Kylie Venn smoothed the front of her black pleated skirt and reviewed the work she had done on her ipad. A range of photos of architectural closeups of different modernist landmarks. She'd perhaps pretentiously shifted them to black and white. They looked at times like alien artifacts. Strange geometries blown up under an electron microscope. She sipped her coffee.
She'd been working at the Vincent Clover Gallery for a month now, earning as she learned. It wasn't a lot, just a stipend, but it covered some of her basic living expenses, the majority of those being paid by her parents. Unlike many of her friends, she didn't have a large trust fund. A small allowance was all they gave her, but between it and her money from the gallery, she was able to make ends meet, barely.
Clothing was a top concern for her, but of course a woman's clothing budget was never enough. Not all the lottery winnings in the world could hope to fill up the infinite appetite for the ever changing whims of a young woman's taste, especially not one who wanted to be seen as cultured. Who wanted to convey a certain image of taste, or refinement, or non conformity, or cool, or whatever came to her mind that week as regards to what would look cool in a selfie.
She dreamed of having fame and fortune for her work, but for the time being, she was more than content to work on the sales aspect, pushing the work of artists who had already made it.
The Vincent Clover Gallery took a unique approach. In addition to contemporary work, they handled rare antiquities and artifacts from all the corners of the globe; masks from Africa, sculptures from ancient Egypt and South America. The owner liked to highlight the differences and similarities between the ancient and the modern. To show what we had gained, and what we had lost.
The gallery itself was a set of enormous white rooms, lit from high overhead. It was located in an industrial district where a number of other galleries had recently begun to create a kind of arts district. The wealthy clientele loved the grit of the place and it's associations of danger and even crime.
It's inventory provided a sometimes shocking contrast, with ancient Hindu fertility sculptures and Japanese erotic woodblock prints next to contemporary photographs and abstract sculpture.
The owner, Vincent, was in his mid forties. Tall and muscular, with piercing blue eyes and dark black hair. He worked out a lot and took care of himself, knowing that he was as much a part of the sale as the quality of the work and it's reputation. His reputation became the work's reputation. When someone was paying tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands for an object, one needed to trust that the person selling it to you knew what they were doing.
It wasn't like oil futures or real estate, where the thing had a purpose, or a use that could be used to make a definite profit, or where the value had some connection to reality. Art was all smoke and mirrors. All subjectivity.
He'd hired her after a grueling interview, insisting on hearing everything about her life, and background, and views on art. He has an almost salacious manner about him. Something that was almost creepy, yet at the same time magnetic. He was certainly far too old for her, and yet she couldn't help but feel somewhat attracted. He seemed to know so much about this business, and she so little. He seemed to know everyone, and she knew almost no one.
She'd been working for him for months now, just out of art school. He was slowly beginning to trust her. She admitted finding him super hot, despite their age differences. If anything, it made her hotter for him.
That day he'd assigned her to receiving and cataloging a set of artifacts that were coming in from Turkey; works of ancient Greek and Hittite origin.
A courier arrived around eleven. He wheeled in several crates, each five feet on each side, and she signed for them. Taking a pry bar to them, inside she found any number of sculptures, tiles, and artifacts; bubble wrapped and itemized on the manifest. Wearing soft white gloves, she began taking them to the store room for further study. Some would be placed in one of the gallery rooms, others would be left back here for the more exclusive clients to see. The store room itself was lined with racks for paintings and framed photographs.
One after another she ticked off the boxes next to the descriptions of objects until she was done. All told, it had taken her about three hours. Vincent was away for the day, and she was surprised he had given her this responsibility, as normally he was present during an intake.
She stirred the foam packing peanuts to make sure she hadn't missed anything. What was that? Something at the bottom of the third crate? She leaned over and reached in, and her hand closed around something smooth and warm. Her hand pulled out, and when she opened it, she saw in it it something strange.
A round smooth stone, almost egg shaped, of black crystal, with strange runes inscribed on it. It almost felt like it pulsed in her hand, like some small animal. She couldn't recognize the writing from any of her ancient or art history classes.
At that moment she heard the front door being unlocked (she had closed the gallery for the day) and the door swinging open. Almost by instinct she thrusted the object into her pocket and looked over.
Vincent was striding in, taking off his raincoat (it had been threatening to rain all day) and hanging it on the rack by the door. He quickly cleared the distance between them.
"So, how did it go?"
She found herself reddening, as her hand still clutched the object in her pocket. She withdrew her hand dramatically, almost to show that she hadn't put it in her pocket (why had she done that she thought?)
"Fine. It went great. I was just checking to see if there was anything I missed."
"Oh? Did everything check off on the manifest?"
"Well, yes, but..."
"Well, then don't worry. I'm sure they didn't drop in any extra surprises..."
His voice had an almost knowing tone to it. As if he knew that Kylie had pocketed the object. As if it was written across her face. As if he had planned it.
"Oh...By the way," he said, "There's an opening at the Lamont Gallery tomorrow. I'll need you to attend. Dress smart. Meet me there at seven tomorrow. I want to introduce you to some people as I work the room."
"Okay. Anyone in particular you want me to pay attention to?"
"I'll point them out if need be."
"Okay. Sounds good."
"Oh, and Kylie.."
"Yes?"
