Perspective

By Gail Harkins

Photographer Prairie Donahue wants a Toronto address, career success and a good man to share it with. Her eye for photography is better than her eye for men, however.

Evan Lund needs a woman in his life. The problem is making time as he builds his ad agency.

Kieran Dawes has known Prairie since grade school, but he has a secret that could destroy any chance at happiness.

Denis Sease has nothing to hide, except, maybe, that he’s afraid of dogs – the one thing Prairie’s convinced makes life complete.

What will it take for Prairie to make her mark in Toronto’s art scene and find the right man to share it with?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail Harkins
• Release date: Oct 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540187437

Book preview

Perspective

By

Gail Harkins

Table of Contents

Chapters:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

About the Author

Other Works by Gail Harkins

Perspective

Chapter 1

A crisp autumn wind blew off the Strait of Georgia and barreled between the high rises, turning downtown Vancouver into a wind tunnel that sent unbuttoned coats flapping and pushed passersby to doors they would struggle to open. Lining the city streets, Yoshino cherry trees were resplendent in gold and muted shades of orange.

Prairie Donahue stood just out of the salt-laden ocean gust, underneath the overhang of an office tower. She’d staked out the spot early this morning. It was ideal, providing shelter from the damp winds, with an unobtrusive background and one perfect, crimson, Japanese maple. Its few remaining leaves stood out as counterpoint to the brighter tones of the cherry trees that were predominant. Her artistic eye appraised them all, as they dotted the street from their stone planters. Perfect was, perhaps, an overstatement, but the maple was the best for her purposes It was well-formed, and the few remaining leaves that clung to its skeletal branches were colored a vibrant cranberry. In her photographs, they would pop against the neutral grays and tans of the street.

Her camera, on its tripod, was focused on a single leaf midway up the tree.

One more gust, or maybe two, and I’ll have my shot. The leaf will strain, then break free and spiral to the pavement.

When the gust came, Prairie judged its strength and pressed the motor drive as the leaf wavered, then danced to the ground. Schmaltzy, perhaps, but that was the assignment.

She unscrewed the tripod from her Nikon and slung its collapsed form into her pack. Returning her attention to the tree, she changed angles to capture the golden sunlight, and lowered herself to the sidewalk. Crouched low, the aesthetics were good, but not quite right. Prairie glanced back at the people walking along the sidewalk, then stretched herself flat onto the pavement, balancing her camera at ankle height. From ground level, she could catch the movement from the drift of leaves underneath the small maple, and the background of well-shod business people hurrying past.

The first intimation that something was amiss was the shadow that spilled into the frame, followed almost immediately by an impact against her booted legs and an exclamation as someone stumbled into her and fell. The weight that landed on her thighs and back was sudden and solid – a man’s weight – and splayed her elbows, flattening her to the ground. Her chin grazed the concrete, stinging.

Hey! Watch where you’re going! I’m working here! Prairie rolled to one side, attempting to dodge knees and elbows as a man scrambled to disentangle himself from her camera straps, bag, jacket and legs. She pulled her camera toward her protectively and drew her long legs close to her body, minimizing the space she took on the sidewalk. Instinctively, her neatly manicured hand grabbed the cell phone that slid toward the curb.

The man scrambled up and collected his briefcase as he scanned the pavement for his phone. He was about her age, with the body of an athlete, trim and tall. He swept his straight, dark hair up from his forehead with one hand. Their eyes met momentarily, as they absorbed what had happened. His irises were the deep brown of the gingerbread she’d eaten that morning, but with flecks of gold. Prairie felt the beginnings of a smile that was quickly stifled by his scowl. He was clearly irritated by the fall, but extended a hand to lift her to her feet.

Are you all right? he asked.

Eyes flashed in mutual annoyance. I’m fine. You?

He nodded curtly, picking a leaf from his collar.

Here’s your phone, she added, extending her hand.

Thanks. Sorry for plowing over you like that. What were you doing, plastered on the sidewalk? You’ll be the death of someone! He tried to sound fierce, but his lips curled into an unwanted smile.

Working. She tapped her camera. Gathering her coppery hair into a quick ponytail, she returned to her position on the sidewalk and reframed her shot. Shifting slightly, she watched through her lens as he strode off, dashing leaves from his open trench coat. A crimson maple leaf remained stuck to the back of his city boots. She quickly snapped the shot.

~~~

Good! You’re back. We have a meeting in 20 with True North! Jack thrust a thumb drive into Evan’s hand. Here’s the new presentation. I updated it to include the ideas we worked on last night.

Evan looked past his partner to the meter-wide clock mounted to the red brick wall of Victorian-era office and frowned. We didn’t have anything scheduled.

Last minute change. The owner’s in town till noon today and wants to meet the creative team before he signs on. Apparently he’s very hands-on.

Conference room? Evan asked. Jack nodded.

They were walking out the door of their small office when Jack glanced at a bit of crimson near the floor. Ev’, hold up. You’ve got a stow-away.

What? Evan turned.

Your boot.

He glanced downward, then bent and removed the leaf. Oh. Thanks. I had a little accident with, well, I’m not sure what she was exactly, but we both ended up on the sidewalk. He grinned slightly and gently pressed the leaf flat onto the table.

Sun streamed into the historic office building’s third floor conference room. The polished oak floor gleamed, as did the shine of the conference table, also of oak. The aroma of fresh coffee perfumed the air as introductions were made and Evan and Jack began the presentation. Ninety minutes later, they had sealed the deal. The CEO was on his way to the airport and the ad men had a working lunch at the Frobisher Club with True North’s head of marketing.

Afterwards, walking along the crowded sidewalk back to the office, Evan caught a glimpse of a girl with long red hair turning the corner half a block in front of them. When they reached the intersection, Evan stopped briefly and scanned the street.

What is it? Jack asked.

Nothing. I thought I recognized somebody.

Jack glanced down the street. I don’t see anybody.

You don’t know her.

Jack’s eyebrows shot up. It’s about time you had a date. Bring her tonight. Victory dinner at the Thai Palace, in honor of winning the account. You, me, Dave, Jenny, Lucretia...and your mystery woman. Sound good?

Just one problem. Evan paused. I don’t know her name.

Jack groaned.

~~~

Each of the 15 tables at the Thai Palace was filled when they arrived that evening. The air was redolent with curry, ginger and peppers. Jack and Evan waited in the small bar on the right side of the restaurant, pilsners of Ocean Ale in hand.

Jack leaned forward to be heard over the clanking of dishes and laughter. So, tell me about this mystery woman.

Evan shrugged. There’s nothing to tell. I don’t know her. We barely met. He took a sip of his beer and turned toward the door, watching for their friends to arrive. I tripped over her on the way back to the office this morning.

No. Really. How’d you meet her? Jack raised the frothy pilsner of ale to his lips.

Really. I literally tripped over her. She was sprawled on the sidewalk photographing leaves or something.

Art student. Jack nodded decisively.

Maybe, but I don’t think so. She said she was working, and blasted me for running over her.

The bell on the door jangled and Jack waved his hand. Here’s Dave and the others.

The newcomers crowded the bar around Evan and Jack. They just had time to buy drinks before Jack’s name was called and they were led through the crowded dining room to two tables pushed together at the back.

Before we order, I want to make a toast, Lucretia announced, raising her pilsner. To Evan and Jack, two of the most creative ad men I know. Keep this up and you’ll rival Lion’s Gate before you’re 30! Cheers!

Thanks for the vote of confidence! Evan said.

You know she’s right... Jack began.

Hush. Don’t jinx it! Evan countered, as his friend laughed.

Lion’s Gate has handled the True North account for 25 years. Seriously. How’d you get it from them? Dave asked, leaning in.

We’ve been pitching them for the past five years. We’re tenacious, Jack replied.

And brilliant...and innovative, Evan interjected. Did I stress brilliant? He and Jack clinked glasses, grinning ear to ear.

~~~

At a table for two near the door, Prairie sat with her roommate. Their orders had just arrived.

I wonder what they’re celebrating? Mia asked, nodding to the double table of well-dressed professionals across the room. Half had their backs to her.

Hmmm, looks like an office group. Probably a promotion or new contract or something. She took a bite of roast duck in curry. This is really good. How’s yours?

She closed her eyes in bliss. Heavenly. As usual.

Loud laughter came from the table at the back, causing Mia to lean closer. Speaking of celebrating, you got a letter today from the Three Rivers Gallery. Mia sipped her water. I have it with me...

Prairie held out her hand as her eye lit up. Her thumb and fingers snapped open and closed in rapid succession. Gimme.

Mia reached into her bag and handed over the ivory business envelope with the gallery’s embossed, blue, wavy logo.

Prairie looked at the return address and ran her fingers over the seal, then paused.

Well? Are you going to open it? Mia’s brow lifted.

I’m almost afraid to. What if they say ‘no’?

Mia smiled. What if they say ‘yes’?

That would be wonderful! It would be my first gallery show...I could finally sell fine art instead of the sentimental schmaltz that’s paying the rent.

Speaking of rent... Mia began.

I know. Ruslan finally paid me for last summer’s work. I deposited the check this afternoon, so I can pay my half tonight. Thanks for covering me.

That’s a relief. Now, open the envelope!

Prairie’s unused table knife neatly slit the edge of the envelope. Quickly she scanned the letter. Her lips pulled into a tight line as she read the letter again.

No luck?

Thank you for your submission... We feel your work does not reflect the interests of our clientele at this time. Blah, blah, blah. She returned the letter to her envelope and slipped it into her camera bag. I’m never going to get a Toronto showing!

Don’t worry. Your photos will be in their gallery one day – or their rival’s.

I wish I had your confidence! Prairie took a sip of green tea, then scooted her chair closer to the table as the group from the back filed through the narrow space toward the door.

Ow! she exclaimed suddenly, reaching for her hair.

A man passing behind her stopped. I’m so sorry! You’re hair’s caught in the button of my coat. Hold still. Let me—

No, I can free it. She spoke over him, turning toward the entanglement.

You! They said simultaneously. You tripped me/fell on me this morning! they each exclaimed.

Twice in one day. We’re destined to meet, Evan observed, working free the long strands that were now knotted around his button.

Here, let me. Prairie craned her neck, abruptly grazing his taut abdominal muscles. She quickly turned back, blushing.

Evan smiled. It’s okay. I’ve almost got it. He pulled a strand loose and pushed the button through the loop of coppery hair.

While he disentangled her hair, she sat quietly. This close to him, she was aware of the faint scent of sandalwood, warm and masculine, underneath the curry that dominated the room.

There! You’re free. He undid the last strand and moved to the side of the table where he could see her hazel eyes and the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. It occurs to me... he began with a smile, that we haven’t been introduced. I’m Evan Lund.

His smile extended into the brown eyes she had admired that morning, softening a countenance that could be alternately inviting or intimidating.

She extended her hand in a firm handshake. Prairie. Prairie Donahue. This is my roommate Mia Walsh, she added, including her friend across the table.

Happy to meet you. Evan looked at his friends waiting by the door, held up one finger, then returned his attention to Prairie. Look, would you like to get a drink with me after work tomorrow? I can start to make up for, ah, all this. He gestured to the offending button on his coat and smiled deprecatingly, like a small boy caught in some minor mischief.

Prairie glanced swiftly at Mia, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Sure. I’d like that.

Great. I’ll meet you at 6 at The Blue Moon on Douglas. Do you know it?

She nodded. I’ve been there.

Tomorrow then. He looked back to the door. My friends are waiting. I’ve got to go.

~~~

Dark trench coats and business suits dominated the sidewalks early evening sidewalks busy with people streaming from the office buildings. The cafes that punctuated the pavement had extended their awnings over sidewalk tables. All were dotted with patio heaters and patrons intent on eking the most from autumn’s sunny days before winter rains drove them inside. The Blue Moon was near the corner.

Evan waved from a table directly beneath a heater. He admired the attractive redhead as she wound her way through the tables. When she neared, he rose and helped her out of her coat.

I hope you don’t mind. I thought it was nicer out here, but if you prefer, we can go inside...

No. This is fine. I like the fresh air, she replied. You must be indoors a lot.

The great outdoors is merely a winning advertising slogan. I live at my computer. He hammed it up for her benefit.

Yeah? Then how’d you run over me yesterday? she teased.

Oh, I escape for occasional client meetings. Besides, I said I was sorry about that!

My fault. I probably shouldn’t have been stretched out on the sidewalk just then, but – she sighed – the light was perfect. That’s where the shot was.

A waitress approached to take their order.

Prairie smiled. A tonic water, please.

You can have something stronger, you know, Evan began.

That’s okay. I don’t drink.

Two tonic waters, then. Once she was gone, he turned to Prairie. You really don’t drink?

Her eyebrows arched, responding to the inferred challenge. I really don’t drink. It’s not that I’m against it, it’s just that when I drink, I get tipsy. When I’m tipsy, my brain slows down. I don’t like that.

100 percent in control... he mused.

Prairie shrugged.

So, you’re a photographer. Tell me about your work, Evan prompted.

I work freelance for a company that creates motivational posters and wall calendars. It’s...well, it’s pretty traditional, tug at the heartstrings stuff. She rolled her eyes. ‘Dance to the music you hear,’ ‘When life gives you lemons,’ et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum.

Evan nodded. Pretty sentimental. My own personal favorites are, ‘Reach out and touch someone’ and ‘Phone home’. I write ad copy for high tech companies. Even there, sentimental works!

Prairie burst out laughing. ‘Phone home!’ is yours? I loved that commercial!

Mine and Steven Spielberg’s.

The waitress set their tonic waters on the table, and Evan squeezed his lime wedge hard, watching the juice squirt into the water. I get the feeling you don’t like sentimental.

Prairie sipped her drink. It pays the bills. For now, at least.

This isn’t your life ambition then?

Her eyebrows lifted as the corners of her lips turned up slightly. Fine art. I’m trying to arrange some gallery exhibitions. Toronto’s my long term goal...

Evan pursed his lips. Tough town. His eyes narrowed speculatively. Any luck?

She brushed her hair back behind one ear. Nibbles. It’s early.

I’m guessing you photograph kittens and puppies for your rent, but not your portfolio. Am I right?

One neat index finger tapped the table. I’m going for something edgier. And face it, almost everything is! In school I was more interested in creating fine art than commercial art. Mia, my roommate – you met her – says that makes me a dreamer.

She sounds like a practical lady. Being a starving artist isn’t romantic when you’re actually starving.

The glance she shot froze his tonic water. Sorry. I didn’t mean you’re actually starving...or impractical, or—he abruptly changed tacks.

A hint of a smile flickered across her face. I’m making a collage with my rejection letters.

Evan’s eyes twinkled. Could I see, sometime?

My rejection letters or my photos?

Chapter 2

––––––––

Anything interesting? Mia called from the living room, when Prairie entered the front door with a pile of mail and keys dangling from her hand.

Electric bill, your bank statement, a sale flyer from the Calico Iron Works and – oh! – a letter from King’s Gallery in Toronto. Prairie eyed it suspiciously.

Well, open it!

Velum ripped as Prairie slit the paper and read the contents. Another rejection. But this one is better, she called from the entry hall of the bungalow they shared.

A ‘no’ is still a ‘no’.

Yes, but this says my work shows promise. They’re inviting me to stay in touch.

Prairie shed her fleece jacket and hung it on a peg by the door. The electric green jacket contrast vividly with the gray and burgundy outerwear it joined. She went to the kitchen and removed a box of orange and spice tea from the cabinet and heated some water. Mug in hand, she joined Mia in the living room and settled into the corner of the canary sofa nearest the wing chair where Mia leaned back, working a Sudoku puzzle.

What did you send them? Mia asked.

Some of the extra photos from that shoot in the Kootenai’s. The leaves were just turning in the high country.

Nice shots. I wonder if the problem isn’t the photographs, but the markets?

Prairie sipped her tea. That’s what Evan said, too.

Really? You discussed your work?

He’s in advertising. He understands, at least, kind of.

Mia quietly penciled in a number.

He came up with the ‘Phone Home’ ad campaign.

Her housemate tucked one leg underneath her. Cool. I remember that. Their stock shot way up after that ad. What else did wunderkind say?

He’s nice, Prairie said defensively.

Mia nodded. What did he say about your work?

Just that he’d like to see it and that perhaps art that is quintessentially western Canadian may sell better here than in the East or in the Prairies.

It’s something to think about. She returned to her puzzle.

~~~

Evan and Mia weren’t the first to consider the subject. Prairie had thought about it with the arrival of each rejection letter. Tonight, she took them out of the box under her bed and examined them again. Several said simply no thanks, with no hint of the reason. A few said the work was unsuited to their clientele, two called it overly sentimental. One had to gall to call her photos snapshots. Some, like the most recent rejection, called her work promising, but made it clear she wasn’t yet ready for the big time. Dejected, she slid the box back under the bed. She would obsess about that later. Tonight, she was meeting Evan for dinner and she didn’t want to talk about work.

Prairie walked into Le Ciel Bleu wearing a forest green sweater dress that complemented her eyes and accentuated the golden tones in hair that grazed her waist. A pair of russet suede pumps accentuated her lean legs. The restaurant was cozy. Rustic beams traversed the ceiling, and burnished copper accents reflected light from the table candles and the low overheads. A fire crackled in a small brick fireplace near the center of the room, contributing to the country French ambience. She scanned the room, looking for Evan’s dark hair and broad shoulders amidst the crowd of couples.

Table for one? the hostess asked.

Two. My date’s meeting me. Evan Lund.

The hostess checked her list. It should be just a moment.

A gust of cold air hit her back from the just-opened door. She turned and Evan was there. His almost-black hair was ruffled by the breeze, and his shoulders were accentuated by a marled gray fatigue sweater that highlighted a trim, toned physique. She felt a small flutter deep inside her.

His swift glance swept her from head to toe and back again. You look amazing!

Prairie smiled. I could say the same... Just then, the hostess appeared and led them to their table.

I’m curious about something, Prairie began. If you’re in advertising, why are you on the west coast? All the action’s back east.

Not true! Didn’t you know the West is the new East?

She rolled her eyes. That sounds like an ad slogan.

Seriously. Canada’s a Pacific nation. We have strong trade with Asia and with the US western states, so where better to situate a high tech ad agency? Besides, I can’t imagine a better place to live than right here in Vancouver.

Now you sound like a travel agent, she said, laughing.

What’s not to love? Mild climate, world-class skiing, excellent sailing and the scenery is, as even our flag says, splendid.

I thought the great outdoors was just a slogan for you?

I have fond memories of a misspent youth on the ski slopes. I hope to make it back there in a few more years.

Make it back? She took a bite of the crepes Florentine that had just arrived.

Building a business means long hours. I should be working on a new campaign right now.

But you’re with me instead. She tilted her head – a question, maybe a challenge. Was he feeling guilty? Ready to end the date before it started?

Guilty as charged. He didn’t need to tell her Jack had practically thrown him out of the office, nagging that he needed a woman in his life. What about you? he asked, changing tacks.

What about me?

You mentioned Toronto. Why there? He took a bite of the crepes divan. Oh, this is good. Have a bite. He extended his laden fork.

Prairie accepted the bite and nodded. Excellent.

Like Vancouver, Evan added.

She chuckled. Vancouver’s great – don’t get me wrong. It’s just so wet and windy here, and, well, Toronto has so much more going on.

Bright lights, big city, eh?

She blushed.

If you dislike Vancouver, why don’t you leave?

I don’t dislike it! she protested.

I’m not so sure. You talk about going back east...and about making edgy photographs and – he lowered his voice – I strongly suspect you’re a Maple Leafs fan.

Her eyes widened.

That’s okay. He raised his hand to stem the flow of protests. It’ll be our secret. He smiled conspiratorially and took a sip of sweet tea. I’ll bet you had a professor you admired who was convinced the best place in the world for an artist was Toronto.

She cocked her head, then nodded. Professor Suterland. He talked ad naseum about his work in Berlin and then Toronto. The gallery shows, the reviews, opening nights, the cafe parties afterward.....

Evan savored his crepes as he listened.

A lifestyle. It sounds exciting. I wonder why he gave it up?

She shrugged. He never said.

Evan’s eyes flickered. Surely he could have taught in Toronto or Berlin...

I...I don’t know. Evan’s point was subtle. She had absorbed Professor Suterland’s artistic