The stone lions crouching beside the steps of the Art Institute stared impassively out at the traffic on Michigan Avenue as Cassie descended between them and joined the strollers. Her life-class had gone well, but watching Avery teach had roused her old doubts again. She'd often wondered if she should have chosen teaching instead of commercial art as a career. Of course the compromise had been her plunge into fine art, particularly the figure. Obviously the two were inseparable and her interest in painting constantly spilled over into her graphics on the job. The Barbacchi account was only the most recent and outstanding example. She glanced at her watch. There would be time to check out the gallery before she went back to work.
Bollens wasn't top-notch among Chicago art galleries but it was a start, and when they'd agreed to carry her work Cassie was elated. There was a market for the figure in fine art and Bollens specialized in it. But was there a segment in it that favored her style of painting? Bollens was willing to gamble that there might be and they had taken one of her nudes. Perhaps what made her work interesting to the dealer was that as a young woman she painted women and she aimed for the bravura touch of a John Singer Sargent. Cassie knew she wasn't a finished fine-artist and having any of her work in a good gallery was a thrill, but they'd had the painting for two months and she hadn't heard a word from them.
The front show room was empty of customers when she entered, and rounding a partition gawking at the works she nearly stumbled into the proprietor. Enrico Bollen glanced over at the sound of her gasp and returned to his task of hanging the print in his hands.
"Hello Cassie," he offered stepping back to look at the effect. The lithograph offered a side view of a reclining woman's torso from her knees to her neck, the head and lower legs lost in shadows. Her nipples and the brush of her pubic hair were the only accents in the golden tonality of the work. "What do you think?" he asked nodding at the print.
"It gets to the point," Cassie replied wryly..
Enrico nodded approvingly as he looked at her. His glances were always like that Cassie reflected. They drifted over her with the same scrutiny that he gave to the works on his walls. She felt undressed under his dark Latin eyes. Undressed and appraised for something other than her talents as an artist. Was it her work that interested Enrico or something else? Glancing over to where her own canvas reposed on the wall her work also favored the shadows and accents that offered sensuous highlights. "Any interest?" she probed nodding at her painting titled "Gwen".
The canvas was large and her rendering offered the girl's nude figure in repose gazing dreamily out at the spectator from a pile of puffy pillows. It wasn't so much the luscious curves that gave the painting its charm as the provocative expression that she had captured on Gwen's face.
Enrico turned to follow Cassie's gaze and his hand came to rest paternally on her shoulder. "It's a handsome work, Cassie, but I don't know how much longer we can devote gallery space to it." His hand trailed lightly down her back and paused on her waist. "No inquiries so far and we don't usually carry unsold artists for more than a couple of months. Of course we could always make an exception for certain promising artists if the circumstances are right."
Predictably his hand left her waist and swept in a long slow caress over the curves of her buttocks. A little beauty who painted women like that was very promising for many things Enrico mused, palming the seductive firmness of Cassie's buttock. The girl had a delicious ass for sure, and in that moment of hesitation while she decided how long she should tolerate his grope he had the chance to sound out the luscious curves of both her cheeks.
"I'll pick my painting up any time you want to get rid of it," Cassie responded sidling out of his reach and the sudden sensation of excitement his grope roused with such resonance within her.
"We'll let you know, dear," Enrico replied and returned to hanging the prints.
Outside Cassie heaved a puff of disappointment. It was probably too much to hope that her painting would sell right off. Still she was proud of the work. Maybe she would have better luck in another gallery. As for that suggestive grope, her fine-art would sell on its own or not at all.
A day later they were into production with the chaste version of the Champagne Campaign aiming for an August insertion in the mainline media. They had waited for Barbacchi to make up his mind on the erotic bubbles but as yet there had been no word from him. A week went by and Cassie was deep in the hassle of color separations and film-making when the envelope arrived. It floated into her in-basket and submerged in the inter-office clutter of mail and it wasn't until the streets below her windows were dusky with shadows that she discovered it on her desk. It was addressed to her attention at the agency, but there was no return address. She slit the envelope, shook it, and a newspaper clipping floated out with the message:
SEEKING ARTIST IN RESIDENCE
Artist with experience/knowledge in a wide variety of media and representational styles depicting the human figure. Duties include teaching, painting, and collecting
Send resume: Atherton Estates, PO Box 3776, Chicago Illinois
Studying the message a thrill of eagerness roused Cassie and then a business card from the envelope slid into her hand with the inscription:
BARBACCHI'S FINE WINES AND SPIRITS Clifford Conners, Vice President, Marketing
on the reverse side Connors had written:
Check this out!
Cassie read the clipping again considering Connors admonition to 'check it out'. Certainly the posting was intriguing. While she had never heard of Atherton Estates the position could be a fascinating dream job but at barely subsistence pay no doubt. The connection between Connors and the position escaped her. Why would he think she would be interested? Had he seen her work at Bolen's Gallery and was he just doing her a favor of some sort. But the more she looked at the ad the more the notion excited her. Why not check it out she thought? Her resume needed updating anyhow and then her phone summoned her back to her work-day and her boss's office.
As she entered Harrison waved a sheaf of layouts at her. "You've done it, Cassie!" he enthused. "Barbacchi wants the erotic bubbles for the men's insertions. Can you make the August deadline with them?"
"I can if you can get the production department to come through for me."
"For sure, Cassie. I don't want any screw-ups on this one. If you pull this off you get promotion to Art Director full time and one hell of a nice bonus."
The following weeks were a little less than frantic but somehow she managed to send her resume to Atherton Estates in the midst of it all. In the ensuing flurry of readying the Champagne Campaign she almost forgot about the clipping and her resume. But as the August deadline drew near it looked as though they would make it, and she had the chance for a breather at last. Going through her mail one day she discovered an overlooked letter, it peaked out of her tray and what caught her eye was the return address at Atherton Estates. The letter when she opened it was curiously uninformative but compelling:
'Dear Cassie, We find your resume of considerable interest. Please call us at the number below to arrange an interview. We look forward to your response.'
She felt a thrill of excitement when she made the call. It was answered by a woman's voice very accommodating in scheduling the interview and making the travel arrangements to 'Atherton Estates', wherever that was.
When she went down to the lobby after work on the day of her interview she was met by a man who was clearly a chauffeur, and the Lincoln Town-Car had "Atherton Estates" emblazoned in fine gold lettering on the driver's doors. Cassie settled back for the ride that took the route up to the north side and out along the lakeshore where the communities were gated, exclusive and secluded. People who lived out here Cassie reflected, as they cruised through the long curving esplanade bordered by the stately homes, certainly could have anything they wanted, but still an 'artist-in-residence' was a curious luxury in any case. Never had she been in this part of the north suburbs, in fact they seemed rather beyond that now and out into a tract that was more wooded and where the homes, estates really, could only occasionally be glimpsed through heavy screens of trees. In time they slowed, turned off the esplanade into a drive that curved into the woods, and ahead a broad grilled gate barred the way but only momentarily as it swung open before the chauffeur's signal and they entered deeper into the woods. If this was a driveway, Cassie mused, it was an impressive one. Ahead the evening light gleamed over an open space and they emerged onto a broad lawn fronting a rambling English country house perched on a rise overlooking Lake Michigan.
'Awesome' was the word, and when the driver stopped and held the door open for her while she got out the spell of the place overcame her even more. Broad stone pavers led her up to the door and in the midst of an ornate escutcheon on the frame she found the doorbell and pressed it. A chime echoed in the stillness of suspense as she waited for the door to open, and when at last it did she stood face to face with Margo Vasari.
"Welcome to Atherton Estates, Cassie," Margo's direct open gaze held the hint of amusement in her greeting.
"Margo!...I..." Cassie stuttered in astonishment.
"Come in, please." The woman stepped aside and Cassie entered a luxurious piece of the eighteenth century transplanted into her place and time. A magnificent staircase rose at the back of the broad hall before her and divided at the landing into two flights leading off to the opposite sides of the house. Cassie gaped at the expanses of gorgeous dark paneling and the arched leaded windows that flooded the room with light while she stood silently overwhelmed in this huge vaulted entry.
"Mr. Barbacchi asked me to meet you and acquaint you with Atherton," Margo smiled. "But first let me show you where you would be working...and living if you decide that you might consider the position."
The tour of the house that followed was an introduction to what lavish wealth and indulgence could produce. As they wandered through room after room on the main floor studded with fine furniture and luxurious appointments Cassie realized that Atherton must be more than a home to Leo Barcacchi. It was a manor-house clearly designed for entertainments and the hosting of gatherings. The dining rooms, and there were several, were designed for small to larger groups, and each of them had a lounge, or an atrium, or a garden room attached. There were pools and fountains and cozy seating areas where guests might linger, and the walls of every room offered a stunning collection of paintings of the female nude.
Everywhere she looked she found her attention and her senses captured by works, which may well at one time have resided in museums or the salons of posh hotels but now graced the rooms of Barbacchi's residence. Awed she stared at a Bougereau in one dining room, at a Tadema gracing the wall of a lounge, at an Odalisque by Ingres in a study, all effusing the erotic beauty of the female nude into the Atherton ambiance.
