So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) (9 page)

“Where other people saw a dump, Annie saw
possibility,” my mom proudly told her friends, who always remarked
on how unique and lively our home felt.

I widened my eyes. That was exactly what New
York needed and was sorely lacking. There was art all over the
place, but it felt mostly like a bunch of showpieces meant to
impress a small, select group of tastemakers. The thing that was so
awesome about art at museums like the Louvre was that most people
could come to a consensus on the fact that the work was beautiful.
Here, beauty didn’t seem to matter as much as the spectacle. And as
much as the big city enthralled me and lit up my eyes with stars, I
was damn near over the spectacle.

Good art was about making people, even those
of us who lived in concrete jungles, stop to meditate on it. It
would create not just an intellectual response but a felt sense
that here was something special, something to be revered and awed
by. My ideal art wouldn’t just catch the eye; it would also capture
a viewer’s soul.

That’s when I got my burst of
inspiration.

“I know where I fit in this world! I’m the
beautifier!” I said out loud. Kendra snored a little bit louder,
and this time, it
was
music to my ears.

Beauty was such a retro concept in art that
it simply
had
to come back around sometime soon. And I would
be just the person to resurrect it. I thought of all the public
beautification projects in cities around the world, which were
meant to transform urban eyesores into spaces of contemplation—what
if we could do something like that with Quentin’s exhibit?

“My name is Annie Green, and I believe that
the best kind of art has the ability to turn heads, change minds,
and heal hearts,” I typed furiously on my laptop, determined to
show Professor Claremont that I meant business.

My
heart pounded with anticipation. A week had passed since I’d turned
in my proposal, and today was the day Professor Claremont would
announce (in class, no less) the recipients of the Quentin Pierce
curatorship.

“Hurry, Kendra.” I grabbed her arm as we sped
through the Barney Building. “I need to make sure I’m there when
she makes the announcement.”

“If you miss it, I’m sure you can ask her to
repeat it,” Kendra replied grumpily. She was a little sore at me
because I hadn’t let her finish her brown-rice-seaweed-tempeh bowl
at the raw-food spot, which reminded her of California. I had taken
my lettuce wrap to go, because I couldn’t be late for what was
probably going to be the deciding moment of my college career.

“Repeat it? It’s never as good as the first
time, silly,” I lectured her.

“Now,
that
is an utter lie,” Kendra
quipped.

We entered the classroom, which was filled
mostly with bored students messing around with apps on their
iPhones and a handful of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young scholars
who actually realized how momentous the occasion was. I sat in the
second row and pulled Kendra down next to me.

“Seriously? I can hear from the back, Annie.
Yannis is here today, and I wanna ask him about where he thinks I
can get the best souvlaki. I’ve had the most gnarly craving for
Greek—in more than one way,” she said mournfully.

“Kendra, please! I need you. If she says I’m
one of the winners, I’ll fall out of my seat. . . . On second
thought, if she says I’m
not
one of the winners, I’ll fall
out of my seat.”

Kendra rolled her eyes. “Damage control—I got
it. But you owe me for this! For all I know, Yannis isn’t coming
back.”

I grinned at her. “The only reason he even
comes to class is you. You should just ask him out already.”

Kendra gave me a you-must-be-crazy look.
“Listen, I believe in the women’s movement and all, but Greeks are
very binary when it comes to who’s doing the asking out. It ain’t
gonna be me, that’s for sure. If he thinks I’m that bold, he’ll be
running in the opposite direction—then I’ll never get the scoop on
the best souvlaki!”

“But you
are
that bold, Kendra.”

“Maybe so, but I still want to be treated
like a lady—a knock on the door, some roses, and maybe a candlelit
dinner.”

I smiled at my friend. As social and
beautiful as Kendra was, she didn’t seem to be making any headway
as far as romantic connections went. It probably didn’t help that
she was überpicky. As she’d already told me, “I want a guy with the
hair of Brad Pitt, the eyes of Elijah Wood, the ass of George
Clooney, the wit of Louis C.K., the empathy of Bono, and the
quirkiness of James Franco. Oh, and he has to cook like a mofo. And
he definitely needs to be able to name all the Kardashians, boys
included.
And
his parents need to still be married . . .
aww, don’t give me those puppy eyes, Annie. I’m not looking down on
you for coming from a broken home, but everyone knows that boys
raised by single moms suffer from that shit more—not to mention,
they become players. And I’m not even entertaining that after what
went down between Alex Figueroa and me junior year of high
school.”

I almost felt bad about the connection I’d
made with Harrison, but Kendra had already assured me that he was
out of the running when she found out his family wasn’t in
entertainment after all. “I’m not into the preppy guys, and the
tobacco thing felt a little too
Dynasty
for me,” she’d
said.

I frowned when I thought about Harrison. It
had been a week, and I hadn’t heard from him yet. Perhaps Elsie had
poisoned the Waters by talking smack about me. I wouldn’t have put
it past her. I glanced across the aisle at where she was sitting,
eyes glued to Professor Claremont, who was sorting through a stack
of papers. Apparently, Elsie was just as eager to hear the news as
I was.

At that moment, Professor Claremont walked in
the room and faced forward, beaming at the class. “Good afternoon,
everyone. I’m pleased to say you all did very well on your last
response papers, on minimalism and Fluxus. I’m so glad to see this,
because if you are interested in furthering your studies in
contemporary art, these movements form a vital backbone of our
understanding of how artists’ new ways of seeing things led to
everything from the clothes we wear today to the way we interact
with digital media.”

“Don’t you hate how much she loves what she
teaches?” Kendra muttered next to me.

“Shhhh,” I whispered back.

“But now we get to the good part,” Professor
Claremont pronounced. Thank goodness she wasn’t waiting until the
end of class to tell us!

“As I mentioned not long ago, I have four
students who have been selected for the task of cocurating an
exhibit of contemporary New York City movements, under the close
guidance and mentorship of Quentin Pierce,” she said. “I am pleased
to announce that two students from this very class have been
chosen, along with two of my graduate students.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t imagined there
would actually be two freshmen on the curating committee. Aside
from a couple of design majors who knew pop art from A to Z, I
couldn’t think of many freshmen who were remotely qualified to
produce an exhibit that was likely to garner a ton of
attention.

I sighed to myself. Perhaps what I lacked in
experience, I could make up for in pure enthusiasm. At least,
that’s what I hoped my paper had evoked for Professor
Claremont.

“The two freshmen who will sit on the
curating committee for Quentin Pierce are . . .” She paused
dramatically. “Elsie Donegan and Annie Green!”

A murmur of excitement went through the
class, and Kendra turned to me to give me a high five. “Girl, you
are on fi-yah! I knew you would nail this!”

I beamed, but the smile felt frozen on my
face. It was like everything on the surface had stilled to a
slow-motion blur, similar to the moments in movies where the
protagonist reaches a turning point. Underneath, a chaotic flood of
emotions surged through me: astonishment, bliss, panic, and
relief.

“Congratulations, Elsie—your comprehensive
knowledge of the current artistic climate of New York is staggering
and impressive.” Elsie gave a satisfied nod, as if to say,
That’s what I thought
.

“And Annie.” Professor Claremont turned to
me, an inscrutable smile on her lips. “Your essay on the ability of
art to transform the way we view our urban surroundings was
inspiring and innovative. I am sure that, together, you will both
make Quentin very proud. I know this is last-minute, but the first
committee meeting will be this evening. I’ll give you both details
after class. Congratulations once again, you two!”

As other students turned around to
congratulate me, my eye caught Elsie’s. She looked simultaneously
horrified and livid.

“Check out Miss Thang,” Kendra whispered.
“She looks like a bug just crawled up her cooch! Are you loving
this as much as I am?”

I resolved to put Elsie out of my mind at
once. If we were going to be working with two other committee
members, I didn’t see any need to get enmeshed in some kind of
rivalry. It was a group effort, after all, so she was going to have
to learn to live with it.

I barely paid attention to Professor
Claremont’s lecture that afternoon. My thoughts were too busy
ricocheting off each other. What was Quentin Pierce actually like?
What would putting together a show in a little over a month entail?
What kind of artists would I be meeting? How would I meet them? If
I was supposed to commission a piece by someone, how would I even
begin to choose?

I have definitely got my work cut out for
me
, I thought.

After class, Professor Claremont stopped
Elsie and me to let us know the first meeting would be early that
evening, on the fortieth floor of an office building just outside
Grand Central Station, where Quentin had set up shop specifically
for the committee members. “I’m not sure if Quentin will be at this
first one, though,” she said apologetically. “He’s been
extraordinarily busy . . . and, well, a little difficult to get in
touch with. But I know he’s very excited about the show and he’s
going to appreciate both of your insights.”

At that point, Elsie was pretty much ignoring
my presence, which was fine with me. “He’s not going to be there,
Professor Claremont? But I thought he was supposed to mentor us
throughout this process. Isn’t it negligent of him to miss the
first meeting?”

I had to admit I agreed. After Quentin had
pulled a no-show at the wine-and-cheese reception, my opinion of
him had plummeted further. If he was organizing this event by
casting an absentee ballot, I didn’t see how I’d be able to get in
his good graces.

“I understand what you are saying, Elsie, and
while I cannot make any promises about Quentin’s involvement, I
know he is putting a substantial amount of time and resources into
this show, so please rest assured—even if he isn’t at the first
meeting, he will be at subsequent ones. And while I myself will not
be part of the process of selection, if at any point you need my
advice, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Elsie muttered an unconvincing thanks and
stalked off without a backward glance at me.

“I just wanted to reiterate how proud I am of
you, Annie,” Professor Claremont said when we were alone.

It felt good to finally receive some positive
acknowledgment, especially after having convinced myself that she
hated me, that I’d proven to be way too headstrong and maybe
slightly ignorant.

“I feel incredibly honored to have been
chosen, so I guess I should be the one thanking you, Professor!” I
said, suddenly feeling a little starstruck and awkward.

“I have to admit I was a little gun-shy at
first, Annie,” she said, leaning toward me as if she were spilling
something completely confidential. “You clearly have the grades and
the passion, but I didn’t know if you had the sense of dedication
to the moment, to the very specific milieu we are in. I respect the
masters as much as anyone, but romanticizing the past doesn’t leave
room for contemplating the future. Your words about current
municipal efforts to beautify public spaces, along with your own
story about the renovated house, were very touching. And I agree
that art should transform us while also making us feel perfectly at
home right where we are.”

“I-I’m so glad. I wasn’t sure you’d agree,
considering this is Quentin Pierce’s show,” I said—covering my
mouth only after I had realized my faux pas. I had essentially
criticized Professor Claremont’s good friend and favorite artist
right after getting selected to curate his exhibit.
Damn it,
Annie. Foot . . . mouth . . . ugh!
I admonished myself.

But she just smiled. “You know, while you may
not appreciate Quentin’s oeuvre, he’s touched a lot of lives and
made many a high-school student rethink tossing out notebooks full
of sketches. If that’s not beautiful, I don’t know what is.” She
packed the last of her papers and put them in her bag. “Something
to think about, Annie.”

“I will definitely be thinking, Professor
Claremont. And thank you so much, once again!” I called out after
her.

I closed my eyes and put my hand on my
forehead. I had to cool it with running my mouth, especially if I
were to win Quentin over.

At that moment, I felt my phone vibrate in my
bag and, when I reached over to collect it, saw that I’d received a
text from a number I didn’t recognize: “Hi Annie, sory I didnt get
in touch earler. Are u still up for movie? turns out its tmw so I
hope u havnt made plans yet. I can pick u up around 7. let me know.
It would be great to see u.”

Could the day get any better? First the
curatorship, and now a text from Harrison. I was used to college
boys being completely flaky (maybe due to the overstimulation of
living in a city with the hottest girls in the world, meaning the
guys weren’t limited to the coed population), but I had a hunch
Harrison was different—even if his text-speak was just as atrocious
as the next guy’s and he was assuming I didn’t have plans for a
Friday night.