“Oh my God,” Liam said again, sat down on the floor, and nearly cried. He had been working toward this for nearly twenty years, and now it had finally come. He was going to have a show at Suvery Gallery in New York. It was beyond belief. And Sasha herself was sitting in his studio, and loving his work. She was telling him that he would have to work hard to get ready for the show. “What can I ever do to thank you?” He looked at her like a vision that had just materialized in his studio. He felt like a boy who had seen a virgin with a stigmata.

“Just paint me some good stuff. I brought a contract with me from Paris, just in case. You can show it to a lawyer if you like. There's no rush to get it back.” She never pressured anyone to sign.

“My ass there's no rush. What if you change your mind? Where is it? Just give it to me, I'll sign it.” He was practically flying. As she looked at him, he hardly looked older than her son.

She knew from the bio he had sent her with the slides that he was thirty-nine. Looking at him, she would never have believed it. He had studied with some very important artists, and had had a few minor shows at small galleries. But he looked like a kid. Everything about him seemed loose and free and young. He was tall, lanky, and handsome. He had straight blond hair that hung down his back most of the time. He had tied it in a ponytail to meet her. But his face was smooth and youthful. He had powerful shoulders, long graceful hands, and he bounced around his studio like a teenager in sneakers, blue jeans, and T-shirt, all covered with paint. He towered over her like an anxious child, as he begged her for the contract.

“It's at the hotel,” she told him reassuringly, suddenly sounding like a mother. Now that he was about to become one of her artists, she felt protective of him. “I'll drop it off before I leave, or send it by messenger. I'm not going to change my mind, Liam. I never do that,” she said gently. Her voice was calm, and it touched her that he was so excited. He said this was one of the defining moments of his life. She didn't think it was, but she was happy it meant so much to him. That was what she loved best about showing emerging artists. She was able to give them a chance. She had always loved that about that side of the business, working with young artists like him. Although Xavier was right, he wasn't that young, but he looked it. Everything about him was boyish. He was only nine years younger than she was, but he acted about fourteen, and looked somewhere in his mid-twenties, not thirty-nine. He seemed no older than Xavier to her, and made her feel maternal toward him. “Do you want to show the contract to your wife?” The studio was such a mess it was obvious he didn't live there, and there was no sign of the wife and three children that Xavier had mentioned. She imagined that they lived somewhere else, although his clothes seemed to be strewn everywhere, covered with paint. Obviously, his work clothes. She could only assume that there was a neater, cleaner place elsewhere where they all lived.

“She's in Vermont,” Liam said apologetically. “I'll send her a copy after I sign it. She's not going to believe this,” he said, glancing at Xavier, and then his mother.

As Liam poured them each a glass of wine, all three of them looked happy. Sasha only took a sip, and Liam downed half of his in a minute. He was flying. He had been a real find for her. More than ever, it made her wish that Xavier would come into the business with her. Like her, he had a great eye for talent. They had both inherited it from her father. But Xavier wanted to live in London and be an artist, not a dealer in New York or Paris. Maybe they would open a gallery in London one day. For the first time in years, she thought about expanding. But Xavier was still too young to take on that responsibility. Maybe one day. He had just turned twenty-five, although she had come into the business only a year later, at twenty-six, under the tutelage of her father. “Can I take you both out to dinner?” Liam asked them hopefully. “I want to celebrate.” He looked like he was about to explode with excitement, and he damn near did.

“I'd love to, but…,” Xavier said mischievously, and Sasha knew what that meant. God forbid dinner with an artist and his mother should interfere with his love life. He was definitely not ready for the business. At his age, she had been married, working at the Met, and had two children. Xavier was a long way from there.

Sasha hesitated for a moment. She had hoped to have dinner with Xavier that night, and didn't know he had other plans. But that was typical of her son. She turned to Liam. “Why don't I take you out to dinner, Liam. I'm your dealer now, you don't need to invite me. We can get to know each other,” she said kindly. He saw a warmth in her he hadn't seen at first. There was a quiet shyness and stability he liked. Everything about Sasha seemed reliable and solid, and he liked her. At first, he had been terrified of her. But beneath the cool, professional exterior, he sensed that she was warm. Her reputation daunted him, but her persona didn't.

She wondered if he owned a suit. Most of her young artists didn't. And Liam looked no different. In fact he looked a lot worse than some, although he was good looking. He was very handsome, a very striking-looking man.

“I'd love it. I can sign the contract over dinner,” he said with a grin that had dazzled many.

“You should read it first,” she scolded him. “You have to make sure you're comfortable with it. Don't just sign it without at least reading it, or even showing it to an attorney.”

“I would sell myself into slavery for you, or give you my left nut if you wanted it,” he said bluntly, as Sasha blinked. But she was used to that kind of statement from her artists.

“Actually, that won't be necessary,” Sasha said primly. “As I recall, testicles are not in our contract. You can keep them both. I'm sure your wife will be relieved.” He smiled at her and didn't answer. And as she looked at him, she was reminded of a beautiful young boy. He was lovely to look at, and despite the boyish appearance and mannerisms, he was an extremely talented man. “Where would you like to have dinner?” She had been thinking of Harry's Bar with Xavier, but her son was a different breed entirely, he had the right clothes to wear, and knew how to behave. She doubted that Liam had either manners or better clothes than the ones he had on. He was, after all, a starving artist, although if she had anything to do with it, he wouldn't be for long. She thought he was going to be a sensation in New York, and eventually in Paris. Liam was a real find, that rare commodity of someone with gigantic talent who actually produced great work.

“I'd like to get dressed up and take you out to thank you,” he said humbly, and it touched her heart.

“How dressed up?” She looked him over with a motherly air. He brought out the mother in her. Everything about him made one feel he was a boy and not a man. All she wanted suddenly was to protect and help him. She was excited about working with him, and launching him on a major career. He was a major discovery for her. It was an important moment not only for him, but for Sasha as well.

“I have a suit and two good shirts. One of them is clean. I think I used the other one to wax my car.” He looked at her sheepishly and she laughed. There was something impish and irresistible about him. He reminded her of Xavier when he was about fourteen, and struggling to become a man. Xavier had become one. Liam hadn't yet.

“Then let's go to Harry's Bar,” she said simply. She loved having dinner there. It was her favorite restaurant in London.

“Holy shit. I can't believe this is happening to me. Can you?” He turned to Xavier with a grin, who smiled happily at his friend. This had turned out even better than he'd hoped. He was thrilled for Liam, and grateful to his mother for giving him a chance.

“Yes, I can,” Xavier said simply.

“Man, I owe you big time.” And with that, Liam slapped him a high five. They looked like two boys in a clubhouse to Sasha, and she just hoped he behaved at Harry's Bar that night. You couldn't always tell with artists, which was why she rarely took them there. But she decided to take a chance on Liam. There was something innocent and enchanting about him, and if he got out of line, or loud and boisterous, she would tell him to behave. Her artists were like children to her, sometimes even the old ones. She felt like their surrogate mother, which was a lot of work, but it was part of what she loved about her job. The artists were her little chicks, and she the mother hen. And although she wasn't that much older than he, Liam looked like he needed a mother, like Peter Pan.

“Let's have dinner at eight. I'll have my driver pick you up at seven-thirty, and you can pick me up at the hotel. I'll be downstairs,” she said as she and Xavier left.

“Don't forget to bring the contract,” he reminded her as they started down the stairs.

It had been a productive afternoon for both of them, and Liam was excited about dinner. He wanted to talk to her about the show, and the amount of work she wanted. He was willing to work like a galley slave for the next year to produce the best work he'd ever done. He wasn't going to let her down. This was his big chance, and Liam knew it. He had worked all his life for this moment. And however badly he allowed himself to behave in his private life, or on his evenings out with Xavier, Liam had always been serious about his work. He had known from his childhood that he had been born to paint. It had set him apart and isolated him even as a child, and later as a teenager and young man. He had always known he was different, and didn't really mind. His mother had always encouraged him, and told him he had to follow his dreams. The rest of his family hadn't been nearly as enthused, and even his own father had treated him like a freak. It had created a chasm between them forever. It was as though only his mother was able to see his special genius. The others, his father, brothers, and even their friends, had just thought he was weird, and his early paintings meant nothing to them. His father called them junk, and his brothers referred to them as scribbles. They shut him out from everything they did, and in his isolation, he had sought solace in painting. Like all people who had suffered early on, Liam was much deeper than he looked. Sasha didn't know that yet, but she sensed it. All of the artists she knew had had some private grief or hell to live through. In the end, it made their lives more painful perhaps, but strengthened their work and commitment to art. Losing her own mother as a child gave her greater compassion for them, and made her more in tune with their sufferings. She understood, better even than she knew sometimes. It was as though there were an unspoken harmony between them.