Asher smiles and nods with encouragement as I speak, even asking me to elaborate on a couple of points. I’ll admit—I was a little worried at the beginning, but now that I’ve seen Asher’s approach, I’m feeling much better. There are people in our community who see value in the work we do here. I could go on for hours and hours about open the pantry doorto10 the Center, and Asher seems perfectly willing to let me.
At one point he gets up and goes over to the photos on my wall, the same photos Calder was studying only a few nights ago. I move beside him, and he turns and grins at me.
“You look so happy with the kids,” he says.
“I was happy. I am.” I reach out and touch the nearest photo. “I’d do anything for this place.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Asher says it almost reverently.
I glance over at him. He’s nearer than I thought, close enough that I notice, for the first time, the dusting of freckles across his nose.
“It’s rare to find someone with so much passion for their work,” he says, his voice thick with admiration. “Trust me, I know.”
I feel a blush coming, so I laugh and turn away. “As you said, I grew up in this place. How couldn’t I be passionate about it?”
“Tell me about your latest efforts,” he says. “Your father said it was your idea to start renting out the gallery space.”
“Well, I—I mean, I suggested it, but he made most of the major decisions.”
“That’s not what he tells me. He says you’ve spearheaded the entire project.”
I sit back down. “I’ve just done what needed to get done. He has a lot of things on his plate already, and so it made sense that I’d take on most of the new responsibilities.”
Asher props his hand on the edge of the desk and leans toward me. “You know, Lily, modesty is a fine quality, but it doesn’t make for very good sound bites.”
I feel my cheeks grow warm. “I’m not being modest.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Oh, I think you are. You’ll go on and on about the Frazer Center until someone asks you about your own part.”
I start to protest, but he cuts me off. through the wrought iron. somethingpa
“Don’t worry, the readers will eat it up. It’s pretty charming, actually.”
Wait—is he flirting with me? He flashes another broad, dimpled smile before returning to his chair.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says. “I won’t force you to brag. We can come at it from a different angle, if you like.” He leans back in his seat. “Tell me a little about the situation here before you decided to rent out the gallery.”
I take a deep breath and launch into what I think is a pretty good account of our situation those final few months: our failed fundraising attempts, our cutbacks, our ongoing discussions about our prices and programs. I could talk about this all he wants, and I figure I must be giving a decent answer because Asher keeps nodding.
Finally he says, “Your father tells me that you guys were doing just fine until you lost a significant donation you were promised. What can you tell me about that?”
There it is. I should have guessed this topic would come up. I need to tread carefully here.
“Sometimes pledges are broken,” I say, “and we have to make do. It happens to every nonprofit organization at some point, I’m sure.”
“But this was a very large pledge. From a very well-known family.”
I force myself to shrug. “We don’t know the circumstances surrounding the decision.” The general public has yet to learn about the Cunninghams’ financial situation, and I won’t be the one to reveal it.
“You don’t believe they owe you some sort of explanation?”
I shift in my seat. “I’m in no place to judge their decision. They don’t owe us anything.”
“Not even an apology?”
“We’ve received an apology.”
“Really? Your father says you haven’t.”
Ugh, I should have been more careful. I’ve received an apology from Calder, of course, but my dad wouldn’t know that. And I certainly can’t explain that to this man without going into the nature of my acquaintance with the Cunningham heir.
Time to change tactics.
“I prefer to think of the situation as an opportunity for us,” I say. “It gave us the chance to grow as an organization.”
Asher nods and smiles, and I can’t tell whether he buys my answer or not. But he doesn’t press the issue further, at least.
“Would you mind if I took a few pictures of you? A couple in here, I think, and then some in the gallery. And anywhere else around the facility that you’d like me to see.”
“Of course.” I say, suddenly wishing I’d put on a little more makeup this morning. Or worn one of my cute blouses instead of this standard old button-down.
He pulls out his camera, and I frantically run my fingers through my hair.
“You look amazing, I promise,” he assures me, shooting me a wink over the lens.
I drop my hair and flip it back over my shoulder.
“Where do you want me?” I say, trying to think of all the cheesy business articles I’ve seen. “Typing at my computer, or…?”
“Whatever you like,” he says cheerfully.
I position my hands awkwardly over the keyboard while Asher snaps away.
“Relax,” he tells me. “You’re doing great.” I can tell from his tone that he’s used to this, that I’m not the first one to be a little stiff in front of his camera. I’m not camera shy by any means, but it’s one thing to pose for a photo on a vacation or at a wedding or something and quite another to go for the whole “fake candid” thing. But Asher’s patient and understanding, and after a little more coaxing I begin to feel much more natural.
We head to the gallery next, and then to a couple of spots outside.
“Are you sure we don’t need my dad for any of this?” I ask.
“I already got a few of him,” he replies. “Besides, as much as I hate to admit it out loud, he’s right. Commercially speaking, you make a better subject for this stor open the pantry doorto10y.”
“Because I have breasts?”
He looks stunned for a minute at my directness, but then he laughs.
“It’s a sad truth of the media industry,” he says. “Young, attractive women tend to garner a lot of attention. I swear it’s not as skeevy as it sounds. Every story has to have an angle, and trust me, if we play up your angle—the tale of a sweet young woman trying to save her father’s struggling art center—this place is going to get a lot more attention. Nonprofit institutions struggle and close every day, and you are what sets this place apart. It’s a simple marketing strategy.”