THE ARTIST & HER LOVER

Du Bois arose before Autumn the next day, and 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 his mother had 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 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 liqueur 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 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 so you and Du Bois can restore the 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.

As she read Cordoba’s text, her loft doorbell rang. She responded through the loft intercom system to Nadege, who said 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.