The Girl at the Gallery (Darcy and Torben)

[Super Samness]

Darcy Javier

“Oh I insist!” the man said after she had politely refused his overly generous gift of very expensive art. “I—“ and suddenly they were interrupted by a tiny woman with a clipboard and headset, and Darcy was even more confused, something she didn't really think was possible at this point. The girl seemed to be in a hurry, and turned to her companion. “Mr. Blau,” she said, and Darcy felt herself do a double take that must have been amusing to a bystander but only served to embarrass her further. “Sorry to interrupt.” Torben Blau sighed, and Darcy stared at him dumbly. “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.” Interesting, right! She was so sarcastically glad that he found her idiocy interesting. “As I was saying, I insist. It’d be an honor to give you a Blau original. Seriously. Pick one.” Darcy frowned. "You could have told me," she said, crossing her arms. She was a little irate which was a direct result of feeling like she'd been made a fool of. She could not, however, deny that she was mostly mad at herself. Taking a man's food, getting into an argument with him after, then being annoyed when he wasn't friendly back to you was bad behavior with any stranger, so there was no reason to be angry at this one because he turned out to be famous and she didn't know it.

She glanced over the gallery and again found her eyes drawn to the original piece she had been attracted to, and she gestured towards it. "If you're sure," she said, "That one is calling to me. I appreciate the colours and the chaos of it." She kept her eyes trained on the piece, because she was sure her face was still blushing, and she didn't think she could be made fun of right then. 

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Torben Blau

"You could have told me," Darcy said, and Torben didn’t know what she was referring to, or why she seemed to angry. But Torben never claimed to be an expert on social interactions if he had offended her, he didn’t know what he said. If he was rude, he didn’t know how. So he sucked in his cheeks and pondered this, looking Darcy over for some sign, some minutia or clue to tell him where he went wrong.

"If you're sure," she said, looking around the gallery. "That one is calling to me. I appreciate the colours and the chaos of it." And Torben smiled, waving his assistant back over.

“Could you go grab A Study in Mania for me? I decided I want it taken down. I’m giving it to Miss Darcy here.” He carefully patted Darcy’s back in what he hoped was socially acceptable friendliness. “Oh, and call my wife back and tell her not to cook and that I’ll pick something up. She’ll refuse, you know how she is. If she does, get Gabriel on the phone. I don’t want her getting overly excited.” He sighed almost sadly. Gwen would want to cook for him, so that he could come home to a nice sit down meal with the family after a long day at the gallery. But doctor’s orders dictated that she stay relaxed and seated as much as possible. It was driving Gwen crazy, and he knew it, but he wasn’t going to risk anything where she was concerned.

Reluctantly, the assistant walked off to fetch the piece, snatching it from view of yet another snooty rich couple scanning it for authenticity. To be honest, Torben could hardly tell one patron from another these days. It was when people like Darcy took unadulterated interest in his art that a difference was made. He’d likely remember Darcy if she ever returned to his gallery. He always remembered the artists.

His assistant returned with the painting and Torben thanked her graciously. He held it at arm’s length from himself. “You know, I remember painting this one especially well.” He had been off his meds far too abruptly, hadn’t slept for far too long, and the manic episode refused to subside. He locked himself in his study and agonized over his inability to convey the ideas ricocheting in his head on canvas. So he painted aimlessly, vaguely, aggressively until he finally felt at ease and the piece he held in front of him was the end result. It was a reminder to him that even something as debilitating as mental illness could create something beautiful. And Darcy had picked it. “I’m glad it’s going to a good home. I really, really am.”