Time Turner
. . . fiction by Odyssea
. . .In The Cards. . .
Tess looked down at her limp sandwich with disgust. This morning, when she was feeling bright and virtuous, the tuna fish on whole wheat had seemed healthy and cheap. But now all the other assistants had left for lunch at the expensive deli down the block, leaving her sitting in the back room, morosely considering her lunch.
The buzzer trilled above her head, signaling that a customer had come to take her away from the soggy mess. Tess dumped the sandwich in the trashcan with relief and prayed her hands wouldn�t smell like fish. She could really use a commission today, since both her rent and student loan payment were due this week. Some days, Tess had to agree with her parents about the uselessness of an art history degree.
When Tess entered the main showroom, she saw a stylishly dressed man studying one of the gallery�s prized Bridget Riley screen prints. It was an Op Art piece from the �60s, when Riley only used black and white in her compositions. It was worth quite a lot, though Russell had gotten it for a song at an estate sale from a child who had always hated the piece. Tess couldn�t blame her; it gave her a headache whenever she looked at it. Hate it or not, though, Tess would do her damndest to sell it.
�It�s an interesting concept, isn�t it?� Tess asked, approaching the customer. That was Tess� step one: never try to sell the customer, but let them sell themselves.
The man turned to face her. She was surprised to see that he wasn�t much older than her, though he had more style than the men who regularly hit on her in bars. Tess felt her smile light up; even if she didn�t make the sale, it was worth it to look at him for a few hours.
�I�m Teresa Rossi, one of the assistants here. And you are?�
�Funny, you don�t look like a Teresa,� he said, with a charming grin. Tess felt a bit flustered.
�It�s�you can call me Tess, actually,� She stammered.
�Tess?� He asked, giving her another grin. �And I�m Daniel. Daniel Richards.�
�A pleasure to meet you. I see you�re interested in our Riley,� Tess continued, trying to act extremely professional. �It�s an original screen print from the artist, not a copy. Quite rare in fact � we�re lucky to have it.�
Daniel scrutinized the painting, then looked around it, seeming a bit puzzled. It took Tess a moment to realize he was looking for the price tag; there was none, as Russell only wanted his prices known to serious buyers.
�Sir? If you�re interested in the screen print, I can tell you the price,� Tess asked tentatively.
�So there is a price?� Daniel asked. �For a second there, I thought I�d walked into a museum.�
It didn�t seem to be a joke, so Tess didn�t laugh. He stared at the center of the optical illusion that was Riley�s work, while she stared at him.
�It�s not really my thing,� he said, turning to face her. �Do you have something from the same period, only less��
�Headache inducing?� Tess asked, not catching herself in time. She felt her cheeks go hot with embarrassment.
Daniel only grinned. �I think that�s exactly what I meant.�
Tess spent the next hour showing Daniel � Danny, actually, as he asked her to call him halfway through � the gallery�s collection. She enjoyed it, as he seemed to know quite a bit about the artwork in the gallery, and wasn�t above some light flirting, which made a change from some of the gallery�s customers, who seemed to think purchasing artwork included time to grope the salesgirl.
A few of the other assistants gave her jealous glances, but Tess let them roll off her. It wasn�t every day a handsome young man appreciated her art expertise, and the appreciative looks he occasionally gave her new skirt.
In the end, showing excellent taste, in Tess� opinion, Danny bought an Audrey Flack painting, so realistic that it almost looked like a photo. He wrote her a check for the deposit, and Tess tried to decide whether it was worth it to memorize his phone number or not.
A crisp, white business card dropped on top of the check, obscuring her view of the number. �I didn�t want you to strain your eyes, Tess,� Danny said with that same grin.
Tess felt her face heat up, and looked down at the desk. �Oh, that�s no problem, Mr. Richards. I�ll just file it for when you come to pick up your order.
�No need to be so formal, Tess,� Danny said, coaxingly. �In fact, what do you say we dispense with the formalities all together?�
�What do you mean?� Tess asked, looking confused.
Danny grinned. �Well, I think it would be rather awkward to go around calling each other Mr. and Miss, especially if you decide to have dinner with me.�
�Dinner?� Tess repeated. �With you?�
�Yes, Tess. Dinner with me,� Danny replied. �If you want to. If you don�t, you can quote some rule about socializing with customers and I�ll forget about it. So?�
Tess looked at him and smiled widely. �Dinner? I�d love to.�
*******
Daniel Ocean was having a good day. Not only was everything going exactly as planned, but he was having a good time, too. Tess was very sweet and very smart; it was almost a pity he was going to rob her gallery blind. In the meantime, he�d simply enjoy their dinner together.
Granted, dinner was just a way of getting information on gallery security without having to cut another person in on the take. And it was easy, too, requiring only a sharp eye to memorize the security code Tess punched in as she locked up, and a quick hand to make an imprint of her key while she went to the ladies� room.
It wasn�t until later, when he was kissing Tess outside the restaurant as the taxi driver grunted impatiently, that it wasn�t easy and it certainly wasn�t smart. In the back of his mind, he could hear his old mentor saying, never get involved with a mark, but the rest of his body cared only about kissing sweet Tess in the moonlight.
But the job came first, so he put Tess, her cheeks flushed, into the cab and paid her way home (he�d seen how thin her wallet was while he rifled through her purse, and tried not to care about it), then caught his own cab back to the gallery.
It was a relatively simple job, and the intricate dance of robbery put all thoughts of romance out of his head. Take the imprint of the key, and use it to make a fake that would last long enough to get him in and out. Key the security code, waiting until the lights flashed green. Then to the back room, where a piece sat, carefully boxed, to go to the collector who had bought it before it was even in the gallery�s collection. A collector who was not Danny�s boss.
Personally, Danny didn�t care about the artwork or the collectors battling over it. In fact, he didn�t consider himself a b&e man, either, but he was willing to go where the work was, especially when it would net him a cool ten thousand dollars. Five minutes was all it took, and Danny was back on the streets, heading home with a skip in his step.
The next morning, Danny was back at the gallery to pick up his painting (which was actually another acquisition for his boss, whose taste in art Danny was beginning to find a bit suspect). Unlike yesterday, the gallery was full of people, most of whom were wearing the blue uniform of New York�s finest.
Tess ran over to him, looking pale. �Oh, Danny, we�ve been robbed.�
Danny arranged his face into a look of both surprise and sadness. �That�s horrible, Tess. I�ll trust my piece wasn�t among those taken?�
�What? Oh, no, Mr. Richards, it wasn�t.� Tess shook her head, suddenly formal. �I�m sorry, I should have told you that right away. I�m just not sure that you can pick it up today, though. The cops are making a mess of everything.�
This was it: the final moment. Danny should leave, offering a reassurance that he would show up tomorrow morning, bright and early, to pick up his painting, and then never return. A courier would arrive and take the parcel, leaving a check for the exact amount. Further scrutiny would reveal two facts: that the phone number on the business card didn�t exist, and that the nameless account the checks drew on contained only enough money to pay for the painting. Neither Tess nor the gallery would see Danny again.
Maybe in another universe, Danny did leave. Maybe Tess got in trouble for the robbery, and maybe she didn�t. Maybe Danny got caught and went to jail; maybe Tess got a better job that had nothing to do with art. Maybe she volunteered at the Met on weekends; maybe Tess never thought of Danny again.
Maybe it would have ended like that. But Danny held out his hand, and opened his mouth to invite Tess to lunch.
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