‘Probably because that’s exactly what he was doing in those meetings,’ I bite. ‘He always did have terrible halitosis.’
‘Do you know what he did today?’ She’s already smiling as she leans forward. ‘He came over to ask me how to change his email signature. His bloody signature. And they want him running the place? It’s absurd. And Frank wonders why I want out.’
‘Have you heard about your interview yet?’ I ask.
She shakes her head.
My shoulders fall. If they gave Steve the job and he’s completely incapable of the basics, what does it say about what they thought of me? Am I worse than that? I won’t lie when I say my confidence has taken a hit. For all my tiny victories this week, doubt seeps in, in the middle of the night and keeps me awake. And, given I haven’t the faintest idea where I’m going to begin when it comes to the gallery, I’m wondering if they weren’t on to something.
‘And they picked him over me?’ I ask.
‘They’ll work him out soon enough,’ she says gaily. ‘Just kick back, relax and wait for the shit show to begin.’
‘That’s the thing though. I can’t relax. I don’t have the time to relax.’ I scratch at my forehead and try to think of all the things I need to get done. ‘On the way home today, I was just thinking that there’s social media, business contracts, marketing, finding artists who’ll answer their phones, and that’s just the stuff visible from space.’
I feel a little peaky at the idea. It’s the kind of panic that leads to procrastination and watching telly all night but doing that would only stoke the anxiety fire so badly I’d end up with first degree guilt over doing nothing.
‘Katie, you have had a whirlwind of a week. Why don’t you stop, just for tonight? Run a bath and mainline some Epsom salts. It’ll do you good.’ She waggles the wine bottle as I walk over to the kitchen. ‘Get drunk.’
‘I wish I could.’ I stand staring into an empty refrigerator. ‘But if I sign this contract, I get the keys on Saturday because they’re desperate for rent and, really, how much time do I have to waste? I’m on a six-month lease. Less, if they get a buyer, so I need to make this happen. Like, yesterday.’
‘When are you planning on opening?’ she asks.
‘Ideally, in a fortnight.’
‘Is that realistic? You’ve got to do your financials and register a business and all that paperwork, which Frank can help you with, by the way.’ She waves a hello from the sofa. ‘That’s me, your friendly neighbourhood accountant pimp.’
‘All right.’ I grab for my diary and flip through to a yearly planner. ‘Let’s say four to six weeks, then. Is that long enough?’
She nods and shrugs and begrudgingly agrees. ‘Think about it, by the time you get the artists, insurance, and advertising, let alone cleaning the place up. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s all you.’
‘It is,’ I answer. ‘All me.’
‘So, what do you need to do to make that happen? Let’s put together a list.’
I glance up at the wall clock. The time is nudging 9 p.m.
‘Oh, no, you don’t have to. You’ve probably … won’t Frank be waiting for you to get home? You guys are weeks away from getting married. There must be a million things you’d rather be doing for that. Never mind the fact it’s a weeknight.’
‘That’s exactly why I’m here.’ She offers me a sarcastic look. ‘Honestly, I’m sick of dealing with it right now. Plus, you’ve helped me a lot lately, so let me do this for you.’
‘Is everything okay there?’ I ask. ‘All the plans are coming along?’
‘Oh, hell yeah,’ she says. ‘It’s the little things now. Stationery, order of service, that kind of thing. After they’re done, I just have to turn up on the day.’
‘And you probably should turn up.’
‘Right, so what do you need?’ she asks. ‘Think back to your Webster days. Hopefully, you haven’t completely dumped us already. What has to happen to get this up and running?’
‘A million dollars would be a great start,’ I joke. ‘A few sugar daddies.’
Lainey cringes. ‘Ideal but can’t quite help you on that one. I could crowdfund you a Happy Meal though.’
I laugh and rest against the counter. ‘I need artists. I need an opening exhibition. And, for all my moaning, I do want to ask Christopher. He’s local, he’s seemingly well connected, so he’ll draw a crowd, but he’s not answering my calls. Or messages.’
‘Forget about him,’ she says. ‘He’s rude. We don’t have time for people like him. Plus, you already know plenty of other artists. You do have connections, despite your sad, sad woe-is-me face. And we have my little red book. You don’t need him.’
We find the list of names we wrote down the other day and highlight a few of the best with big red asterisks. I know I want new and local artists, but a stable of popular favourites will help get the gallery off to a positive start. They can bring the attention before I swoop in with local artists.
In the end, my list contains old friends from university, or people I’ve met in my day-to-day life at the museum. This gives me a solid pool of over fifty contacts to begin with. Seeing so many names before me gives a bit of life to the plan. It doesn’t feel quite so monumental for these five minutes.
‘Now I need something to email them about, right? Social media, website, that kind of thing,’ I say. ‘We used to have this pro forma at the museum. Mail merge or something similar. Hello, insert name here, thought you’d be keen to know about the new gallery.’
‘Now you’re cooking.’ Lainey stuffs her fork in her mouth. ‘Start by getting them interested in the place first. Have you set up your socials at least? Invited everyone to like them yet?’
‘No, no.’ I shake my head, heading back to the sink for a glass of water. ‘I didn’t want to do anything until I was certain this was a thing. You know, jumping the gun and all.’
‘Well, now that you are.’ She smiles broadly and cracks her knuckles. ‘This is where I use my superpowers.’
With a laptop nestled on the coffee table between us, we upload photos and think up page names. I keep it simple, deciding to name my gallery the Katharine Patterson Gallery. Simple. While I pace the living room talking about fresh talent, positive space, innovative gallery, Lainey shapes it into something that sounds snappy, sophisticated, and completely bloody brilliant. I don’t have a logo yet, nor do I have any branding, but that’s not something I can solve on a Wednesday evening.
‘Actually, it is,’ Lainey says as she swipes at her phone. ‘I know this amazing guy who does a bit of work for Webster. He’s got me out of a pickle at short notice before. His business has really kicked on after getting some big-name brands on board. When he started, he was only doing websites, but now he does socials, branding, everything. Actually, I think Frank’s company might’ve used him as well.’
I reach for my phone. ‘Let’s call him.’
Even though it’s late, he answers and is more than happy to accommodate. In fact, he’s chomping at the bit for a quick bit of cash. Ninety minutes later, my bank balance is a touch lighter, but I’m sitting on my sofa looking at a placeholder website with an introduction, location details, a biography and contact form, all in elegant black and white with a classic font that will be easy enough to turn into signage. I’ve got header images for social media, suitable profile pictures, and I’m feeling like I’ve hit the jackpot. Sure, it’s simple, and perhaps I could have done it myself if I had time to waste, but if I’m going to do this on my own, I’m going to have to learn to delegate tasks.