Carly continued, her modulated tones back in control. “People are afraid to come downtown. Galleries are always hanging on by a wire, but now more than ever.”
“Well, pardon me if I don’t commiserate with you but I’ve spent three years and thousands of dollars to get this far and now it seems I’ll be ‘lucky’ to recoup my costs after you take your cut.”
The gallery owner’s fingers tapped the page. “Are you reconsidering?”
“Reconsidering? No, I just need a moment to get my head around doing without necessities, working shit jobs, and taking public transit only to lose money when my art finally sells.”
“My goodness, dear, didn’t they teach you anything in art school?”
Freyja pulled the contract toward her. There would be sales, there would be glowing reviews, there would be success. She was that good. Besides, her photos weren’t doing any good gathering dust in the storage locker of Mallory’s condo. She signed.
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