Coming from this post.
The mysterious painter's phone starts to ring, an unrecognized number. Maybe she should have kept her information more secret.
*Ring ring*
A Call to a Painter
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Coming from this post.
The mysterious painter's phone starts to ring, an unrecognized number. Maybe she should have kept her information more secret.
*Ring ring*
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The line rings for many long moments, and before long Einstein suspects that voicemail is all that she is bound for, but thankfully, such a suspicion is wrong.
"H'Lo..." a woman's sleepy voice mumbles into Einsteins ear.
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Einstein feels that what this situation needs is a little The Matrix. She carefully keeps her voice calm and straight and enunciates. Every. Word.
"Miss Bachman. I am Miss White. You have painted myself and several associates of mine. We would like to talk these paintings over with you."
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"Huh?" comes the oh so nuanced, sleep addled reply. "I...what? You want to talk about some commissions? What time is it, anyway?"
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"The time is unimportant." Time is a Lie, after all. "We would like to meet, now."
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"What? I don't...Look," the woman finally managed, the vestige of dream muddling what was already a confusing conversation, "I don't really handle that kind of stuff anymore, mm-kay? You want me to do a commission, you need to talk to Johann. There's a showing at his gallery tomorrow. Just come by sometime, have some champagne, and he or Renee will get it all sorted out. For now, I'm gonna go back to sleep. And turn my phone off," she adds, just before cutting the line.
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