Hidden Memories Read Online Free

She’s tired and defeated,” Ramion said, scrutinizing the texturized painting of islanders standing in a field with a majestic waterfall in the background. “Look at the picture on the other wall,” Ramion said, indicating a similar painting on the other side of the spacious gallery. “It’s by the same artist.” Turning back to Sage, he said smugly, “Its theme is revolution.”
    “It’s not a revolution. See, they’re holding something in their hands.” Chuckling, Sage said, “They’re waving voter registration cards.”
    Ramion laughed and unconsciously rubbed Sage’s arm with his hands.
    Tawny Touissant, the owner of the art gallery, overheard Sage’s remark. “Girl, you can’t get your mind off the election, can you?”
    “What can I say? The election is next week. I’m a bundle of nerves. I shouldn’t even be here,” Sage said. “It’s been wicked.”
    “Relax, girlfriend. I’m just glad you weren’t badly hurt by that bomb! Still no word on who did it?”
    “Nothing,” Sage said. “I try not to think about it too much.”
    “Well, Cameron is going to win in spite of the bombing,” Tawny said with the earnest enthusiasm she showered on the artists she represented.
    “Baker is holding a narrow lead,” Sage said.
    “So? It can change tomorrow. You know, politics is a lot like art. Everyone has his or her own perception. Think of yourself as an artist who painted Cameron’s image. Election Day will be the debut of your artist’s work. The votes are the bids people make on the paintings. The person with the highest bid wins.”
    “That’s an interesting analogy, Tawny,” Ramion said.
    “I never quite thought about it like that,” Sage said, her voice husky with hope.
    “What are you wearing?” Ramion asked Tawny. “You look like a…”
    “Lamppost,” Tawny said, giggling about her black jumpsuit and funky high-top black-and-white hat. “I can’t paint a damn thing, Ramion, so my creative expression comes through in my funky fashion style. I heard you all talking about Medu’s painting. Believe me, it’s not that deep… Ah, here he is now,” Tawny said, waving her hand in a beckoning motion toward the man who’d just entered the room.
    The artist approached with a friendly smile and a nod of greeting at Sage and Ramion.
    “Medu, I’d like you to meet my friends, Sage Kennedy and Ramion Sandidge.”
    Medu shook Ramion’s hand and turned to greet Sage. “Delighted,” he said, his melodious accent revealing his Haitian heritage. “So you like this one?”
    “They were just discussing it. They think it’s about a revolution,” Tawny said with a conspiratory laugh.
    Medu joined Tawny’s laughter, stroking his tightly curled beard that covered half his face. “It’s a celebration…a holiday that we take midday.”
    “I certainly didn’t see that,” Ramion said, glancing at the painting with a new perspective.
    “I don’t think many people do. I love listening to people’s interpretation of my work,” Medu said. “I like tapping people’s emotions.”
    “That’s what I love about this business,” Tawny said. “I’m not an artist, but it’s fun to watch people’s reactions.” She hosted openings that went beyond the meet-the-artist-and-have-some-white-wine receptions. Located in the Virginia-Highland area in a turn-of-the-century house, her openings were real events bordering on theater or performance art.
    “These two paintings always spark controversy. Either people see…” Medu’s sentence was cut off when a pair of lips grazed his. He responded to the succulent pleasure of Edwinna Williamson’s provocative kiss.
    “Hello, baby,” Edwinna purred to Medu. Her cinnamon-brown face glowed with regal pride that bordered on arrogance. Not a trace of embarrassment showed in her deep-set black eyes and sly smile.
    “Hey,” Medu said with an embarrassed smile. “Everyone, this is Edwinna Williamson.”
    “We all know each other,” Edwinna