He prepared two mugs, handing her a steaming cup of herbal tea. “Louis has always been… complex,” Dennis began, choosing his words carefully as he sat opposite her.
“His art demands a certain level of immersion, a kind of all-consuming focus. And that often comes with a protective shell around his personal life. He’s been hurt before, artistically and personally. It makes him wary.”
“Hurt by Joyce?” Cheryl asked, the question escaping before she could censor it.
Dennis hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Their partnership was legendary, for a time. But it ended badly. A lot of creative differences, a lot of ego. It was messy. She’s always believed she was his one true muse, the only one who truly understood his vision. And she’s not one to let go easily.”
He met Cheryl’s gaze, his expression empathetic. “You’re walking into a delicate situation, Cheryl. Your talent is undeniable, and you’re clearly reaching him in a way no one else has in a long time. But that also makes you a target, in Joyce’s eyes.”
Cheryl felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “I just want to create something beautiful, Dennis. Something that honors the cosmos, and Louis’s art. I don’t want to be caught in the middle of someone else’s drama.”
“And you won’t be, not if I can help it,” Dennis said, his voice firm and reassuring. “Look, Louis is brilliant, but he’s not always the most… administratively inclined. Or the most emotionally articulate. That’s where I come in. You focus on the art. Let me handle the rest.”
He pulled out a notepad. “What specifically is causing you stress? Beyond the… personal dynamics, I mean. Are the diffuser placements proving tricky? Do you need more access to specific areas of the observatory for testing? Are there any logistical hurdles with the scent delivery system that I can smooth over with the tech team?”
Cheryl felt a wave of relief wash over her. This was Dennis’s strength: practical, grounded, and utterly reliable.
“Actually, yes,” she admitted, feeling emboldened. “The sheer scale of the gala means we’ll need multiple diffusers for each zone, and ensuring they’re synchronized with Louis’s projections across such a vast space is a technical challenge. I’m also concerned about the air circulation patterns in the main dome; we need to ensure the scents don’t blend prematurely or dissipate too quickly.”
Dennis scribbled notes rapidly. “Right. I’ll schedule a meeting with the facilities manager and the lead AV tech. We can do a walk-through, map out the optimal diffuser locations, and test air flow. I’ll make sure you have dedicated personnel to assist with installation and monitoring during the gala itself. And if Joyce tries to interfere with any of your equipment or access, you come straight to me. I’ll handle it. This is your installation, Cheryl, and it’s integral to the success of the gala.”
His words were a balm, a steadying hand in the swirling chaos. He wasn’t just offering vague support; he was offering concrete solutions, taking tangible burdens off her shoulders.
He made her feel seen, not just as an artist, but as a professional whose work was valued and protected.
“Thank you, Dennis,” she said, her voice thick with genuine gratitude. “That… that means more than you know.”