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April Daniels Biography
April Daniels is an American television personality, best known as one of the cast members on The Tamar and Vince Show on WE TV! is known. Daniels is the founder of the Rock Out With Me campaign.
After graduating from Philadelphia, Daniels moved to Los Angeles, California, where she received her cosmetics license.
After moving to Los Angeles, Daniels has worked with a large celebrity clientele, including multi-Grammy Award-winning artist Missy Elliott, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopez, and Golden Globe-nominated Gabrielle Union.
She is the founder of the Rock Out With Me campaign, whose mission is to empower and unite women nationwe. She then joined forces with Wright Productions and EBONY Magazine on a multi-city women’s empowerment tour.
April Daniels Age | April Daniels Birthday
Daniels likes to keep his life private and therefore it is not known when she was born or when she celebrates her birthday.
April Daniels Family
She was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA to a homemaker father and a military man father. She is the youngest of four children with three siblings and also referred to herself as “Daddy’s Girl”.
April Daniels Husband
She was married to LaShawn Daniels, an American songwriter and Grammy Award-winning music executive, until his death on September 4, 2019 at the age of 41. The couple have been married for over a decade and have three sons, all Omar, Tahshon and Jett.
April Daniels Hair Stylist | April Daniels Hair
April Daniels Twitter
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Lashawn And April Daniels
April Daniels Interview
Interviewer: Thank you for taking the time for this interview. Many were first introduced to you on WE TV’s Tamar and Vince. Can you tell us a little more about yourself?
April Daniels: There is so much more to me that you unfortunately dn’t get to see on Tamar & Vince. Being a mother and wife first and foremost is my greatest achievement to date! I love my men!! (That’s my husband and my 3 sons!!) Since I’ve been on the show, I’ve been blessed with new opportunities such as my Rock Out With Me Tees, speaking engagements, working on a book and another project, over that I’m overjoyed but still in the early stages, my baby. Soon enough I’ll be able to share all the details! However, I had to hit pause on the shoe line and put things in the right order.
Interviewer: Were you initially concerned about being on reality television?
April Daniels: Absolutely!!! I’m a very private and protective person so the initial thought was no way!! But the subject came up a few times, so at one point I deced to pray about it until we got our confirmation. It can be a lot if you allow the world to read you like an open book.
Interviewer: You and your husband, Leshawn, come across as a positive married couple who love and respect each other. Has anything ever been sa by either of you that you wish you could take back?
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April Daniels: Laugh!!! My husband sa when I cried and my slogan “Rock Out With Me” was born! But no, not at all!! I think if you want to make a positive difference, you have to keep it real and be willing to be transparent, even if it’s uncomfortable. This is how I watch reality TV. If we pretend it’s no longer reality! If you sign up be yourself, whatever that means to you, as long as you are honest you will not lose. There is a lesson to be learned from every honest experience in one way or another.
Interviewer: Has life changed for you since then, Tamar and Vince?
April Daniels: Easy. The biggest impact it has made is the recognition I get when I’m at the mall, restaurants, or running errands. I forget sometimes and catch people staring and I catch myself like “Why are they staring?” Then they’ll ask if I’m April or say they love me on the show. I’m truly honored by all the love I received when it happened.
Interviewer: I want to talk about your fashion. Judging by Instagram; You have a good sense of . Have you always been fashion conscious?
April Daniels: 100 percent!! What’s not to love about fashion? I originally wanted to study fashion design at FIDM, but changed my plans. I’m a fashion junkie and I need help! laughs! I even have my oldest and youngest sons who go to fashion junkie rehab!
Interviewer: How do you put together the perfect outfit? Some people start with the clothes first and then find matching shoes. I’ve also heard that some start with the shoes first and then find something suitable.April Daniels: Wow!!! There’s no rhyme or reason for me. Sometimes I start with my mood and my shoes, but other times I start with the piece I know I want to wear outse of it. Fashion is an expression of yourself, so I think it should match the mood of the day.
Interviewer: Do you have a favorite designer?
April Daniels: Alexander McQueen I loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
Interviewer: You are also very positive and uplifting on Instagram. Do all your friends come to you for advice or to exchange things?
April Daniels: Oddly enough, yes!! Definitely my closest friends. Ever since high school, I’ve always been “Dear Abby” whenever my friends needed advice.
Interviewer: If there’s a young girl struggling with low self-esteem; what would you tell her
April Daniels: Spend more time getting to know yourself and the Lord. Usually, by spending time evaluating the problem, you can entify the how and begin to understand why it exists in the first place. Once you determine the reason for this, you can try to correct it through prayer and diligence to break the cycle. But this cycle can be a big deal, from the company you keep to the person you’ve chosen so far. It’s so important to know your worth and appreciate yourself enough to know that there should be standards when it comes to you and the way people treat you. Nothing is impossible to change, it just takes dedication until you see positive results.
Interviewer: Is there anything else you would like to tell everyone?
April Daniels: Thank you for the love and support from everyone who took the time to give it!!! Very appreciated!!
Source:www.parlemag.com
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April Daniels is an American television personality best known for been one of the cast members on the Tamar and Vince Show on WE TV!.
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April Daniels’s Instagram, Twitter & Facebook on IDCrawl
Looking for April Daniels online? … April L Daniels, age 43 … LaShawn Daniels’ Wife April Speaks Out About The Loss Of Her Husband WIAT.
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Bao tải dứaBao tải dứa tại Hà Nội | Nhà sản xuất và cung cấp Minh Sơn MSC · Công ty Cổ phần Đầu Tư Công Nghệ Minh Sơn. · Văn phòng giao dịch: 8 – 164/192 Lê Trọng …
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30 Days of Pride – Page 2 – Anxious Nachos
It is a coming-of-age story where a boy, Michael, struggles to come to terms with his entity as a mixed-race, gay teen. When he gets to university, he begins …
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30 Days of Pride – Page 2 – Anxious Nachos
Hi to all,
It’s time to be personal! We’re already in the middle of Pride month and so I thought I’d celebrate by writing almost the hardest post I’ve ever written (and the longest … like many). Today’s post will be very different from anything I’ve written on my blog before. It’s more personal, about my own unique identity and journey, the importance of unique books in my exploration, and some of the books that have helped me! There is also little (maybe a small statement) of a rant on some transphobic billionaires who have done so much harm to those at risk. And you see, the rant is starting … But beware that I’m going to discuss That Author and the hatred and disgust I feel and how it has affected my unique identity.
Before I start, I thought I’d introduce myself a bit for those who don’t know how I’m identified: I’m pansexual (although I also use the term bisexual, and throughout this post I refer to biphobia and bisexuality because that’s how I identified as a teenager). I also have what I like to call a “gender feeling” meaning, I don’t really know what my gender is, but I currently use the term genderfluid as I feel it to most – I like the way it features change and fluidity and movement. That’s a very new part of my identity (this year is relatively new) and since this post talks about my journey, I’ll talk more about my sexuality than gender.
So I want to start by talking about why queer books are so important. I grew up in a strict Christian household. I’m not allowed to watch witches on TV pretty strictly (though why I’m allowed to read Harry Potter, I don’t understand). So as I was growing up, I really didn’t have a chance to learn about LGBTQIA+ identities as an option for me. But after reading some of my favorite series as a teenager, I wanted more of those universes. I wanted to see more of those characters. And so I went into fanfiction.
Fanfiction was the place I first saw queer identities. I read fanfiction as a way to spend more time with my favorite worlds and characters, and discovered a new world of possibility. Suddenly, strange identities are everywhere! I could read and write weird stories, find weird joy, and discover who I am in this community. I met my girlfriend back then through the fanfiction community. So by the time I entered university, I knew I was bi.
But once I learned that unique identity, I started a relationship with my current partner (male cishet), and never had a chance to explore my unique identity in the university years where time for exploration happens. Because we all know about the horrible biphobia that weird people in cishet appearing relationships face. So even though I know I’m bi, I still don’t really feel like I’m part of the queer community. I was in what everyone thinks is like a cishet relationship. So how do I become part of the queer community? And so during my five years at uni, the only real time I felt I could discover my unique identity, was through my fanfic reading. Other than that, I look like another female cishet.
After I just left uni, moved to Australia and really got into the online book sphere I really faced the question of who I am again. And that’s because I went back to literature, after a pretty big break during uni, to all the amazing queer books. I no longer had to hide on the internet, there were books in the front and middle of every bookshop, they were all in question. I miss the period of time when queer books became more mainstrain. But most importantly, when I started reading these books, some of them featured characters who went through things I went through, asking themselves how I was asking myself.So it started to feel like maybe I was dizzy after all? And now, it seems like I want to read these books, and write my own books, my way of exploring my unique identity. It helps me feel part of the community in a way I don’t experience in the real world. Even over the past few years, having more faith in my identity as a queer person and accepting that yes, I am also queer, even if it’s different than you, has given me more confidence and happiness. .
And that’s why it’s completely ruined when transphobic asshats ruin the worlds you saved.
Put the rant part of this essay.
I’m the stereotypical Harry Potter teen. I grew up with books, with Harry. I had all the books on their second release. I have all the merch. I went to the midnight showing. I did a Harry Potter film marathon. I got the Deathly Hallows tattoo. I sobbed at the last premiere of the film with the words “Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home” .And those books saved me. Because Hogwarts is my home. There I felt safety and love and hope. I have poured so much of my energy and life into these books and into the world. I buried myself in hundreds and hundreds of fanfics, over so many years. For years I read almost nothing but Harry Potter fanfic, spending so much time obsessing over strange ships, because even though the books themselves aren’t explicitly different, they also aren’t explicitly not. There was a world where you seemed to be able to explore your identity, where characters became more than just written. I owe my unique identity to the world of Harry Potter and the fanfic that showed me who I am.
And then JKR decided to destroy that. He threw away his disguise, and you know, Umbridge turned out to be at the bottom. I was hurt by what he did. Disgusted everytime I look down at my skin and see the tattoo there. He had a world that gave us all that desperately needed hope, and decided to get rid of that. Hogwarts is no longer a safe place. I hated that I hadn’t seen it before, that as a teenager, I hadn’t seen the racism, the ability, the homophobia in books. I am disgusted that it took a flashback as an adult to see the truth of these books. I hate that he broke a safe place for so many of us with his outright hatred. I want to shout. You can’t separate art from the artist: the morality of the artist informs what they write. We can’t say Harry Potter is ours, because it’s not. It was him and his hatred let go of his writing of it. And I know my pain doesn’t even come close to hurting trans people among us who looked up to this series like I did and hurt him more personally. The frustration I have, the shame I have, the guilt I feel for ever liking it … it’s a lot. It hurts me that we have lost a community and a place of nostalgic safety. I was so upset that I owed my strange identity to a wicked, transphobic person. I hated that I didn’t see the universe for what it was. I am disgusted that I owe so much to it. It is painful to see that this safe place is gone. Where are we going now?
I’M GLAD YOU ASKED. Because let’s be positive! Now not the 00s! We have an incredible set of books that will help us discover who we are, more than I had when I was a teenager when I needed them. But I can still use them as an adult, I can still use these books to let people know who I am and provide a safe place for me now. So I just wanted to talk about some of the books that have personally helped me learn more about myself, or really helped to prove that I was dizzy as well. I still feel like a cheater. I will not lie. I still don’t want to discuss my queer identity in queer circles because of what they might say.I still haven’t been able to go to a Pride parade, because I’m so scared of the bi/panphobia I’ll receive, from the community that should receive me. That’s the most painful, similar to Harry Potter: the place that should be safe and engaging, isn’t. I almost never talked about starting to ask my gender, because I didn’t know where to start unpacking how much more I felt cheated in doing that. Am I cheating when I don’t know? Am I just a woman pretending to be naughty? How do you know if you are not binary? Am I just stupid to ask?
But I’m doing better than in previous years. I no longer feel afraid to call myself queer openly online. I’m starting to feel like I’m a valid member of the queer community (even though I’m not yet at the stage where I can stand up for myself and say it! Atleast I’m thinking right?) So here are some of the books that really helped validate my identity these past few years, and provided a safe place for me to ask who I am.
The ouster of Nathan by Zack Smedley
Nathan’s expulsion is probably Rachel’s teen book most relevant and most needed. This book is expert and so on, so it personally discusses faith and eternity, the validity of bisexuality, and the complex feelings of first love. It’s an incredible book and has a brilliant voice, and I want to give this book to any queer teen struggling to resolve their faith with their identity.
Adib Khorram’s Darius the Great is not Okay
Just a few months before the release of Darius the Great Deservers Better, the sequel to Darius the Great was Not Okay and probably one of my favorite books of 2020, as the first was one of my favorites in 2019. Darius the Great is Not Okay is described as ‘pre coming out’, so while it’s not explicitly weird…. it’s still obviously weird. But what I found most special about Darius, was the amazing depression rep.Both Darius and his father were suffering from depression, they were both using antidepressants, there was a big struggle in their relationship because of it. To avoid being more personal, all I can say is that I felt like I was seeing Darius, he was one of my favorite characters because of this and as such, I had to have everyone read this book and pre-order the sequel.
Felix Ever After is Kacen Callender
I just read this book last week, and yes it’s on the list. If you read my review of this book posted yesterday, you’ll already know what I have to say so sorry in advance! I went to Felix hoping for the amazing trans rep (which I got). But I didn’t expect the deep questioning and exploration of his personality that Felix was going through. Even though he has moved on, he still feels the annoying feeling that he is not always a man, so he struggles with what it means to be trans, how much he feels to be a cheater, and understands his new identity as a demiboy. I can’t say how special it is to me. The uncertainty, the questioning journey of Felix, the fear that Felix had in the queer community that called him a fraud and kicked him out, it was like my own experiences, my own uncertainty about gender and don’t know who you can talk to about it because of this fear of not being weird enough. This book is just one absolute gift in the world and I hope it reaches all the young trans teens who need it.
The Fever King by Victoria Lee
I don’t think it’s a secret that The Fever King is my favorite book. I still can’t believe this is a DEBUT. This book is almost the fantasy book of my dreams as a teenager. Fantasy has always been my favorite genre, as it provides an escape from the real world that I really needed in my teenage years. And so when I read this incredible, literally-everything-is-queer fantasy novel, it was all I wanted as a teenager.I still haven’t read a book that has affected me as emotionally as this one has since I read it in early 2019, and I think it will be a long time before I find another one that will do it.
The Library of the Unwritten by A.K Larkwood
Library of the Unwritten is on this list because it’s the FIRST (and only…) book I’ve read that is on the page, as is the actual use of the funny word, pansexual rep. And this is the main character. It’s just mindblowing. The Pan rep’s representation is so small that seeing this incredible, fun, poignant fantasy actually use the word is deliberately uplifting and proving. Hopefully I’m at least half as cool pansexual as Hell’s Librarian Claire.
Like a Love Story by Abdi Nazemian
Another of my favorites to read in 2019, Like a Love Story is a historical fiction novel set during the 1980s AIDS crisis. Since I wasn’t even born in the 1980s, you may be wondering why in the world I felt this book of all sorts of weird books was particularly important to me? And I can tell you in three words: MESSY. MAGULO. RELATIONSHIPS. The relationships in this book show the full excitement of love experienced by cishet books over the years, where Reza is afraid to be gay and dates a straight woman to try to hide it. . It shows the really complex and chaotic relationship that some of us have with our own identities: not everyone is out and proud. And Reza’s embarrassment and fear and the complete mess and pain he caused because of it was brilliant. I really appreciated seeing a more complex queer coming of age story.
The Fifth Season of N.K Jemisin
I value this book as the one that brings me back to reading as an adult. I came to this book after reading most of the fanfic over a few years, and this book just excited me with it’s open and honest weird relationships, something I never thought I’d see before. openly in fantasy. I’ve long cherished this idea that I’ll just find a weird rep in fanfic, and this book is said to hell with that! This series is one of my favorite series of all time, N.K Jemisin is an absolute god.
These books really helped me on my unique journey. It is definitely a journey anywhere near its conclusion. I still have no idea about my gender. I am still not safe and welcome in strange spaces. For me a cheater, often. But over the past few years, books have helped me become someone who is less afraid to call themselves queer, who is happy and proud to write 30 blog posts to celebrate this year’s Pride, in someone who actually wrote it. personal post about my journey (no matter how much I postpone it until literally the last moment to do so). This is why we need these books, why it is so important for everyone in publishing to push more and more diversity into their lists. These books provide so much comfort, validation and empowerment to those most at risk.This is why I work in publishing, why I want to write my own books: I want to give to someone what these books gave me.
And finally, if you, like me, are deeply hurt and ashamed to even like Harry Potter despite JKR’s transphobic hatred, then while I don’t know how to get rid of these feelings, all I can say is you are not alone in this feeling. If you need someone to talk to, I’m just here.
River of Teeth (River of Teeth, #1)
River of Teeth has a killer concept. It riffs a cockamamie scheme to deal with invasive plants and meat shortages in America by importing hippos in bulk. In Gailey’s world, Congress went ahead with the procedure (at a slightly different time than suggested), and instead of a Wild West we got a wild bayous in Louisiana full of hippo-riding cowboys and riverboats that casino. How can you break a very good concept? Let me tell you in harrowing detail, dear reader, because this book
River of Teeth has a killer concept. It riffs a cockamamie scheme to deal with invasive plants and meat shortages in America by importing hippos in bulk. In Gailey’s world, Congress went ahead with the procedure (at a slightly different time than suggested), and instead of a Wild West we got a wild bayous in Louisiana full of hippo-riding cowboys and riverboats that casino. How can you break a very good concept? Let me tell you in harrowing detail, dear reader, because this book is awful.
Winslow Remington Houndstooth put together the operation (never a caper, a joke that aged me a long time, before it even aged Gailey). He will make a good penny driving the ferocious hippos that infest the lower Mississippi into the Gulf, but he has a more personal motive: revenge. Revenge for the arson that cost him his ranch and his beloved breed of hippos. She is bisexual. It is unrelated, but emphasized.
The team has four more rounds up for the operation (never a… nevermind). Archie is a con artist and thief. She is fat. It is unrelated, but emphasized.
Hero is an expert in demolition. Apparently there are a lot of people Hero, because they are only referred to using the plural pronoun (I should cut Gailey a few loosely here; the limitations of the English language are not her fault).
Cal is a gunslinger. He was drunk, cheating on cards, working for the big bad, and had certainly betrayed Houndstooth before. You’d think any and all of that was relevant, but others largely seemed offended that he was a white boy (yes, really):
“‘ We can’t do this without Cal. ’He started walking into the suite, combing his hands through his hair.
Hero didn’t avert his gaze from their whittling. ‘If you’re too mad about it, Winslow, I can chew toothpicks and sling of race tricks to the best of’ em. It may be necessary to practice, but I’m sure I can fight in the morning. ‘
Houndstooth laughed — a real, easy laugh — and then sat down heavily on the bed next to Archie.
‘Look at the room, Hero. What is missing? ‘
Hero looked around the suite. ‘Feel the body odor.’
Houndstooth laughed again, but this time, the laugh seemed strained. Adelia and Archie exchanged glances.
‘We’re missing a white boy,’ Adelia whispered, caressing her belly.
‘So what?’ Archie huffed. ‘If we need one, I’m sure I can drag one back here for you, Winslow. There are no shortcomings. ‘”
Basically, you have better reasons to be pretty happy. Oh, and it’s a western, if a weird one. A gunslinger is the kind of thing that would be useful, say, fighting at the end of the book. Of course it would be good not to give your guns to the big bad. (Don’t lightly give away your guns is the most effective political message in The River of Teeth.)
Adelia is a contract killer. She’s also pregnant, which seems pretty relevant, but has the main purpose of giving her a reason to say things like this:
“‘ When my little mother is born, she will ride with me, and she will be as strong as I am. Maybe stronger. ‘
‘What if it’s a boy?’ Asked Neville, holding onto the saddle.
‘It won’t be male.’
Neville stared at him for a moment without speaking, eyes staring at his stomach.
‘You wonder about the father,’ he said, not smiling. Neville stutters a vague denial, his blush destroying his credibility.‘No father,’ said Adelia. ‘There was a man who gave me the child I wanted from him.’
Neville stared hard at his hands. ‘All right ma’am,’ he whispered, embarrassed. She grinned at his embarrassment.
‘I’m not shy, son. I don’t need a husband. This woman will no longer need a father. Maybe a stepmother, someday — but if not? ’She shrugged. ‘No difference.’
Contrary to what movies might lead you to believe, contract killing is not conducive to single parenting.
There’s also a bad casino owner who stands out as big bad (as long as the ferals are in charge of dammed up Mississippi, it’s not good for anything by casino boats). He doesn’t roll a mustache, to my recollection, but he’s a cheap plot device, showing exactly when and where you expect him to do, doing what you expect him to do. Gailey does a decent job when he could be gentle. An unasked question about Hero calls and contradicts an indirect question about the difference between Houndstooth’s appearance and his accent earlier, and an unsolicited question about Hero later. The romance between Houndstooth and Hero is poignant and weak. I love the fact that the Bureau of Land Management is not paying Houndstooth to solve the problem; they pay him to make it a Coast Guard problem.
But Gailey rarely has the confidence as a writer to do anything subtle. Instead, he prefers to correct the reader in its head like a meteor hammer. And while it was the intense awakening that rolled my eyes, that was a distraction from the fact that this was not a good book. I made the mistake of picking up The River of Teeth in conjunction with Edgar Rice Burroughs ’At the Earth’s Core. Burroughs ’short novel is zipped; Gailey’s novella draws despite its length. Very little is happening, and what is happening is dull and pointless. Reading without the benefit of a map, I was left extremely confused with geography. The map clarifies a few things, but it also clarifies that the climax relies on a 19th century remote detonator working at a distance of more than 50 miles. The action set pieces are limp and very few. The plot twists are embarrassingly obvious. Instead of a completely satisfactory conclusion, we get a hook for a sequel that is, no, hard not to.
If you’re looking for a weird western, you better pick up The Builders, also published by Tor.com and edited by Justin Landon. Or pick up Elizabeth Bear’s Karen Memory, which has succeeded in most of The River of Teeth’s tries and failed.
The bottom line is that The River of Teeth should never be as greenlit as is. This is a book with key issues in essentially every aspect beyond the premise. It doesn’t work as weird western. It doesn’t work as grimdark. The premise does this as an alternate history, but I’m bored with alt-history with no interesting story attached to the premise. And there’s a weakness here that turns me off, though it may appeal to the kind of reader who cheers when a character of the right ethnicity and gender dies.
But the hippos? The hippos are wonderful.
Disclosure: I received a review copy of The River of Teeth from the publisher.
Unveiling by Suzanne Wolfe – Ebook
Side Panel—
KALIWA
I
THE RAIN CONTINUES ON THE BARS as Rachel pushes the steel door open. Entering a small courtyard, he climbed a staircase that had been peeled and cleaned of ocher to the second floor. Above his head a series of clothesline divided the sky into pieces of a puzzle.
Heels scratching the rock, burning shoulders from the dead weight of her bags, Rachel forced herself into the final steps toward her pension. On either side of his door, withered tendrils emerged from two large concrete urns of obscure neoclassical design, cluttering the overgrown chaos in the passage.
As he put the key in the lock, his phone rang.
Rachel?
Rachel dropped the phone on her shoulder and walked out the door with her luggage.
I entered a few hours ago. Need to go straight to the museum, Rachel said. He was in Rome to direct the conservation of a panel painting in one of the churches. The project is coordinated by Rome’s Ferrara Museum and promises to take anywhere from three to six months.
She dropped her bags and closed the door behind her. The sleeves of his coat were pinned to the contiguous straps as he tried to shrug his computer and put his shoulder on the bed. He swears, moved the phone in his hand as he poured the heavy wool, then sat down, wiping his eyes, on his face. The skin felt smooth, transparent. As he loosely held the phone in his palm, the voice suddenly became thin, tinny, hard like strung wire.
Hooke’s Law.
That’s all Rachel remembers from physics class at school: that if a spring is stretched too far with excessive weight, it can never return to its original tension. The formulas written on the blackboard were meaningless, but he had not forgotten the name, or the feeling of the thinning of the tendons to the point of severing.
He held up the phone. His mother was still talking.
… Divorce… running to Rome—
See, Rachel said. I need to leave. I will email.
His words ran into an Italian snatch under the crackle as if the lines had crossed and the sound bounced back. Then a click.
Rachel pressed the off button and threw the phone on the bed. The proprietaria returned the covers to reveal an inseam of cream lace running across the width of the turned down sheet, the cotton giving off a sun-bleached, wind-flapped scent. A heavy brass bedstead rose above the stacked head pillows, the metal striped and dulled with age.
Squats and paint-chipped radiators glued to the walls pumped out thick heat that emitted a three-barred electric fire opposite the bed. French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the street. Nothing as big as his apartment in Manhattan, but located in the heart of Rome, and, most of all, anonymous. No inquisitive neighbors, no unexpected calls from well -meaning friends.
The rattle of a bell calling believers to vespers, the sound that carries true and clear in the winter air, drew Rachel to the balcony, her breath white in the dark air. Under the balcony, a narrow, rocky road slides into a main road on the left and the Tiber river on the other. It was getting dark, and a cold wind was blowing from the north, blowing garbage into the streets. In the distance, she could see the dome of a basilica spinning in a green sky, and Rachel suddenly lost her appetite. Perhaps her mother was right, perhaps getting this job in Rome was nothing but an inability to deal with the failure of her marriage, her life.
Despite filing for divorce, she felt extreme relief when she saw Mark’s signature under the settlement papers, she felt strange now that she had removed herself from the familiar framework of her life. At lunch with a girlfriend last week, her journey turned sober, albeit brave.
I would have been a basket case, said his friend. A basket case. It will be again.He raised his glass and handed Rachel a toast. Here is the alimony. Her friend is in her second failed marriage.
But honestly, Rachel felt the same disconnection in New York. It was seven o’clock, at the museum of nine, home by seven. On a good day time spooled by; he looks up from a section of the panel and realizes he has lost three hours. Meetings, phone calls, emails keep his conscious psyche, while beneath the surface his true self seems to be moving on water. But no matter how quickly the hours passed as she did her paints, Rachel felt the tension of her body when she re -entered her apartment every night. He wanted to draw time, to trick it to stand up. He lingered longer in the shower, tried on endless combinations of clothes, anything to delay the moment he looked around him and realized that his belongings, the his life, his face in the mirror, was foreign. He wanders from the kitchen to the living room, picks up this book, puts it down, takes another one. He will be distracted by the unwashed glass in the sink until he rinses it off and puts it on the rack. He would then return after ten minutes to dry it and set aside. Like living in zero gravity, everything stable in his life will drift, and if he doesn’t push it, they will float.
Her friends said it was normal, a kind of stress after divorce, but Rachel knew better. A ghost in her life before Mark, she thought marrying him would raise her again, give her strength in a universe that came more to her like bad TV reception, images moving underneath of snow pixels. Only the paints he restored were real, things he could see and touch and knew it had been fixed, honestly. Now even that is threatened, with the museum in Manhattan where he worked.
Originally built in the shape of a castle, the massive brownstone became the home of a shipping magnate in the nineteenth century. It’s a quaint middle of the chrome and glass of midtown and looks more like a hotel than a museum. Now the twenty-first century has caught up with it, and a vast structure of metal and glass has emerged on the left side of the eastern wing, bone fragmented from a wound. Every day for the past year he had watched the hole grow as the iron came out, and he felt pain and helplessness.
He remembered how the museum trembled when they broke the walls and how the shock of it passed through his body and remained there, which resounded long after the silence. Eventually, a mist of powdered rock began to filter the air like fine sugar until he could write his name on almost any surface of the museum. White and rough and pervasive as memories, it left a taste on his tongue.
Mark, his former, was the architect who designed the new wing. There was even a feature on him in New York magazine four months ago. He went into his office and threw it on his desk, and in that article he learned that his altarpiece — the one he had worked so hard to restore for two years — should be permanently placed there. Hidden from the Nazis during World War II, it was discovered molded in the crypt of a Bavarian church and sent to Rachel’s museum for extensive restoration and reconstruction. Now it’s time to swap the lush horizon that inspired its tiny background views for a blank room with a halogen tubing ceiling and humming with dehumidifiers, temperature gauges, and a sophisticated alarm system in fire. Instead of being visited by a congregation of believers, of people who can trace their lineage back to the time the altarpiece was painted, perhaps even claim kinship with the artist himself, it is to be an altarpiece without an altar , an anachronism as out. of the place as the museum itself.
She looked up from the article to see Mark studying her, with a smile on the sides of its mouth.The growl of a drill and the voices of workers calling to each other enveloped the silence between them. No children, so he must put his altarpiece in the new wing is the same as taking custody.
After he left he picked up the phone and punched an extension. He will take the steward with his offer to send him to Rome. Apex Corporation, an American conglomerate eager to make a name for itself as an art patron, has sponsored a restoration project in conjunction with its own museum.
The dimmer the light, the more obscure the outlines of the buildings as dusk deepens. A lamp clicked in a window opposite, and Rachel thought she saw a hand raised in greeting. He went back inside and closed the shutters. Entering the bathroom, he turned on the water in the bath completely until the steam began to fog in the glass in the sink.
And at least he got to the meeting at the right time. At one point he thought his flight would be transferred to Heathrow, London, and he would be forced to change planes. A winter storm pounding the coast out of Canada backed up planes across the Eastern seaboard, turning La Guardia into a smoky, annoying mass. He arrived at Leonardo da Vinci four hours ago, took the commuter train into the center of Rome, then took a taxi straight to the museum.
A woman entered him into the Ferrara Museum library and asked to wait. A series of tall bookcases lined the walls, three on each side and two on either end. He ran his fingers over the spine of a volume, feeling the bite of the gold-embossed lettering on the velvet skin. of the calf. Each tier of shelves rises to a series of semicircular lunettes depicting scenes from classical mythology, then to the vaulted ceiling where a massive white hand roams over the head of the a sleeping adolescent lying between the heavy breasts of a woman, her legs leaning against her hip. It was at once gorgeous and utterly rude. A secular Pieta with a strong sex kick.
Above the curls of youth, Rachel saw a very beautiful face, inhuman as that of a primitive fertility goddess. Venus’s lips curled upward in the deceptive smile of sexual possession as she stared at Rachel through spirited eyes.
Dr. Piers, I see you are interested in our painting.
A man approached him from the other end of the room, the sound of his shoes tapping on the marble floor not naturally amplified by the large room.
Rubens, he said. Maaga.
Pretty, how do you say, flamboyant, no? The passion of youth, the man smiled. This house was owned by Cardinal Ferrara in the seventeenth century. But let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Persegati. His handshake was firm and like business. Welcome to Rome. With hair with hair combed straight back from his forehead and glowing with oil that gave off the faint smell of cloves, he spoke with a deliberate precision that would have sounded false in a toneless tone.
Forgive me. I know you’re tired, but I want to introduce you to others. Please follow me. Walking toward a door at the far end of the room, he opened it, wiping his left arm to indicate that Rachel should be ahead of him. I followed your work on the Baultenheimer Altarpiece with the most interest. Your paper is very good, especially the pigment sample analysis. As you argue, the piece certainly originated in a monastic community in the Ruhr Valley. Brava!
A yellowish pockmarked glass attached to a gilt frame popped up at him as it followed him down a corridor, undulating over the irregular surface, strangely bending. Pale skin surrounded by dark swatches of hair, gray eyes.
Persegati opened a door. A fireplace in black marble decided a half -hearted attempt at grandiose, but the effect was sad, even depressing. Perhaps this is where the cardinal transacted. No Venus.
A man was standing by the window, with his back to her. Next to him was a young woman who looked like a student.As if they were just joking, a faint sense of unity hung in the air.
May I introduce Dr. Piers from the Eliot-Simpson Museum in Manhattan.
The air in the room rotated from loose to tight.
Honored to meet with you, Dr. Piers, said the maid. Her dark hair was cut into symmetrical bobs, and when she moved the razor tips touched her jaw and touched the corners of her mouth. My name is Pia Amata.
Rachel.
Pia will intern as your research assistant, Persegati said. His involvement forms the practical part of his doctorate in late medieval manuscripts.
Rachel turned to the man at the window.
Nigel Thompson. His fingers, cool and soft, clasped her momentarily.
Dr. Thompson is on sabbatical from the National Gallery in London, Persegati explains. He was the chief curator of their medieval collection.
He had the prematurely stooping carriage of an Oxford don, but the deep cross-hatching in the corners of his eyes gave him a sharp look. An expert in his field, he is a world authority on panel painting and
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