Inky (8 page)

“I don’t think so. How are you, Abe?” Aimes flanked my side.

“Oh, Jesus H. Christ, Inky, how am I? Come here and give me a squeeze!” This man had the best energy ever. There was no point trying to pout in his presence. He could turn anyone’s frown upside down. It helped that he had a year round tan, beautiful blue eyes and a compliment ready to fly.

Engulfed in his Prada clad embrace, I inhaled the delicious scent of him. He was just a couple of inches taller than me and lean, but I could feel he was strong and knew he ran every morning with his Jack Russell.

“Hi, Aimes. Have you been taking good care of her?”

“’Sure have, Abe.”

“Oh, and you’ve been crying. You poor thing.” He held my eyes with a mock glare. “Inky, did you make your friend here cry?” he asked in a mocking tone.

“A little bit.” I replied sheepishly.

“Well, you get an A-plus for honesty and Aimes, you get an A-plus for being a good friend. Now then, girls, come this way. I have something to take your mind off the doom and gloom.” He led us to the far wall of the gallery and I was suddenly awestruck.

“Abe!” A large painting I’d done only a month ago hung on the back wall. “Oh, Abe, I never thought you would show this. How did you... ?” Abe gave me time in his private studio out back. It allowed me to paint without being disturbed which I relished and appreciated.

“Look a little closer.” He urged. I approached the wall and saw the card to the side.

Anika Redding,

The Seaside.

SOLD!

“Sold? You sold my painting? I sold my first painting!” Talk about a week of ups and downs.

“Ink! You did it!” I think Aimes was happier than I was, squealing and jumping around.

“Well, I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. I was looking over your work and I found this. I loved it. It wasn’t overdone but it invoked such a strong feeling in me. I don’t know what inspired this but it tells a story, that’s for sure. I thought I’d hang it, see what kind of feedback I’d get and on Monday, a man came in, young, hot but not in an arrogant don’t-I-know-it way, looked around and asked about this piece. I didn’t even haggle on a price. He said it didn’t matter... he had to have it. I swear to God, I think he had tears in his eyes.”

“I hate to ask, Abe, but how much?” I was scared to ask.

“You mean after my commission?” He laughed.

“Of course.”

“Ten-five.”

“Excuse me?” I gasped.

“Ten thous…”

“No, I heard you but I don’t believe you.”

“Darling, you realize that in the art world, that’s not really very much, right? I mean, that Andy Warhol piece of crap Marilyn sold for eighty mill back in the day. And you know how I feel about him.”

“Yes, I know…” I patted him soothingly.

“The point is, I just threw a number at him and he said ‘fine, whatever’ and just kept staring at it.”

“Holy shit, Inky, you’re gonna be famous.” Aimes was crying again but these were happy tears.

“It’s exciting isn’t it? I get to tell people I discovered you,” Abe gushed. “Now, I asked him if I could keep it for another week to display it but I have another proposition to discuss with you.” Something about the way Abe spoke felt ominous. The fact alone that a painting of mine sold was already overwhelming.

“Can we take a photo of it?” I asked, “You know, before it’s gone?”

“How about I take a photo of you with it?”

I knew my face still had a sizeable bruise even though it was mostly covered by my hair. Abe saw me touch the side of my head. “Oh, come on, you’re an artist! We’ll get you on an angle; no one will be able to tell.”

“Okay, you talked me into it. Do you know the buyer?”

“Now that I can’t answer.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t leave his name. The sale is through a business. I can check for you though. But he’ll be here on Saturday morning at 10am to pick it up. Well, he said he would like to see it being transported, he wanted to supervise basically.”

“I’ll be here.”

“You won’t be disappointed. He’s all kinds of eye candy.” Abe’s mood changed to a serious one. I dreaded that he was about to ask me about the attack, “Mind if we talk in the back for a second, Aimes? I won’t keep her long, I promise.”

“Not at all, Abe. Don’t upset her.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Come on, honey-bunny.”

Chapter 8

I didn’t know what to expect when Abe ushered me into his office but I prepared myself to answer questions about Joe. Aimes was left in the gallery to hold down the fort. I could feel how proud she was of me and she knew how much I wanted this. It wasn’t about leaving my mark on the art world, I didn’t care about that or money or fame…I mean, I wasn’t an idiot; making a living as an artist was no easy feat. I just wanted to make enough money to do what I loved. If I had to tend bar for the rest of my life, I didn’t care. All I needed or wanted at this point was a place to sleep, food to eat, and a way to let the sea of emotions in my head transform into art.

Sea.

I needed to talk to Aimes about this. I needed her feedback. I was going to come clean about Cole, the guy who talked me through my panic attack. I almost said something in the car but I wasn’t sure if I should. She wouldn’t judge me. That was the great thing about our friendship; I knew no matter what, she had my back and in return, I had hers. No doubt, she was looking at the large painting hanging prominently in the other room. It was so different from my usual style of bold, dark colors and depressing imagery. I entered a piece in a local show last year and someone commented that it looked like an Emo Goth kid’s high school art project – yeah, that one stung a bit.

When the office door closed, Abe grabbed me into his arms. What was with everybody today?

“God fucking damn it, Ink? Are you fucking crazy? How could you walk home at three in the morning in that neighborhood? What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a death wish or something?” I knew he was letting his fear and relief pour out but, whoa.

“Abe…” I had started to giggle. “I’m okay. I just had this conversation with Aimes on the way here, but with less ‘fuck’ words. And did you see her face? Do you really want me to make you cry?” I smiled. He pulled back and kept his hands on my shoulders.

“Well, no.” he chuckled “But please, don’t ever fucking do that again! You call me. Day or night, I don’t give a flying!”

“Oh, I don’t plan on making it a habit or anything. Now, what did you want to talk to me about or was that just an excuse to get me in here and yell at me?”

“Actually, the former. You know the Gillies Exhibition? Very prestigious, blah, blah, blah?”

“Yes, of course. Oh my God, Abe! Did you enter? Did some of your work get chosen?” If that was the case, Abe wouldn’t be running this little gallery much longer. Actually, our gallery was owned by some guy I’d never met that had nothing better to do with his money than buy small businesses. Art galleries had become his wife’s new hobby about four years ago. I shouldn’t complain; I’d never met either one of them and I was definitely reaping the benefits. Abe explained that once a week they would come in when the gallery was closed and look over the work on display. Even if I loathed the idea of the elitist- upper class deciding whether or not something qualified as ‘art,’ the Missus had a good eye for talent. She was also on the board of directors for the Gillies Exhibition and Foundation.

“Actually, I didn’t enter this year. I lied to you, Ink but I wanted to tell you in private first.” He lied to me?

“You didn’t really sell my painting, did you?” Oh God, why would he say he did if he didn’t?

“Oh no, I sold it but the reason he can’t pick it up is because Mrs. Emerson saw it first and insisted it be displayed at the Gillies Exhibition. You and I have a date a week from Saturday. You better use some of your new found money, buy a dress and get dolled up so we can schmooze with the upper crust and try to get into the society pages. It’s black tie.”

Whoa

“Abe, I kind of want to kiss you right now, tongue and all.”

“Ah, well, I’m flattered but you know that’s not how I roll.”

“I’m kidding, Abe!” I laughed but then started to let the enormity of this sink in.

“Abe?”

“Yes, Inky?” He was gathering his briefcase and putting papers inside to leave.

“Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for showing my piece. Even if nothing ever comes of it…to see it hung in a gallery like that, well, I don’t have the words, just…thank you.”

“You’re talented, Inky. That painting is beautiful and sad and soul- wrenching all at the same time. It appears like a simple landscape at first but the more you look, the more you see, the more it…”

“Hurts?”

“Yes, I suppose so. But the difference between this and your other work, this one is hopeful. I guess being engaged has affected your art. I’ve been asked by Mrs. Emerson to answer questions about it. You won’t need to talk to anyone. I explained that crowds aren’t really your thing.”

“Thank Christ.” The irony. This painting was inspired by the song Cole sang to me in the bar to bring me out of a panic attack and had absolutely nothing to do with Evan. Now my creation was going to be on display and so was I. It was one thing to sign my name in a little corner. It was quite another to be out there myself, vulnerable to comments and criticisms.

“Well, I have a date missy. I have to go. I’m glad you’re okay, Inky. And I’m glad you’re not pissed.”

“No, I’m the opposite of that emotion.”

***

Aimes put the keys in the ignition and I buckled myself in. Then she took the keys out. “Get out.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna have a drink at the beautiful wine bar we always say we want to go to but can’t afford. You’re buying me a really nice expensive glass of wine. And then? You’re gonna tell whatever it was that you didn’t tell me on the way here because I know that little window to your soul on display in there has something to do with it.”

She knew me so well.

When we were seated at the bar, our large glasses of expensive wine in hand, I began by telling her about the panic that set in when Gus asked about my singing. I told her all about the sad man who came in, how he knew how meteor showers were named, how he left me an enormous tip and his card which I still hadn’t looked at.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why haven’t you looked at it?”

“Lisa already told me his name.”

“Inky?” Her eyes were trying to drill inside my skull to dig the answers out.

“Because there was something there, Aimes. There was a connection between us. I knew he would understand me…I didn’t have to explain anything, he just knew. It…it just…”

“What? I’m dying over here, what?”

“When I realized I couldn’t get away from Joe, I pictured him. I pictured Cole in front of me just like he was that day in the bar like I was looking right into his eyes. Then the song he sang to me came into my head and I just focused on that. I wasn’t even scared. But that day, the day he calmed me down, he told me he used to get them as a kid and I asked him what brought them on. He told me, ‘My dad. You?’ And I told him, ‘my mom.’ Then we toasted our long necks and took a swig. We didn’t need to say anything else. And he was hot, Aimes, like smoldering. His eyes were like…they were hazel but they were all the colors of fall. His hair was dark brown, not long but not short, the kind that would fall into his eyes if he didn’t have it slicked back. The problem is…I haven’t stopped thinking about him. Well, that’s not true…I don’t allow myself to think about him.”

I swallowed down a huge gulp of wine.

“This may be a stupid question but why?” This was a question I actually knew the answer to but once I said it aloud, it made it real; I was admitting it to myself.

“I love Evan.”

“I know you do but that’s not really the issue, is it?”

“The last week, he’s been wonderful. He’s held me, he’s comforted me, he’s been perfect. But even today when you and Gus were trying to make me tell him about everything, you were right; why haven’t I told him? I’m going to but if he’s my Mr. Forever, why didn’t I say anything? He wouldn’t have judged me or felt differently toward me at all. I convinced myself he would but even with all of this shit, he’s handled everything really well.”

“Yeah, he handles crazy really well.” She stated this bluntly. She didn’t mean it as an insult but coming from anyone else, I would have taken it as one.

“Aimes!”

“Dude, you’ll be the first to admit those attacks you used to get every now and then can get pretty…”

“Crazy?” I answered smiling.

“Well, if the strait jacket fits.” She chuckled into her wine glass.

“I get it. I know. He does handle it well. But something made me hold back and I need to figure it out. I don’t want to hurt him, you know?”

“Maybe you’re not the problem.” She took a big final swig of her wine and looked out the window.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t know. It’s just, I have a funny feeling. He’s been acting weird but not because of the attack. Before that. Maybe he senses something’s going on with you. Or maybe he’s planning a surprise engagement party for you or something.”

“Hmm, maybe. No, he knows I would hate that. But everything has been going great with us. Like, awesome 80’s movie great.”

“Well, you should totally sing again.” She announced, changing the subject. “That’s the Friday after your big show and that should get you ready to face an audience of adoring fans. And I’ll help you shop for the exhibition. I love that shit.”

“Abe is a sneaky bastard. But he’s also incredibly awesome. I didn’t think to ask if I can take someone. Black tie! I can’t wait to see Evan in a tux. He’s gonna look great.”

Aimes didn’t say anything. I thought she seemed tense even after a giant glass of Merlot and I realized I hadn’t asked her about her new relationship at all. Maybe I was being an asshole.

“I’m sorry, Aimes, I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t think to ask about you and Gus?” She smiled.

“That good?” I laughed.