When did the Henry I’d once loyed so fiercely become this person?
I had nothing left to say to him. I simply replied:
[You’d better read the agreement carefully. You’ve already signed them–only formalities remain.]
Silence followed for a few minutes before he called.
I ignored it.
Exhausted from the journey, I muted my phone, took a long bath, and slept soundly.
When I woke the next afternoon, another call from Henry flashed on my screen.
Not wanting him to disrupt my new life, I finally answered.
His voice was ragged with exhaustion, but no less furious.
“Do you have any idea how many calls I made trying to reach you last night? I didn’t sleep at all! How could you do this?
“I’m in no state to paint now. If this ruins my upcoming international exhibition, will you take responsibility?
“With your utter lack of professionalism, do you really think you can just waltz back into my studio after this?”
His rapid–fire accusations only deepened my exhaustion.
“Henry, you’ve always claimed my work was just ‘grunt labor‘–easily replaceable. So replace it.
“I’m not returning to your studio. I was never your official agent, and soon I won’t be your wife. I owe you nothing.
“As for your international exhibition, after you stormed out of that dinner with Tamara and offended the investors, I didn’t
grovel to fix it. They withdrew.
“If you want their backing now, apologize to them yourself.
“And you’d better hurry or I might just secure their funding for my future exhibitions instead.”
He stammered, his bluster evaporating into stunned silence.
Done with the conversation, I posted a public announcement:
[Official Notice Rosalind and Henry Shepherd are finalizing their divorce proceedings. No formal management contract
exists between them.
[For future business inquiries regarding Mr. Shepherd, please contact him directly.]
Chapter 9
