THE ARTIST & HER LOVER

Du Bois arose before Autumn the next day, and he read the
headlines in the Listín Diario newspaper, one of which reported
that the Arte Naïf Gallery would house the Haitian
artwork until a more permanent home could be found for it. He
called Cordoba.
“I thought you said you found impregnating Nadia revolting
and that you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”
“For Haiti, for Autumn, and for you,” Cordoba said, “I fucked
her, and I may never get her sweaty slime off me. Happy now?”
“So, now what?” Du Bois asked.
“I’m gonna go to Nadia’s father and tell him I can’t go through
with this sham of a wedding. I’m going to call it off,” Cordoba said.
“But what about the investment merger your mother and
Mr. Peña are anticipating? What about your inheritance … the
good life … the only life you’ve ever known?” Du Bois asked,
surprised.
“I gonna’ give it all up for Autumn. I’m in love with her and
have been since I first laid eyes on her,” Cordoba said.
“Really?” Why her?” Du Bois asked.
“Don’t know. Cast a spell over me, I guess,” Cordoba laughed,
conceding his vulnerability to Autumn’s … charms.

That evening, Cordoba attended a fundraiser at his mother’s
villa. The fundraiser was to support President Luis Abinader, a popular
pro-business politician who’d obtained sixty percent of votes
in the most recent election and had announced a goal of deporting
ten thousand Haitians per week over the coming year.
A rental company had assembled tables, chairs, linens, and
dinnerware, and as the sun set, lanterns lit up his mother’s vast
lawn. Caterers passed around appetizers and served slices of prime
rib and salmon. Business owners and community leaders in sports
coats, collared shirts, and tailored slacks admired each other’s wives
who wore one-of-a-kind designer cocktail dresses. He ordered a glass
of wine from a bar that had been built for the occasion and listened
to a jazz trio she’d paid to perform. He sipped his drink, scouring
the landscape for his mother. The lighting was dim, so he began to
stroll across the lawn. He nodded at neighbors he knew and those
he didn’t, and eventually he saw his mother sitting at a round table
with Mr. Peña near the portico of the house. Leisurely, he strolled
over to them and cleared his throat.
“Can I have a word with you two in private?” he asked politely.
They looked at him. “It’s about the wedding arrangements?” he
said. The three climbed two stairs, walked a few feet, and entered
his mother’s study.
“I can’t go through with the wedding,” Cordoba said. Surprised,
Mr. Peña stared intently at him.
“I know, there are cancellation policies in place, and some deposits
are non-refundable,” Cordoba said. “I am willing to pay for
them. Nadia told me she had received some gifts, and I will see that
they are properly returned. The jeweler will accept the ring back.
Also, I’ve prepared a formal cancellation notice.”
Cordoba pulled a folded sheet of paper from his lapel and
handed it to Mr. Peña, who read it.

Xaviere Cordoba and Nadia Peña announce that their
marriage will not take place. We are grateful for your
love and support.

Mr. Peña handed the sheet of paper to Mrs. Cordoba, who
grimaced.
“Just wedding jitters, Mr. Peña. Not to worry,” Mrs. Cordoba said
jovially. Then she added, “May I have a word with Xavier, Mr. Peña? Do
you mind?” she asked. Mr. Peña rose from his chair, stared at Cordoba,
sniffed, opened the door to the study, and closed it behind him.
“You won’t see another trust installment in your bank if you renege
on the arrangements that have been made for your wedding,”
Mrs. Cordoba seethed.
“Your threats no longer hold sway over me, mother,” Cordoba
replied with equal callousness. His mother’s stare was icy. But then
she set her jaw and swished past him and out of the room, leaving
the door ajar.
Cordoba exhaled nervously and walked across the lawn to his
car, and drove half a mile home. He entered his living room, walked
to the bar, took a bottle of scotch from it, sat at his piano, and began
to play Rachmaninov: The Isle of the Dead, as he foresaw his fate
in a cheap vacation rental apartment in the valley below.

When Autumn arose in the morning after learning Cordoba
intended to marry Nadia, she found a text on her cell phone
from him:

You misunderstood the situation last evening. I had
to convince Nadia to allow the Haitian artwork to
be housed in the gallery. And she has arranged
for the Smithsonian to partner with the Haitian
government to create the Haiti Cultural Recovery
Project.

They will set up a temporary conservation site in
the Arte Naïf Gallery to restore Haitian artwork.
They will be bringing the artwork to the gallery,
and you and Nadege need to receive it from the
Cultural Recovery Project today.

No sooner did she read Cordoba’s text than her doorbell rang.
It was Nadege saying several trucks were parked in the back alley of
the gallery, awaiting her permission to unload. Without showering,
Autumn put on a T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and tennis shoes, and ran to
the loading ramp in the back of the gallery to let the delivery men in.