"So, like your father said, I looked through your sketches - I hope you don't mind."
I shrug although she can't see me, to which Harry chuckles, "Not at all."
"You're very talented - like absurdly so. Have you ever thought about selling your art?"
"Not really."
Elliott scoffs, "Well, I truly think you should consider it. I have a friend, Damien, who owns a gallery, and I'd bet anything he'd happily agree to display and sell your paintings."
"Wow, that's amazing!" I lock eyes with Harry who is almost bursting with excitement. "How would that work?"
"Well," she pauses, there's a few seconds of shuffling, and then she's back, "there's a $200 deposit to reserve a room in the gallery, which would be dedicated solely to you, and as long as your art is selling, you'd get to keep the space. From each painting that sells, Damien takes a thirty percent commission, which is fairly low; most places take fifty. Now, I've only seen the three paintings your dad has hanging up around the house, but from the looks of these drawings, your paintings could sell in the five hundred to fifteen hundred dollar price range."
At this point, my mouth is hanging open and I'm speechless. Harry grips my cheeks and beams at me with pride, causing my eyes to fill with tears. I can't remember the last time someone was genuinely proud of me.
"Cleo? Are you okay?" Elliott asks once the silence on my end of the line has become unbearable.
"Holy shit," I whisper.
"What?"
"Sorry, I'm just taking it all in. This is incredible. I don't know what to say..."
My mind is overwhelmed, trying to absorb all of this information at once. Harry's soft hand finds my knee and squeezes gently, pulling me back to Earth.
"Are you in?"
I don't even hesitate before answering, "Hell yes!" which receives a chuckle from both Harry and my dad, who I guess put me on speaker phone as well.
Elliott squeals excitedly, "Perfect! Do you have any finished pieces lying around you'd be willing to submit to Damien for appraisal?"
"I have a few."
Harry takes the phone from my hand suddenly, "There's one in Cleo's closet that she painted for class last semester, which is amazing. You should take that one to the gallery."
"Um..." Elliott laughs lightly, "Thanks, Harry."
After I end the call, Harry scoops me up as if I weigh nothing and presses me against his chest for a warm hug, whispering endless praises into my ear.
***
The cold from the brick wall against my back seeps through my jacket and sends shivers branching out from the core of my body to my extremities. I try to act casual and cool, two things I am not. It must be working though because Damien and Elliott are smiling at me and giving me thumbs up from behind the camera.
"Okay, Cleo, can you put your left arm across your body?"
"Like this?"
"Yes, perfect," the photographer says, the shutter of his camera clicking away.
This whole process is happening so fast, and it's been a whirlwind of excitement and terror. Within two days of that phone conversation, I had a meeting with Damien, who loved my work and wanted to start the exhibition immediately. That required me to do an interview with a local magazine and now this photoshoot for the cover. They're planning on exploiting my face for as much money as they can, which I am very on board with. The more money I make, the faster Harry and I can move to New York City.