Morningstar Manor

"And about time too," Leena said, chasing Allan into the office. She shut the door after him and he scowled at the bit of paper in his hand and slumped into the chair by the desk. He didn't like using the phone, especially for something like this - contacting a potential customer - but time had gone on and even Charlie was beginning to get a bit testy with him.

Allan sighed and picked up the phone and dialled the number.

One ring - two - maybe she wasn't there?

They were slowly hammering out some kind of schedule that they all agreed could be workable. Charlie would have to spend a fair amount of time at the gallery, of course, because the buck as far as paperwork was concerned, stopped with him, but even so he shouldn't have to do more than two full days a week and the others even less, leaving them all plenty of time to work on their true vocation.

Charlie sighed with satisfaction, looking forward to see what they came up with and continued to service the elevator. When he had finished down stairs he'd have to do upstairs - another two days. Then maybe he'd have a go at the heating.

Having had to repair his phone once with gaffer tape Charlie replaced it in the cradle more gently than the phone call he had just had warranted.

Andy was just in time to see him do it, having whizzed round from the desk where she had been listening in to remind him not to break it again, and folded her arms and raised her eyebrows.

"Do you want me to kill him for you?" she asked. "My rates are very reasonable and I'll do a clean job. I'll make it look exactly as though he accidentally ripped off his own genitals and choked to death on them. I know just how to do it."

She hoped, wherever he was, Richard Udridtz was getting an uneasy feeling in his scrotum. Standing outside the New York 290 and leafleting potential customers with complaints about fascist censorship was bad but going inside screaming at poor Prudence until she cried put him beyond the pale.

"I can't ask my staff to deal with that," Charlie said. "It's just not fair. No - I - I'll have to go back there." He reached for the phone again. "I'll tell Deacon. He can't come but - oh lord ..."

Nine's communication made life immeasurably more complicated.

Andy put her hand over his. "I'll go," she said. "Please - let me, Chas. I promise I won't hurt him if he comes in again. Go on. Why should you have all the fun?"

"You're just so weird," Charlie said, staring at her and Andy smiled knowing he'd give in - eventually. It was always more fun if they wriggled.

One damn thing after another. Charlie, with staff once more suffering from being attacked while leaving the gallery, was spending the morning reviewing security footage to see if he could see anyone who looked suspicious and was VERY very annoyed.

So Annoyed in fact, and it warranted a capital A, that when Marian called to upbraid him for the tone of his latest email, his knuckles went white on the phone and he said, "Marian, that wasn't a request, it was a demand. Well done for spotting it. Now if you are unable to comply, perhaps you ought to consider whether you wish to continue to work for me."

Marian's voice rose. She had, apparently, never been spoken to like that before - which he found hard to believe - and no would not wish to work for such an egotistical, and tasteless Philistine however they had a contract and SHE would not be the one to break it.

"The previous owner knew how to treat his staff," she said, which was possibly the worst thing she could have said under the circumstances.

Five minutes later, after much screaming on both sides, Charlie slammed the phone down and looked at the cracked handset in horror. He no longer had a manager of his New York gallery, and Richard Udridtz was definitely going to sue.

Way to make a bad situation worse.

That morning Andy had already been on the phone when Emma had arrived and she hadn't as yet had a chance to speak to her.

She put the phone down with a heavy sigh, flicked the switch on the kettle - it was a tea day, she'd already had enough coffee to make her hands shake - and she went out into the body of the gallery to ask if Emma wanted a cup. ( Read more... )

Sadie put down her book and picked up the phone on the fifth ring since nobody had answered in the office.

"Hello," she said. ""90 Fine Arts, City branch .... Oh hello Mrs Haycock." She smiled, having entertained a little fantasy about getting a job at the new York gallery. She felt it would suit her much better.

Marian Haycock said, "I understand that Mr Shaw and Miss Andrassi are both away at the moment. Have you got anyone else there or are you on your own, dear."

"Oh, no, Mr Loki's here," Sadie said.

"Well I'd like to speak to him then," Marian said.

"I'll try and find him," Sadie said, and called the office wondering if he'd pick up this time.

They weren't all there, of course - yet again Sadie hadn't turned up - but there were enough to make some adjustments to the working schedules.

Lenna nodded and said, "That's fine with me now we just need front of house staff. Emma? Can you do any extra shifts?"

"Do you want to do any extra shifts?" Andy asked. "It's not compulsory but it would be a help."

Hi Anastasia,

I'm not sure if Charlie got in touch before he was called away on business, so excuse me if I'm going over old ground.

Your sales at the preview were very encouraging and your work has attracted a lot of interest. I anticipate more sales as the word spreads.

On Friday we sold the portrait in blue, the nude study with the fire, and two of the paintings of the garden - the gazebo one and the conservatory. The lady who bought the picture of the gazebo has also put a deposit on the one of the rose garden. Since the deposit is non-returnable I'm confident that's another sale.

Since then we have sold two more of the landscapes and I'd be very grateful if you could supply us with a couple more to hold in reserve to fill the gaps.

Many thanks

Andy Andrassi
290 Fine Arts

They were well organised by now. Gil from the Flamingo Lounge had done the usual high quality finger foods and providing some medium quality wine and rather better soft drinks.He had also loaned Katie to help serve them.

Andy stood by ready to pour drinks or sell art, depending on who wanted what. Charlie, smart but not TOO smart, was ready to meet and greet and the door stood open invitingly.

ooc: usual party post rules apply - plait those threads, dears

It had been a rather glum morning once they had totted up and balanced outgoings and expenditures for the previous evening.

But, as Charlie said, looking on the bright side, at least they had a fridge FULL of very good food and several part-bottles of wine.

"Might as well make the most of it," Andy said and got on the phone and called up random people offering them lunch.

With any luck some of those who had stayed in to watch the Superbowl might turn up with their cheque-books!

She had insisted that she would be all right, and when Andy insisted on something, it was generally as well to let her have her head.

In this case it had been as well. She was bored in the apartment and boredom easily led to trouble as she made things for herself to do.

Much better to go to the gallery, take a seat at the desk and talk to the customers, than - for instance - alphabetising Erik's CDs or raiding his work room [the only two things she had hitherto considered to be sacrosanct].

She was positively cheerful as the door bell pinged and another visitor entered the gallery.

Sadie swung on the chair by the desk and made a face at the window. The gallery customers had all either darted outside or were standing by the window watching the woman on the stage singing.

Sadie couldn't see the attraction. She'd never heard of her - Keira O'Dwyer. What kind of name was that? Sounded Scottish or something.

She sighed and flipped open the desk phone book and flicked through the pages then smiled and dialled.

Such a sad thing really, Angela getting shot. Figured that the one morning Loki hadn't been loitering in the square something exciting happened. Though in all honesty he'd have prefered it not been the dark haired woman who'd been hurt. She was fiesty. He liked her.

But it had happened and apparently at least one of the other employees was considering trying to take advantage of the situation (lawyers, he knew what level of the Underworld they'd be going to) and that was leaving the cute little gallery owner in a bind.

Well Shaw had offered him a job once...

The bell above the gallery door jingled as Loki opened it. Gone were the baggy jeans and netted shirts. Today he wore fitted black slacks that looked as if they'd been made just for him, polished black boots and a black silk button up that, while a bit on the Victorian or Renaissance side with the slightly baggy sleeves, looked very posh. Gone were the black nails and his bright red hair was brushed until it shown and pulled back in a tail at the nape of his neck.

Selling art. Oh yes that was something he could do very well.