It was a glorious day with clear blue skies when I parked my car in front of the Belmond Art Gallery. A breeze touched my face, and I felt the sun on my skin like a caress touching me, warming me. I listened to the squeaking sounds of the seagulls, and I looked up to see them floating carefree in the wind. I wished I could float with them and see life from a different perspective, but alas, I was only human with my feet firmly planted on the ground. Taking a deep breath, I got the pungent smell of the seaweed coming off the sea nearby. With a bit of imagination, I could see and hear the whishing sounds of the waves.

I walked into the gallery with the boxes of brochures that I’d needed to drop off for the coming art exhibition. I stood for a moment in awe, drinking it all in as I looked at the beautiful paintings on the walls and the silent sculptures standing on the floor or displayed on pedestals. I listened to a string quartet by Mozart playing in the background, and I felt insignificant and very humble in the middle of all the beautiful art. Yet at the same time, it lifted me, and I felt like I could soar like an eagle.

I heard quick footsteps behind me and turned around to see Delia walking my way. “Hallo, Cara,” she said. She was picture-perfect, with black framed glasses perched on the tip of her nose, short blonde hair swept backward, and her lips painted a cherry-red. Cool and business-like.

“Hello, Delia. Look how beautiful the brochures came out.”

After taking the boxes, she said, “Oh, wow, they’re beautiful. I wasn’t sure of the colors, but you convinced me, and you were right. It’s vibrant yet classy.”

“And classy it must be for the Belmond Gallery,” I said with a cheeky smile.

“Absolutely.” She smiled. “Rudolf asked that you see him before you leave.”

Leaving the brochures with Delia, Rudolf’s assistant, I ran up the stairs to his office to find a very animated Rudolf.

“I got him! I got him,” he exuberantly shouted as I walked in.

“Damian D?” I asked and smiled when I saw him running his hands through his hair—a habit he had when nervous or excited.

“Yes, I finally managed to get him to sign up for the exhibition. He’s so well-known all over the world, and his work is in such great demand that this is an enormous compliment for us.”

“That’s fantastic news. Congratulations.”

“The paintings will go to the airport tonight. We need them here as soon as possible to determine the layout of the gallery. We’ll have to work day and night, as the layout will now have to change. But it’ll be worth it.”

I noticed the excitement in Rudolf’s eyes and in his quick movements, as if he was walking on air. The adrenaline had been flowing since Damian’s commitment.

As I left the gallery, I couldn’t help but remember that morning and still felt Rudolf’s hands all over my body. Our wake-up call for the day was to make love softly and dreamily. There was something so nice and erotic about cuddling next to a warm body during the night that we always woke up aroused. I loved and treasured those early morning love-making sessions. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wished we could also make love at night, maybe even a little harder. But that wasn’t the time to think about it. I got into my car and drove through the early morning traffic to Cara’s Collections.

*

When I walked into my offices, Imelda followed me immediately. She reviewed the urgent messages and a list of appointments for the day as we planned a fashion show at the Convention Centre in the next few weeks.

“Toni would like to schedule an appointment with you to finalize the theme of the show.”

“Did you send her the email saying that I’d like to use musicians on the stage instead of the usual background music?”

“Yes, I did. She would also like to know how many models you’ll need this time. You mentioned something about male models escorting the female models onto the catwalk.”

“Let’s schedule the appointment for next week Wednesday, since I’ll be able to let my mind think about it over the weekend.” Imelda and I spent the rest of the morning sorting out the most pressing issues, returning phone calls, and sending emails in connection with the forthcoming show.

A meeting was scheduled at twelve with the designers in the design room for Tara to present her evening wear designs for the show. I felt the tension in the air as I walked in. Nobody was spared criticism of their designs. Either it was great, or it was out.

Ronan was the first to arrive and was dressed as flamboyantly as his personality in perfectly cut black pants and a dark purple shirt with a red bow tie. He flopped into a chair with a grin on his face and asked loudly, “Tara, are you on dope again? That’s the worst design I’ve seen this year.”

Vivacious, positive, and at ease with herself, she threw her long black hair over her shoulder, pouting her cherry-red lips. She retorted, “You have no style and no sense of having fun. You’re over the hill. Time for retirement. The problem with you is that nobody will have you. You’re full of shit.”

“Language,” the tall, lanky, and well-groomed Cyrus shouted as he walked into the design room. His startling blue eyes danced with humor. He was wearing his favorite black Bowler hat with black denim slacks and a white shirt complimenting his flaxen-colored hair.

“Then how must I say it? Full of crap?” she asked with a grin on her face and stretching her long legs out in front of her.