He had gone to the States at twenty-one, became an American citizen, was drafted and sent to Vietnam, where he had been assigned as a photographer and had taken some of the most famous photographs of the war. He had stepped into a minefield in pursuit of a photograph of frightened children and their injured mother, and half of his face was badly scarred. The other half was still perfect and looked like a Roman coin of Julius Caesar. Gabrielle saw only the beautiful half, and the beauty in life. They were deeply attached to each other, and Gwen’s unconventional mother suited him perfectly. He had never been married and had no children. He adored Gabrielle and would have married her at a moment’s notice. She had a conviction that marriage only made sense for people who wanted children, and she was long past that age, so she turned him down whenever he asked her, which he had many times. He still tried, particularly when he drank too much wine. But she had finally found her soul mate at seventy-eight. She was a happy, energetic, vital, brilliantly talented woman, and time had only enhanced her wisdom and creativity, and her energy seemed boundless. She was an inspiration to all who knew her. Her work had gotten larger and larger as she got older. She had the strength of a man as she created her horses, many of which were in museums around the world, and sought after by private collectors. She only made three or four a year, so they were in high demand and there was a long waiting list for her new works.
She always employed two or three young artists to help her, and there was a bustle of activity in her studio as Gwen followed her to the stairs which led to the loft where she and Federico lived. Gwen knew that he was currently in Paris setting up his latest exhibit at the Petit Palais. Gabrielle was planning to go to the opening, and Gwen had promised to go with her, since she wasn’t working at the moment.
Her mother put on a kettle for tea, as the work in her studio continued without her. They were preparing the pieces she was planning to weld. Gwen settled into one of the comfortable armchairs Gabrielle and Federico had rescued from the street before it could be taken to the dump. The warehouse was filled with an eclectic collection of found objects, beautiful Italian antiques, and Federico’s photographs, which hung everywhere. Their lives and their talents meshed perfectly, and the atmosphere they inspired around them was one of warmth and welcome to the diverse group of people they chose to entertain. Politicians, artists, writers, bankers, scientists. Federico was a fabulous cook and they had friends over frequently, when Gabrielle wasn’t in the middle of a commission, and he wasn’t on an assignment somewhere. They were always busy doing or creating something, both of them were in remarkably good health and working harder than ever.
“What brings you here today?” she asked her only child, pleased to see her, as she set down a cup of green tea in front of Gwen. She never stopped for visits during her workday, except for her daughter. She was always happy to see her. Gabrielle knew that she was out of sorts over not having any recent film work. Gwen had her mother’s work ethic, but she couldn’t create independently as a sculptor could. She had to find a decent script, and be hired for the movie. Gwen insisted she hadn’t read a good script in a year, and was terrified her career was over due to her age.
“I missed you, and I can always use your good advice,” Gwen said with a warm look. Gabrielle was more peppery than her daughter, and she disliked talking on the phone. It was easier coming to see her in person, and her mother preferred it. Gabrielle had a beautiful expressive face. She liked to remind Gwen that they had argued constantly when Gwen was in her twenties. But for the past thirty years, they had been extremely close and got along admirably. “I’m worried about Olivia. I think she’s off on the wrong foot. She seems to be in love with a married man,” Gwen said to her mother with a troubled expression.
“How married?” Gabrielle asked with an impish expression. She didn’t look shocked. Very little shocked her at her age.
“Married enough. He just left his wife a few days ago, with the usual story about a dead marriage. He has three children, and he and Olivia have been dating for five months while he lived with his wife. I don’t want her to get hurt, or hurt anyone else. And his children are liable to hate her for breaking up the marriage.”
“You can’t control that,” her mother reminded her. “But that’s not likely to happen. If I know my granddaughter, she’ll get bored with him before it gets too serious. Is he respectable otherwise?”
“She says so.”
“I had a few married men in my time, didn’t you?” Gabrielle said, smiling at the memory of particularly one of them, a professor at the Beaux-Arts.
“Never,” Gwen answered for herself.
“I was never interested in marriage until I met your father when I was thirty-five.” She had Gwen a year later, and a year after that he died of cholera on a trip to India. “When one of the married men offered to leave his wife, I ran like hell. She doesn’t want to marry him, does she?”
“Not yet. But you never know, she might.”
“I doubt she’ll stick with it. Don’t be too worried. Can we get a look at him? Should we invite him to dinner here?” Gwen smiled at the suggestion, everyone loved coming to her mother’s studio for Federico’s pasta dinners. “I’ll invite them when we get back from Paris. Federico says the installation of the show is going well. I offered them a horse for the entrance. I have one I just finished, but they wouldn’t pay to ship it over, so we didn’t send it.” They weighed a ton, literally, and cost a fortune to transport properly.
“I think that’s a great idea about Olivia’s man, to invite him here. I’d like to meet him myself.”
“He’s probably terrified of that. He won’t be as worried about me, because I’m old,” Gabrielle said and laughed. “Age is a great cover for a multitude of sins. People assume I’m innocent, which is not always the case.”
“You’re the youngest person I know.” Gwen smiled at her. “I wish I had your energy. I still haven’t seen a decent script,” she complained. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“It will come,” her mother said confidently.
“Maybe not. Actresses’ careers end at my age.”
“Not yours. You may not get the parts you once did, and maybe not as many, but you’ll get better ones. The great roles in film are for women your age, or even older.”
“Maybe I’m finished, or too old.” Gabrielle laughed again when Gwen said it.
“If you’re too old, what does that make me? Dead? Don’t be silly. A great part will come, and a great script with it. You need a hobby in the meantime,” she said. “Something to keep you busy.”
“Not piano lessons again. I still can’t play.” Gwen grinned at her.