“Hey,” said Richo, looking from Tina to Matt, “what is this? A tag team?”
“Behave,” growled Caleb, liking the way Matt was taking it up to the older man. He wasn’t sure if there was something going on between the kid and Tina, but he was fitting in just fine. “They’re about to start the speeches.”
“Hey,” whispered Richo, leaning closer, “how did you get on with that tap?”
“What tap?”
“Phht,” he said, nodding knowingly. “I thought as much.”
And Caleb, who had rarely been tempted to give an adult a clip around the ear, was sorely tempted now.
Evan was standing behind a lectern ready to introduce Ava by his side – Ava, who was standing all alone, sending Caleb an arrow loaded at the tip with guilt. He should be there to support her, not standing at the back of the crowd like some someone who didn’t give a damn. He gave way more than that.
Evan clapped his hands and started his introduction, starting with his thanks to the attendees, and to the great cause this night was supporting through donations to the Children’s Hospital Burns Unit by Ava, the caterers and by slashing his own commission, which he made a big point of, and then waited for the applause. Satisfied, he next paid tribute to the firefighters who’d volunteered their time to support the exhibition, firefighters from the station whose quick response had saved the gallery from burning down a few weeks before.
“Damn right,” said Richo, puffing up his chest, as the crowd applauded some more.
He moved on to introducing Ava then, a woman who’d had a childhood dream of being an artist but who’d had to fund her studies painting faces at every Sunday market and fair going, but whose realism set a new benchmark in the art world. An artist who wove her art around the natural world and turned still life into a snapshot of real life.
With every word, Caleb felt his respect for this woman growing. He’d never known of her struggle to fund her way through art school. She’d never told him she’d painted children’s faces to pay for her studies. It grieved him that there was still so much about her he didn’t know.
“Ladies and gentleman – and our wonderful firefighters who we never thank enough,” Evan said, extending his arm to them and garnering an extra round of cheers, “I give you the artist, Ava Mattiske.”
Ava’s speech was brief, directed to her art and what she’d been trying to achieve – she talked to the theme of the exhibition, of texture and how it enriched all our lives. She talked about the rugged texture of the land where she lived and how it informed her art and how, through her works, she hoped to show there was texture in everything – from the pitted yellow skin of a lemon, to the remarkable skin-scape of the human body – if we only looked closely enough. And we were all the richer for it.
As the applause rose, Caleb’s heart swelled. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this proud of anyone in his life. He watched on as Evan handed her a huge arrangement of flowers, swapping them with the microphone. “I’m gratified to see the number of red dots already on the paintings on this collection, and seriously thinking you’re not charging enough, Ava.”
There was a ripple of laughter.
“But, now, for the big event. We’ve held back on releasing one picture in the collection for sale, because we think the price should be set by the market and so this particular picture is being put up for silent auction and an auction that will run the entire month of the exhibition, so there’s plenty of time to come in and take another look and make a bid. And I’m very pleased to say that Ava is donating one hundred percent of the proceeds for this particular picture to the Burns Unit and the Children’s Hospital, so I’m hoping that you all dig deep.
“So here it is...”
With the help of an assistant, the covered canvas was raised to a stand on the podium.
Caleb groaned while the audience oohed and aahed, because there, on the podium in the middle of the room where everyone could see it, no matter where they stood, was Caleb, sprawled on the bed, his majestic butt cheeks on full display at head height. He glanced over at Ava, sending her a silent what the fuck? But she just shrugged apologetically.
Beside him, Richo was staring. Hard. “Geez, mate,” he said with a laugh, “if I didn’t know better, I’d reckon that could almost be you.”
Caleb’s breath stalled in his throat. “Good thing you know better then,” he said, when finally he could breathe again, “in that case.”
“No, seriously, it does look a bit like you. Look, even the tatt on the arm.”
He snorted, never more pleased that he’d begged Ava to blur the lettering of the family motto wherever it appeared. “Everyone’s got tatts these days.”
His mate peered close. “But—”
“Come on, Richo, you think a woman who sees me as Peppa Pig is going to use me as some life model?”
And Richo looked at him and smirked. “Yeah, dumb ass idea, hey.” He pointed to Caleb’s face. “Now, that was a work of art.”
And it was Caleb’s greatest pleasure to punch his mate on the arm.
He saw Ava across the room and threaded his way over, rattling his tin for donations on the way, trying to look inconspicuous, but she was way too busy talking to guests sipping wine and talking about her work to talk to him and he made his disconsolate way back. He was seeing her after. It could wait.
Richo was nowhere to be seen when he got back.
“Where did Richo get to?” he asked Tina.
“Over there,” she said, gesturing with her tin, “checking out the artwork. I think he might be interested in making a bid.”
Caleb turned around and groaned when he saw Richo
