Clouds on the Horizon

I accepted ‘Clouds on the Horizon’ with a smile. Shoot me; I liked Miss Cousins’ art and there was no way that I could afford to purchase one on my own. I smiled kindly, kissed her on the cheek, thanked her profusely for her generosity and spent the rest of the afternoon stealing glances at my first piece of important artwork. I imagined an unveiling party at my new apartment as soon as I could arrange for the transportation of the painting and the purchase of some furniture. Actually, the purchase of any furniture was a necessity before I started hosting denizens of the art world at home. I was still making do with some cast-offs and whatever passable items were rescued from my previous apartment.

It was clearly going to be a distant event but I was having fun planning a party in my head.

I had already given up my hovel on Bathurst Street (no more basement living!) and I was more or less camping out in 7A. The Campanile was a wondrous destination to my eyes with all of the amenities of paradise. I don’t know what the door staff thought about my residency or me; I was by far the youngest resident at the building and my part ownership made me something of a minor deity. I did not use many of the much-vaunted services that were offered to tenants chiefly because I didn’t own a car that required valet parking and I never received packages or deliveries at home. I did, however, arrange for a floral display to be sent to the apartment in anticipation of my first weekend of residency that was accepted by the crew at the front door and presented to me with much fanfare. I pretty much kept to myself.

There were three other apartments on the 7th floor and so far I had not met even one of my neighbours. The approaching winter ensured that a number of long-term residents would de-camp to warmer climes for a few months. This created a revolving issue each year as residents balked at increased rents. Their logic was that as they lived away for up to five months at a stretch there was really no justification for higher rents. I remained silent on that score and agreed to let Jane and the building management settle the issue. One fact was certain; my rent was never going up.

I was seeing a lot of Ardie, too, as he was forever dropping by The Campanile with an assistant or two in tow. Bolts of fabric, measuring tapes, swatches and paint samples were littered about the floor of 12B. Architectural renderings were scattered on the kitchen counters and some walls were defaced with black magic marker: “Paint this first” and “Knock a door here” were early signs that Ardie was planning some demolition.

I was having drinks with Ardie and one of his assistants—her name was Michelle—and I casually mentioned that Miss Cousins had been kind enough to make a gift of one of her paintings to me. Ardie raised his eyebrows in some surprise and asked me where I intended to hang it.

Soon enough the three of us were down in 7A and discussing the various merits of my walls. Ardie suggested that my living room would be a fine destination for ‘Clouds on the Horizon’ and Michelle agreed with me that my foyer was too small for an important piece of art from a recognized artist.

Ardie—ever the host—asked me what my plans were for supper and perhaps I would care to join him and Michelle for a bite of pasta in the neighbourhood? I readily agreed and then Michelle begged off; she had a previous obligation and excused herself to dash home.

Thus I found myself sitting on the passenger side of Ardie’s classic Mercedes-Benz sedan as he drove us to one of his frequent haunts in the neighbourhood. Ardie didn’t need reservations and he didn’t worry about a restaurant being “too full” for him. He was known, welcome, and engaging. If we had to sit at the bar and wait for a table, why, so much the better!

Ardie belonged to that interesting community of people who go out for supper every night and his tenure at various eating establishments ensured him a table no matter when he arrived. Usually he decamped to Palm Beach each year in the early autumn but this year he was preoccupied with events at The Campanile and had indefinitely postponed his winter sojourn south.

We started at the bar with a drink—this shouldn’t be a surprise to you now—before moving to a cozy table with a window. Ardie smiled and ordered wine and told me I was handsome.