased?”

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

“Of course it’s acceptable for people to come in and view art. What’s not acceptable is people buying art just because they have money to throw around and want to look good. Art is for artists and those that it affects. It’s not for people who want it just to have it. Seeing as you’re an artist, you have every right to be in here. It’s them I don’t like,” the as of yet nameless man explained, and Darcy was a bit confused. Had he been naming them, the elite, as the "wannabe artists"? If so, she was afraid the two of them had been on completely different wavelengths for their entire conversation. Darcy let her shoulders drop, feeling all tension being released, and laughed. She'd never felt like such a dumb blonde in all her life! "You meant them? I couldn't agree with you more, honey. I thought you meant me." She gestured towards the frantic redhead. "And her!" She discreetly pointed out a group of what could only be artists. "And them! Now I feel bad for outright stealing your food, though after I've tasted it I'm glad I didn't waste my euros." His sentiments on art and their viewing rights so closely echoed her own that she was now facing no doubt that they were kindred spirits in this way of thinking.

“Tell me, Darcy,” her company requested, “What do you think of that piece they just purchased?” "I think that the piece in question will keep Torben Blau's accountant very happy," she said immediately, "But I don't think that the couple buying it thinks much of it beyond the name scrawled in the corner." She thought for a second, weighing her words. "Personally, I think that the piece is a reflection on mortality, and how inescapable it is, no matter how old you are. But that is one girls opinion, and it is subject to my experiences. There is no right answer in art, except for the artist. And the only wrong answer just shelled out more money than most artists sell in a lifetime for their work." She toyed with her empty wine glass, running her finger along the stem absentmindedly. "I'd be interested to hear your take on it, Monsieur... I'm sorry," she said, resting a friendly hand on his arm, "I don't think I got your name." She was having a much better time now that there was no argument to worry herself over, an established girlfriend vocalized, and a like mind to discuss art with. She couldn't remember a recent time when she'd been less stressed. No fights, no rebuffing of unwanted attentions, and finally something interesting to talk about!

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

The woman’s shoulder’s slumped in horror and defeat. "You meant them? I couldn't agree with you more, honey. I thought you meant me," Darcy said, relief cushioning her voice. Though the pet name threw Torben off, having only been called honey by his wife, he still smiled, glad they were on the same page. "And her! And them! Now I feel bad for outright stealing your food, though after I've tasted it I'm glad I didn't waste my euros." Torben laughed. The food was pretty rank. When Gwen catered, the food was superb. But Gwen scarcely even was allowed to go to work these days, much less handle things at Torben’s.

When he asked her what she thought of the piece, Torben didn’t feel that sense of dread he often got when receiving reviews. After turning forty, he stopped caring what negative things others thought of his art. He only cared for the positive. But what Darcy said was neither positive nor negative. It was only shocking. "I think that the piece in question will keep Torben Blau's accountant very happy." And Torben laughed again. Already this was twice that Torben had laughed, already breaking his monthly record. His father was dying, his wife was bed ridden because of a complicated pregnancy, and yet, here he was laughing. It felt nice. "But I don't think that the couple buying it thinks much of it beyond the name scrawled in the corner." Torben couldn’t agree with her more. It was a sad thought that made Torben feel undeserving of his awards, of his talent. It made him feel cheap. It was like selling his soul on the black market to pay for rent. "Personally, I think that the piece is a reflection on mortality, and how inescapable it is, no matter how old you are. But that is one girls opinion, and it is subject to my experiences. There is no right answer in art, except for the artist. And the only wrong answer just shelled out more money than most artists sell in a lifetime for their work."

Torben looked bitterly in the direction of the snooty couple that just bought a picture of his son. He remembered painting it, getting Leopold to stand still, holding a ferret toy upside down. “Like this, Mama?” he asked proudly and Torben complimented him on his modeling skills. Leopold was surprisingly well behaved for a four year old. The painting took four hours. Afterwards, they ate gold fish crackers on pizza and watched Star Wars. His pride and joy was on that canvas and now it was being gift wrapped and waltzed out the door. "I'd be interested to hear your take on it, Monsieur... I'm sorry. I don't think I got your name."

“I think you were spot on about the meaning of the painting,” Torben said, moving his hand away and scratching the spot the had touched on his arm. It wasn’t her, he just wasn’t a fan of being touched by strangers. “The comparison of a young life and an ended one and of the curiosity and fascination the living have with death. What do think of this artists work as a whole, Darcy?”

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

“I think you were spot on about the meaning of the painting,” he told her, and she shrugged a little at the praise. It didn't mean much to her as she sort of hoped she'd be wrong. She didn't particularly enjoy the feeling that mortality was omnipresent, and wished that it wasn't. It is what it is, she thought. Besides, wasn't that the beauty of art -- that it made you feel something, regardless of how you handled it? “The comparison of a young life and an ended one and of the curiosity and fascination the living have with death. What do think of this artists work as a whole, Darcy?”
The woman in question chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Why won't he tell me his name? You are such an idiot, Darcy, of course he doesn't want to be friendly to you. You yelled at him just now! Of course, it was a misunderstanding, but he doesn't seem to care...and really, why should he?

"Overall the work seems thoughtful, but like all good art has passion," she supplied, crossing her arms in front of herself casually, drawing into herself a little at his perceived rejection of her in general. She drummed her fingernails against one arm and for a second she thought of every tutor, every visiting family member, every encouraging employee in her home that had pushed her to be more encouraging and outgoing, to make new friends and gain experiences. A great lot they knew. She wondered if their cure for a fear of heights was a quick jump off the Eiffel Tower. "And I don't think that the artist creates with his audience in mind, which in my opinion is the most honorable way to create anything; art is emotion, and emotion is art. To separate the two for the pleasure of others is dishonest," she finished. A particular peeve of hers being in the artists community were those who tried to paint strictly to be sold commercially; how could they get any satisfaction at all from that? Money spent much quicker than a conscious healed itself. 

"But I'm sure you don't want to listen to my theories on art all day," she said, trying to smoothly throw his attention off of her. Get out of this situation, she told herself, You've embarrassed yourself quite enough for one day. "I think I would be more interested on your thoughts. Is there a particular piece that is catching your eye?" She moved her focus from his dapper countenance to the art that surrounded the pair. 

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

Curiosity killed the cat, but—thankfully—Torben wasn’t a cat. He wanted to know what she thought of his work. Not out of some self-indulgent search for an ego boost, and not for some masochistic desire to be told how bad he was at his career, but out of simple and honest curiosity. "Overall the work seems thoughtful, but like all good art has passion," she said and Torben’s polite smile softened. "And I don't think that the artist creates with his audience in mind, which in my opinion is the most honorable way to create anything; art is emotion, and emotion is art. To separate the two for the pleasure of others is dishonest." Torben couldn’t agree more. His professors in university called the commercial artists “whores” that “prostituted their work at the risk of wasting their talent”. Torben never liked that phrasing, but he knew what he meant. He’d seen some of the best artists sell out to companies—he’d even been guilty of it himself on occasion, painting for a commission. And he’d seen the opposite: artists with too much talent for the world to make sense of and who put more money into art supplies than they made off their work. Both were sad and suddenly Torben felt very lucky to be where he was with his career.

"But I'm sure you don't want to listen to my theories on art all day," Darcy said modestly, even though Torben loved hearing what she thought about art. "I think I would be more interested on your thoughts. Is there a particular piece that is catching your eye?"

Torben stroked his stubbly beard thoughtfully. “All of it.” He said. “I think the message of the art is fascinating, but so is the story behind the actual painting—why the artist chose those colors, where they painted, what went through their mind during ach brush stroke. I think that’s just as important. Take that dead ferret piece for instance. Who is the child in that painting? Did he get paid? Did the artist love the kid? Those things interest me just as much. Not so much with this artist, though. I’m not so interested in that with Blau’s work, to be honest.”

Because I know all of that already…

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

Darcy cast her green eyes at her bearded companion auspiciously as he took in her words. She was in a very real way hoping to just get out of this conversation because it was a rather strange situation -- a misunderstanding, anger, resolution, and now art talk -- but she had so few friends in Paris and had never had artist friends when living south. They were always so flighty, and the then doe eyed Darcy resented their temporary presence in her life. Back then she made friends to last. Back then she was also a lot more naive. She found out in a hurry that nothing lasts forever when her parents died, and found herself very alone when her friends stopped coming around as they did not know how to handle a broken Darcy. Now she made connections in the moment, and fair weather friends were no longer turned away but instead encouraged. She found that even as she couldn't shake the general feeling of wanting to disappear, she had a much stronger desire to hear this man's thoughts on a subject she held so dear to her heart. It had been too long since she had met someone who could appreciate things, art in particular, the way she did. 


“All of it.” The salt and pepper man told her, and she couldn't think of a more vague response. She was glad he continued, as she was beginning to think she'd misjudged him for the second time that day. “I think the message of the art is fascinating, but so is the story behind the actual painting—why the artist chose those colors, where they painted, what went through their mind during each brush stroke. I think that’s just as important. Take that dead ferret piece for instance. Who is the child in that painting? Did he get paid? Did the artist love the kid? Those things interest me just as much. Not so much with this artist, though. I’m not so interested in that with Blau’s work, to be honest.” Darcy mulled over his thoughts, and couldn't help but agree. It was when the artist managed to hold her attention, and have her think about the painting for days after, that she considered it worth buying to add to her collection. She believed in love at first sight, but everything about the piece had to appeal to her in order to purchase it and be satisfied. Buying just to fill a space on her wall was pointless and meant nothing; and the ones she did own were enjoyed and analyzed and appreciated regularly. She looked at him quizzically when he implied that Blau's paintings did not get the same level of scrutiny as others. Surely he himself did not buy for the name. "I can't see why not," she said, "Considering you are in a gallery full of his work. Or does the art itself grab you in a way that makes it irrelevant?" She picked up a fresh glass of champagne because who was she kidding? She and this man were mutually and politely disinterested in each other romantically, the atmosphere very clear. And she was unlikely to see him again, so she could afford a second glass of champagne marring her image. "What are you most interested in with Blau's work then?" she followed up.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

"I can't see why not," Darcy said and Torben smiled. When a person who was just at your throat for a misunderstanding honestly liked your work, it was a confidence boost like no other. Of course, Torben wondered if Darcy would still be singing his praises if she knew who he was. "Considering you are in a gallery full of his work. Or does the art itself grab you in a way that makes it irrelevant?” she asked, but Torben thankfully never got to answer because Darcy continued. "What are you most interested in with Blau's work then?"

“As an owner of many Blau pieces, I probably couldn’t succinctly tell you what draws me to his work the most,” Torben said, the private joke still rolling in his brain, still bringing him joy. “His work has always meant a lot to me ever since I was a toddler.” Torben hoped she wouldn’t do that math. “That being said, I love when other people truly appreciate his work. Is there a particular piece that stands out to you? If so, I’d be happy to get it for you. It’d be no trouble at all.” He asked, demonstratively indicating to the gallery as a whole. It wouldn’t cost him anything to get it for her, and he wouldn’t lose anything, either. He still got royalty checks from his first public piece in Paris, eleven years later. Cost was no issue. He liked Darcy’s company enough (a rare thing for Torben) and he longed for people to be genuinely interested in his art because it spoke to their souls. Really, gifting her a piece was only a gain on his end and not a loss. “That is,” he said, “if you want one.”

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

“As an owner of many Blau pieces, I probably couldn’t succinctly tell you what draws me to his work the most,” Torben said, and Darcy was a little disappointed. She had been hoping that he would be as forthcoming about the work as she was, at it was their sole common interest so far. “His work has always meant a lot to me ever since I was a toddler.” Darcy kept her face blank, but wondered how old this guy really was, or wondered if he was just using toddler as an expression for a very long time. “That being said, I love when other people truly appreciate his work. Is there a particular piece that stands out to you? If so, I’d be happy to get it for you. It’d be no trouble at all.” Darcy glanced at him incredulously as he swept his arm to motion to the entire gallery. He was willing to buy a very expensive piece of art to someone who could rightly be characterized as a piece of work simply because she could appreciate it? He was out to lunch. Or an eccentric rich dude. Still, she had yet to meet someone in Paris who did something without expecting a return favor. Of course, something could be said for her choice in company, but the experience made her weary all the same. “That is, if you want one.”
Darcy scoffed. Of course she wanted one, she was a great admirer of Blau's. The real question was if she wanted to accept such an extravagant gift. 

Why the hell not? she asked herself, a question that was quickly becoming her personal motto. She had thrown caution to the wind before, why not now when it could benefit her? Because you don't know him or what he might want in return! "Sir, that is very generous of you," she said truthfully with great regret, having previously eyed a particularly colourful abstract painting that she had decided was too much to drop on a whim. "But I couldn't accept. No one has ever offered me such a lovely gift, but to take it from a perfect stranger is just too much, no matter how much I love the art." Suddenly feeling very awkward, she continued sipping her drink. 

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau
Darcy stared in momentary wonder at all of the frames of paintings. He was reminded of himself for a moment when he met Andy Warhol in person, staring in rapt fascination at his hero’s work. The difference was that Torben was willing to give away his work to an admirer, whereas all Warhol had to tell a young Torben was that his art was crap. But Darcy’s eyes darkened and the wonder was gone, replaced with what Torben recognized as realism, something the Fontaine-Blau household tried their best to frown upon.

"Sir, that is very generous of you. But I couldn't accept. No one has ever offered me such a lovely gift, but to take it from a perfect stranger is just too much, no matter how much I love the art.”

“Oh I insist!” Torben said determinedly, “I—“ but he was cut off by his assistant who ran up to him, clipboard in hand, headset hanging loosely from her mousy brown hair.

“Mr. Blau,” she said, then turned to Darcy. “Sorry to interrupt.” Then back to Torben who sighed exasperatedly. “But Gabriel called to remind you to stop by the pharmacy on the way home and Leopold wants you to pick up extra crunchy peanut butter because you’re out.”

“Yes, thank you very much. Noted. Pharmacy. Peanut butter. If that’s all, I am in the middle of a very interesting conversation.” As his assistant nodded and ran off to answer another phone call, Torben turned back to Darcy. “As I was saying, I insist. It’d be an honor to give you a Blau original.” He smiled proudly. Gwen always told him that he needed to be more generous, and here he was giving away a piece of art priced at several thousand Euros. His wife would be proud of him. “Seriously. Pick one.”