Picture This

‘But we’ve lined up our own location scout for you,’ Felix interrupted. ‘A local, the very best. Scorsese’s worked with her.’

‘And I’m happy to join forces,’ Alfie interjected, unfazed. ‘However, I have an integral understanding of Susie’s needs.’

What needs? Felix wondered silently, faintly appalled to discover he was already feeling territorial over the artist.

‘He does. He’s like second unit in a film production. And I’m notoriously particular. Ain’t I, Alfie?’

‘You are indeed. Particular, Susie, about absolutely everything,’ Alfie concurred, in a manner that immediately irritated Felix. ‘That’s why you’re such an extraordinary artist. Everything is meticulously orchestrated…’

‘…right down to the last… ’ Susie elaborated.

‘…cock ring,’ Muriel Hastings completed the sentence with a faint smile.

‘Muriel worked in the costume department of the Royal Opera until I rescued her,’ Susie explained. ‘She’s a maestro with a tin of polyester resin and chicken wire, plus she’s very good at calming down the talent. And these are your people?’ she asked, indicating the three junior gallerists who were hovering in the background.

‘Denise Underwood, Fiona Coff, Dustin Warner… ’ Felix introduced them in turn. ‘Denise covers Asia. I poached her from the Marion Goodman Gallery, mainly for her impeccable academic credentials and her eye. Denise tends to favour the intellectual and mathematically abstract artists, which balances my more figurative tastes.’

Denise nodded demurely while Felix moved on to the younger woman standing next to her. ‘Fiona here looks after the less established artists, while Dustin manages the European artists – except for yourself. You’re all mine. I’m greedy that way,’ he joked. Finally he indicated Chloe, hovering by his side. ‘And then there’s Chloe, my gallerina and personal assistant. You’ll have her number on speed-dial in no time – everyone else does. So what do you think of the space?’

Susie pivoted around like an overgrown child, taking in the gallery.

‘It looked different in the plans,’ she commented.

‘It’s not finished yet, hence the scaffolding. Once the lighting is fully installed and we’ve completely opened up the space, it’s going to be extraordinary.’ To his surprise, Felix found he was nervous about her reaction.

The vast space now occupied by Baum #2 had originally been a storage warehouse. Situated in Chelsea, the gallery was the new downtown addition to Felix’s empire. The more salubrious but far smaller Baum #1 on the Upper West Side was oriented toward the wealthy collectors who lived in the neighbourhood and never ventured as far down as SoHo. This space was to be part of a new wave, designed to accommodate larger pieces that were created to shock, art that created historical turning points such as Jeff Koons’s Egg or Bourgeois’s spiders – pieces that were far out of reach of the ordinary collector. This was art for institutions, for museums and billionaires.

Felix envisaged the gallery as a means of making his mark on New York, its appearance heralding a wave of copycats that would revitalise a dockside area that had previously housed the homeless and a dying garment trade.

As Susie surveyed the massive room, Felix felt a surge of pride. There was only one other private contemporary art gallery on the same scale, and that was in Shanghai and was bound by the strictures of government censorship. He had deliberately created a cathedral to difficult, esoteric art – the new religion of the very rich, one of the few spiritually transformative highs they subscribed to. Pandering to creative envy, he called it, putting it in the same box as penis envy: creativity being the one thing the billionaires couldn’t buy, copy or clone – and they all knew it, as did Felix himself.

His gamble and self-belief had paid off – to the tune of millions of dollars. But did Susie Thomas know how powerful he was? She must, and yet of all the artists he’d dealt with, some of them almost as feted as she, Susie had been the most difficult, the most elusive. Even now, he found it hard to believe she was right here, standing on his very own polished concrete floor.

‘Not too shabby,’ she concluded, to Felix’s secret relief. ‘The whole place has a kind of echo to it, perfect for the set of photographs I will be making.’

‘And it’s an honour to have you as the first show ever in the space. We still have 12 weeks to finish the building… ’ Felix’s tone was a little sharp; it had taken thousands of dollars and four lawyers – two English and two American – to negotiate the 60-page contract outlining every possible scenario and sewing up every possible legal loophole before the show could go ahead. ‘ …May 21st will be the big day. We have everyone who’s anyone coming, including several A-list celebrities – isn’t that correct, Martha?’

A tall, statuesque African-American woman in her forties stepped forward, dressed in a miniskirt, her body humming with the kind of electricity that defines the hyperactive. A long arm topped with a hand covered in heavy knuckle rings shot out, crushing Susie’s far smaller hand in a vigorous shake.

‘Martha Keller, publicist, so thrilled, you have no idea!’ she enthused. ‘You know, for most of the young female artists in this town, you mean so much in terms of role-modelling, perhaps more than Louise Bourgeois and we all know what Louise B means historically in terms of the female. Well, my dear little Englishwoman, you are going to be more famous and more signif—’

‘Fuck, I thought I was already!’ Susie deadpanned.

A chill ran through the room, as the Americans struggled with her English irony.

‘Guys, I’m joking! Louise B is a close friend and mentor. As far as I’m concerned, she is the goddess, the original. The rest of us are just mutating in her wake. So, Martha, you’re the one who tells me who I have to be a performing monkey for… Tell me: who, when and where?’

The publicist pulled out a Filofax and began reading: ‘We have a Goya opening at the Frick – you’re an honoured guest there. Then this year’s Met Gala at the Costume Institute; the theme is “AngloMania: Tradition and Transgression in British Fashion” – perfect timing! I cannot tell you how excited Ms Wintour is to have you as a guest. We’re currently negotiating with an A-list film star to be your date, Susie… Then there’s the opening of Tarantino’s new movie on Times Square, and a fundraiser for charity – “The Cruellest Cut of All…”’

Perplexed, Susie turned to Felix. He shrugged charmingly.

‘Female circumcision. You donated the piece I Am Woman, Hear Me Come,’ he informed her.

‘I did?’

‘Courtesy of Baum Galleries. It seemed appropriate and terrific PR.’

‘Totally. I’m a huge endorser of the female orgasm… ’ Susie deadpanned again.