They flew to New York together two days before her grandmother’s show of recent works, and settled into Olivia’s apartment, which he thought was spectacular. He loved the wall of Warhols of her mother that Gwen had given her, and the two Picassos she had inherited from her father.
She wanted to introduce him to her grandmother before the show, but Gabrielle told Olivia she was too busy overseeing the installation to meet him, and she’d see him at the museum.
“Is this something serious?” Gabrielle asked her.
“It might be. We haven’t known each other for long, only two months.” Their relationship was in its infancy, she had just turned twenty-eight and was starting to take things more seriously, not just living in the moment. She had learned a lesson from getting involved with Paul too hastily, without considering the consequences adequately.
They were no more successful seeing Gwen, who had just signed the contract for her new movie. The script she loved had been picked up by a serious producer, an important director she’d worked with before had been attached to it. A number of talented actors had been signed, and they were going to start shooting in September. Her career was taking off again, with an extraordinary part, just as her mother had predicted. The right vehicle had turned up for her talent. And she’d just been approached about another film she loved after this one.
Olivia and Jean-Pierre arrived right on time at the opening of the show, and the work her grandmother and the curator had chosen was spectacular. They had put it in just the right location in an atrium, with enough breathing space around it. Jean-Pierre couldn’t decide if he was more fascinated by the work or the mesmerizing, fiery, white-haired artist. Olivia introduced him and Gabrielle narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, and then her lined face crinkled into a smile.
“You will do very nicely,” she said, and spoke to him in French thereafter. She heartily approved of him, and introduced him to Federico. Jean-Pierre explained to him how he had hunted for one of his photographs for an important client, and owned two himself. Federico was immensely pleased, and Jean-Pierre was oblivious to his scars as well.
“I am Beauty and the Beast all rolled into one,” Federico said, laughing at himself.
A little while later, there was a ripple throughout the room as Olivia’s mother entered. There were the usual whispers that she had arrived, that she was there, who she was, from strangers who were surprised to see her and didn’t know about her connection to the artist. Olivia knew how much her mother disliked the attention in her private life, and whenever she went to public places. Olivia walked up to her with Jean-Pierre and Gwen greeted him with a warm smile. He tried to treat her like any other woman, but found he couldn’t, she was too beautiful and too famous. He could more easily ignore Federico’s scars than Gwen’s fame and stunning beauty. And unlike most people, fooled by the difference in their height and hair color, he saw an immediate resemblance to her daughter, which pleased them both. It was rare for anyone to say that they looked like each other.
The three of them stood chatting for a little while, and Gabrielle and Federico joined them.
“I signed for the second film today,” Gwen told her mother proudly. “You were right. And they are both fantastic parts. I really thought for a while that my career was over and I was too old to get a decent part. At my age, the film industry can be unforgiving and quite cruel.”
“Whatever age you are,” her mother said tartly, “age is just a number, and numbers have no power over you, unless you allow them to. You can feel ‘too old’ at any age, if you let yourself. You’re never too old or too young for anything, you’re just the right age. It’s all a numbers game invented to frighten you.” Then she turned to meet someone the curator wanted to introduce her to. She was wearing a deep purple dress with a high black lace collar, black satin shoes, and a long string of pearls that she said had been her grandmother’s. Jean-Pierre thought her timeless and very beautiful.
They all had dinner that night at La Grenouille with the director of the museum and the curator who had helped Gabrielle select the work for the show, and Jean-Pierre was right in his element with artists and museum people. Like Olivia, he had grown up with them, perhaps even more so because of who his father was.
Gabrielle made a comment about Gwen’s painting, and Gwen laughed.
“I’m finishing the last one now,” Gwen said to her mother. “I don’t think I’ll be painting for much longer. I’m going back to work, thank God.” Olivia explained to Jean-Pierre quietly that her mother hadn’t worked for about a year, and now had found two parts she loved, and would start shooting the first one in September, and the second not long after. He still felt awestruck to be standing around chatting like old friends with Gwen Waters. He told Olivia that he couldn’t imagine what it was like having a mother as famous as she was.
“She’s actually very normal,” Olivia said with a smile. “She used to pick me up every day at school when she wasn’t working. She’s never been a diva. And my grandmother certainly isn’t.”
“Neither are you.” Jean-Pierre smiled at her. She had her own opinions, but he was finding her to be reasonable and undemanding, and he was having a good time working with her and even learning from her. She was clever in business.
They went back to Olivia’s apartment after dinner at La Grenouille, Gabrielle and Federico went downtown to the Bowery in an Uber, and Gwen took a cab to the Dakota.
Gwen looked at the painting she had almost finished, set up on an easel in the kitchen, when she got home. There were still a few things she wanted to add to it, and she was studying it when the phone rang. It was late for anyone to call her, and she wondered if it was Olivia. When she glanced at her cellphone, she saw that it was her mother’s number. She sounded panicked when Gwen answered. Gabrielle was breathless.
“Mother, are you okay?” Gwen asked her quickly.
“It’s Federico. He can’t breathe. I think he’s having a heart attack. I called nine-one-one, they’re not here yet. I have to go. I’ll text you where they take him.” She hung up before Gwen could say anything. And ten minutes later, Gabrielle sent her a text that they were taking him to NYU hospital, it was the closest large medical center to where they lived. And Gabrielle was going in the ambulance with him.
Gwen had changed out of her cocktail dress the moment she got the call. She put on jeans, a black sweater, flat shoes, and the moment she got the text, she called an Uber and hurried downstairs. The car was there three minutes later, and Gwen was panicked as they sped through the night. Federico was eighty-four years old and in good health until now, but one of these days, something serious was liable to happen to him. Age was not on his side. Her mother was older, but seemed sturdier and hardier than he did. He was always full of energy, and paid no attention to his age or health, only to hers. But getting blown up years before in Vietnam had taken a toll he chose to ignore.