Sullivans 06 - Let Me Be the One

came by the fellowship building this morning and asked if he could stay to watch me work for a while. I assumed it was part of his critiquing style. You know, that he was just as interested in my technique as in the finished sculpture.”
    “How long did he watch you?”
    “Twenty minutes, maybe.” Twenty incredibly long and icky minutes in which she’d felt like James had been studying her more closely than her project. “The thing is, before he left, he really did have some brilliant suggestions for me.”
    So brilliant that she had let herself write off his slightly creepy behavior as purely artistic interest.
    “And then later, at a welcome party the fellowship board threw for all of the applicants, he told me that the top candidates were going to be meeting here afterward.”
    “There were supposed to be other people here?”
    “By the time I arrived, he said everyone else had already dropped in and that he was glad it was just down to us tonight so that he could give me special attention.”
    Bile rose in her throat as she remembered the way he’d moved closer and closer during their conversation and started touching her arm and then her hands—even when he had to know how off-limits a sculptor’s hands were. What he’d said to her hadn’t been much better: I’ve coached many other talented sculptors toward greatness. It’s considered quite an honor to work under me. Especially as I know you’re all alone in San Francisco, I feel that I could really help you make your way here by introducing you to everyone you should know. Doesn’t that sound good to you, Victoria?
    It was one thing to trust the wrong man at twenty-two. But she’d been in the art world long enough by now to know better than to be so naïvely flattered by a powerful man’s attention.
    “Jesus, Vicki, why didn’t you kick him in the nuts and get the hell out of here?”
    “I wanted to,” she said softly, “but the fact is that regardless of what you and I think of him, James Sedgwick is one of the leaders of the West Coast art world. The only thing I could think of doing that wouldn’t jeopardize my chances at the fellowship was to pretend that I was seeing someone so that he wouldn’t take my rejection of his advances personally and turn it against me. That was when I went into the bathroom to text you.” She’d prayed that Ryan would not only get her messages, but come right away. Which he had, thank God.
    But even after her explanation, Ryan still said, “You need to turn him in to the rest of the fellowship board.”
    She sighed. “I doubt it would do any good when everything he’s done so far could so easily be argued as me mistaking friendly support for something more. He hasn’t done or said anything blatantly threatening.”
    “I saw him put his hands on you,” Ryan growled.
    “He’s an art critic and curator, with a specialty in sculpture, so everyone knows it’s a very touchy-feely job in a lot of respects. I’m sure if I raised a stink and called him on it, he would just laugh and say he’s like that with men and women and sculptures alike. And in the end, it would only hurt my chances for the fellowship by deflecting attention away from my project.”
    Ryan stared at her for several long moments. “You really want this, don’t you?”
    In those final months leading up to her divorce, Vicki’s ex-husband Anthony had told her again and again that the only reason she’d had any success at all was because he was one of the foremost sculptors in the world, and that she’d be nothing without him. Since then, she’d heard whispers from friends in the European art community that he’d been working to turn people against her. She wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that it was true. His once awestruck wife leaving had been a blow that Anthony's ego had never seen coming.
    Vicki had come to San Francisco to win the coveted fellowship and prove once and for all that she had what it took to make it as a sculptor. Not just to her ex, but to herself.
    It was long past time to prove to herself that she hadn’t wasted her life chasing a dream.
    “I do want it, Ryan.” She paused. “But even more than that, I need it. It’s the next step for me and my career, the perfect way to start fresh and build my reputation as a sculptor in the United States. So if I win the fellowship—”
    “ When you win it,” he cut in.
    “—I want to know that I got it because of the quality of my work.” Not