“Sir, is there something wrong with yours?”
“Yes.”
It’s where I broke her heart.
28
Imusthavegottena total of three hours of sleep last night. Packing for an unknown number of days or weeks was no simple task.
Frankie and I met in his office for two hours on Friday morning. He’d taken the liberty of drafting up a contract for our management agreement and provided me with a list of newspapers, magazines and other agencies to which we would routinely submit my work to.
We would use miniature versions of it with watermarks, some standard sketches that could be used day to day, and others would be event-specific that we would start with high bids for. Those would need to be quick—Frankie stressed “day-after-event” kind of quick.
It was a one-page agreement and very straightforward and I knew Frankie always had my best interest at heart, but I told him I’d take time to look it over for when my head was clear.
“Harper, I am speechless. This is—this is better than I imagined. Better than anything anyone is expecting.”
I smiled, proud of not only my art, but of the subject. “Thanks. Let me know what comes out of it.” I wasn’t going to hold my breath, but I wanted this for Troy. Some positive way to send him off.
I hadn’t officially started healing yet. I did still have a lot of anger that would take weeks to work through, but I didn’t hate him. He’d clearly been handed the lower end of the stick when it came to talents and that was unfair.
Nicole grabbed me the second I emerged from Frankie’s office and called for an early lunch for us to catch up.
“When do you leave?”
“My flight is tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll take you,” Nic drew her hands to her mouth anxiously, and blew a breath between her palms. “I’m so excited for you. This is going to be…it’s going to perfect. It’s exactly what you need. I hope. “Oh God what if you hate it?”
I laughed. “How could I hate it? It’s a mental health retreat. I only have a one-way plane ticket to this island in the Bahamas and we won’t have too much phone or internet access during the day, but once I get back to my room, I’ll text, send you pictures...” I handed her the postcard of where I will be.
The description fit me perfectly.
Time to Rest, Revitalize and Sink Back into You.
This retreat is about listening to what your heart and soul truly crave and then giving yourself the opportunity to explore it, without stress.
“That’s amazing. You’re not going to want to come back.”
“I don’t know…all vegan diet, daily yoga? I might come running back on day three.”
I woke up Saturday morning after a long night’s sleep refreshed and excited. Already feeling the effects of my retreat, even though I had last minute items to pack, two flights and two orientation hours ahead of me.
Frankie had already left me three voicemails, each time promising it was the only call I’d get today.
His phone was blowing up apparently. Out of the ten submissions of Troy Hartman’s ‘farewell sketch’, which is what I’d called it, I received four offers to pay outright and six offering a full-time position with their firm.
Those were immediately turned down, but he sent me the four offers to consider.
All ranging between ten to fifteen thousand. I ended up picking the second to highest bidder since they were the only ones offering front page.
It felt good turning down Brooklyn Lines. Even if they were the highest bidder.
“Maybe next time, guys…”
I packed a medium sized roller suitcase with summer clothes, my sketchbook, and passport. All other necessary items would be provided, including comfortable shoes, toiletries and I added the skincare package to my reservation.
This getaway certainly wasn’t cheap but the check I got for that first sketch of August, or rather as the media believed, ‘Troy Hartman’, covered it plenty.
