Page 72 of Seven Summer Weekends
Her upcoming show,Gicky Irwin, a Retrospective, had been in the works for over a year—well before Gicky fell ill and was diagnosed with leukemia. The other pieces in the show, some dating all the way back to her time in India with Paresh, had alreadybeen photographed and archived and were safely stored away in a climate-controlled facility in Long Island City. Addison didn’t know whether CC had seen the paintings in the house, or if she would be surprised by them. The whole thing was quite thrilling, and Addison vowed to hold on to her excitement, at least for the day. She could go back to being sad about Ben afterward. Meanwhile, she practiced her happy face.
She did, in fact, have plenty to be happy about.
Kizzy had set up an interview for her at Ogilvy for Monday afternoon. Word was that they were eager to meet her, and she was eager as well. Her excitement wasn’t just based on interviewing at the firmAd Agerecently dubbed the comeback agency of the year. She was feeling excited about going home—about seeing her friends and taking a real shower in her own bathroom. She hadn’t felt really clean since she arrived. It was time to wind down the Summer of Addison and think about what the rest of her life could look like. Still, while the anticipation of her first bite of short rib pappardelle at Bad Roman put a smile on her face, thoughts of Ben sank her.
She could see the ferry in the distance.Get it together, Addison, she admonished herself.
She redirected her mind, picturing herself opening up the kiln when the timer went off—to see whatUtter Confusionlooked like. Hopefully, it would look better than it felt.
A slight woman with blunt-cut bangs grazing painted-on eyebrows stepped off the ferry, followed by an entourage carrying an assortment of wooden crates and packing supplies. Addison would recognize CC Ng anywhere, her jet-black helmet as famous in the art world as Anna Wintour’s signature bob was in fashion. And while CC’s reputation was not as scary as Wintour’s,still, she was quite the ball of fire—especially in view of her diminutive size.
Addison approached the group. She was surprised that CC herself was carrying a painting wrapped in brown paper. Though nervous as hell, Addison followed her introduction with a joke.
“I thought you were picking up—not dropping off?”
CC flashed the tiniest of smiles.
“This is for Gicky’s friend Shep. She had strict instructions that it should go to him and only him.”
Aaah, the mysterious painting had been located. At this point, she was sure the old guy had invented its existence. She was beyond curious to see what was inside, but resolved to mind her own business.
CC introduced her people: a photographer named Ryan, who snapped a picture of Addison in lieu of saying hello, and her handsome schlepper, Marco. The latter insisted on pulling the wagon back to the house. Addison let him. It was, after all, in his job title.
She could not get a word in on the walk home, and neither could Ryan or Marco. A deluge of thoughts spilled from CC’s brain, many regarding Gicky, and she barely bothered to finish one sentence before starting another. If Addison weren’t feeling so intimidated by her presence, she would have had a hard time controlling her amusement.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Addison asked them upon entering the house.
“Let’s look at what Gicky left us first. I’m bursting to see it all!”
Addison quietly handed the two men glasses of water. Each thanked her with a smile.
CC began with the few pieces of Gicky’s that were hangingthroughout the house. She didn’t need a tour, and it was obvious that, like Paresh and Margot, she had visited the house before. Most of the art in Gicky’s personal collection was not her own. Addison had googled some pieces with little luck. CC’s comment when glancing at them confirmed Addison’s suspicion.
“Gicky was a sucker for a starving artist.”
Back in the studio, CC went through the pieces slowly and meticulously, taking them out one by one and bringing them into the outside light for a better look. She was restrained, saying little more thanooh,aah, andohas she perused each piece. Addison could see that among this collection of old and newer paintings was some of her aunt’s best work. The brushstrokes were bold and expressive, the colors vivid and intense. There was a wealth of beauty here—it would be some show.
“When is the exhibition?” Addison asked.
“The end of October. It will be up for six weeks. You’ll be invited to the opening, of course,” she noted, as if this weren’t the most meaningful thing Addison had heard all summer. She could feel the color drain from her cheeks. CC saw it as well. She stopped looking at the art and focused on the artist’s niece, standing before her. Even Marco and Ryan took in the emotional moment. It was obvious that CC didn’t often go there.
“I asked Gicky if she wanted me to reach out to you, and even your dad, when she fell ill. But she was adamant that I should not. I pushed it, a little, but she was a stubborn woman, your aunt. And quite prideful. I don’t know which of those emotions drove that decision. It could have been love, for all I know. She still loved her brother, and obviously, she loved you too. Maybe she didn’t want you to have that image of her. Maybe she liked the way she would remain young and vibrant in your eyes.”
Addison refrained from admitting that she barely remembered her.
The twelve o’clock siren went off just as the alarm sounded on Addison’s phone, startling her and signaling that her piece was all fired up. Addison wiped away the tears that she hadn’t even realized had sprung from her eyes and exclaimed, “It’s done!”
She was all fired up too, until she remembered she was standing next to one of the most discerning pairs of eyes in the art world.
Addison pictured herself opening the kiln and gently attaching the piece to the stand she had created for it out of driftwood. She imagined CC pulling down her cat-eyed glasses and peering at it from every angle before declaring Addison a modern Rodin.
“What’s done?” Marco the schlepper asked.
She blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Um—Gicky’s scones,” she lied, adding, “but don’t get excited. I’ve made the recipe taped to her fridge a million times since I got here, and I can’t get it right.”
CC let out a cacophonous laugh. It completely filled the room.
