Zoe shook her head slowly. “It was one of the most depressing days I have ever had. The sadness.”

“Rejecting the work means rejecting the artist.” Thalia nodded knowingly.

“No kidding. Well.” Zoe sighed. She closed her eyes for an instant, recalling the vision of that day. “Well, the last stop of the day took us to a sprawling brick building west of the Zeedijk—the main red-light district. “We had several surrealistic paintings by a Dutchman named Erik van Broek.”

“Van Broek?” Thalia said. “He’s famous. His paintings go for hundreds of thousands.”

Zoe nodded. “I thought his paintings were excellent myself—in fact the earliest commissions I made after I became a broker were from the first sales of his works in the U.S. But back then, the critics trashed everything he did.”

“Critics!” Thalia snapped. “Vicious, talentless wannabes who fulfill their own worthlessness by tearing down the work of those who can create.”

Zoe raised her eyebrows. “I see you’ve met some of the same ones I have.” They smiled.

“Anyway, it was the last stop and I went up alone, carrying the paintings to a rambling third-floor loft in what had once been an old shipping warehouse. I was a new face to Erik so when he opened the door, his face was wide and open, covered with sweat. He had these brilliant green eyes that positively sparkled. He was very, very tall like a lot of Dutch men—over six six—and he had this wiry musculature… like a pro basketball player.” Zoe paused and closed her eyes for a moment “His arms bulged out of a paint-splattered sweatshirt with the arms torn off. He had on running shorts but they covered up only a little bit of these incredibly muscular legs; he had a towel draped over his shoulders.” She opened her eyes and looked at Thalia. “Inside, beyond the door, I saw a set of exercise weights on the worn wooden floor. Sweat glistened all over his body.”

“From the sound of your voice, lightning struck you.”

“Oh yeah,” Zoe nodded with a deep faint smile. “He did. He electrified me. I felt like the rest of the world had suddenly disappeared. Maybe it was the smell of the sweat or the sight of this perfect body, but I was thunderstruck. Suddenly, I was wet. I was twenty years old and had never been so totally floored.” She gazed into space.

“Then?” Thalia prompted her.

“I was so stunned that I dropped both of the paintings. The thud shattered the moment When he looked down and realized why I had come, he bent over to gather the paintings, then slammed the door in my face.”

“Obviously that didn’t stop you.”

“Oh no. Not even a little. I was captivated by him. I spent every moment thinking about him. Before going to work and after I got off—and almost every lunch break as well—I’d go hang out in a little bar across the canal from his studio and wait for him to come out. Pretty soon, I got a pretty good idea of the sort of people who came and went: suppliers, people in chauffeured cars, individuals in expensive sedans. I realized that he wasn’t just another starving artist. That and the fact that I loved his paintings.”