Текст книги "Painless"
Автор книги: Devon Hartford
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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 32 страниц)
“Then why did you ask?” I sneered. I was already on the defensive, which wasn’t a surprise considering my mom had turned out to be the real harlot in our family.
Mom poured out another syrupy, drunken chuckle.
“Why did you call, Mom?” I grunted.
“I wanted to find out what stories your father has been telling you.”
“Stories? He told me you left him and are living with some guy with a motorcycle.” I glanced over at Christos, who watched me intently.
He winked and whispered quietly, “Guys with motorcycles are always trouble.”
I could tell he was trying to be supportive by being funny. I wasn’t really in the mood for a laugh anymore. Funny how my mom could ruin my good mood like a neutron bomb. But I flashed a flat smile at Christos and rubbed his arm affectionately.
“Did your father tell you anything else?” Mom asked in a friendly voice.
“No, that’s pretty much all Dad said.”
Oddly, my mom was being vaguely polite. A first for her. Was she being careful because she knew she was in the wrong? Maybe. I didn’t really know. It was possible my Dad had given me a doctored version of events. His side of the story. But that didn’t seem like him. No, my dad prided himself on telling the truth, even when it hurt people’s feelings. He said a white lie was still a lie. Honesty was more important to him than social graces. Or my feelings when I was a little girl. And a teenager. And a young adult. But at least in this case, it meant I knew what was going on between them. If my mom was about to make up a bunch of stories that pointed all the blame at my dad, I would know she was lying.
My mom inhaled deeply over the phone, “Sam, I’m asking your father for a divorce.”
CRACK!
My mom managed to slap me from three thousand miles away. She had demon powers, I had no doubt.
“Have you told Dad?” I growled, suddenly angry. I don’t know why, but I felt very protective of him all of a sudden. Maybe his honesty, however harsh it may have been to deal with growing up, was worth more than I’d given him credit for all these years. My dad would never do all the sneaking around my mom had been up to lately.
Mom said, “Not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
Somehow, I felt like she was betraying Dad a second time, like she should’ve had the courtesy to tell him before anybody else. Maybe she was too chicken to do it. Maybe she was already trying to get me to take her side in the divorce. It was the only rational explanation for her politeness.
“Sam, do you have anything to say?” Mom asked.
“What, other than you’re a bitch?”
I expected my mom to lash out at me. It was her standard strategy when I got defiant.
“I deserved that,” she said calmly.
“You deserve a whole lot more than that!” I shouted. “Why did you do it, Mom? Wasn’t Dad enough for you?” I couldn’t stop myself. It just came rolling out.
“These things are complicated, Sam. I love your father, but…”
“But what, Mom?” I demanded. I was shaking, my heart was pounding, and I was as hot as an oven.
“But things weren’t…working out,” she sighed. “They haven’t been working out for a long time.”
“What do you mean? Things looked fine to me! You guys were fine at Christmas! How could they have gotten so bad in only a few months?”
Why the hell was I trying to hold my parents’ marriage together? I’d always had nothing but disdain for them. What the hell was happening to me? I hated the way this situation was making me feel.
Christos slid his arm around my shoulders and I leaned against him.
“It’s hard to explain, Samantha,” she sighed softly.
Samantha? She never ever ever called me Samantha unless she was really mad at me. But she wasn’t yelling. She sounded…sad.
“Well,” I hissed and cried at the same time, “do your best to explain it.” Silent tears dripped from my cheeks, onto my naked body. So much for not crying until I got off the phone. I suddenly felt way too naked. I walked over to the chair where my robe hung and slid it on.
“Samantha, the spark between your father and I has dimmed.”
Then I remembered all the passion in my mom’s voice every time she’d warned me that Christos would love me and leave me a broken woman struggling to pick up the pieces of my life. Had Mom been mourning the loss of a passion she had once known but had lost years ago?
Geez, I didn’t know the first thing about adult relationships and marriage.
I steeled myself for what I had to ask next. “Mom,” I sniffed, “is Dad my dad?”
“What?” she said, confused.
“Is Dad my father?”
She chuckled, “What are you talking about, Samantha? Of course he’s your father.”
Why was she making this so hard? Now I was shaking again and my robe felt sweltering. “Is Dad, you know, my biological father?”
There was a very long, drawn out silence. It lasted for months.
“Of course he is, Sam,” she chuckled. “Where did you get such a crazy idea?”
Was she lying? She had to be lying. “Tell the truth, Mom.”
“I am telling the truth, Samantha. I would know if you were some other man’s daughter. That’s crazy.”
I had my lie detector turned on to the most sensitive setting. It all sounded true. “You mean it?”
My mom sighed. “Do you want to get a DNA test? If you don’t believe me, I’m happy to do it. Where did you get this idea anyway, Sam?” she asked with a combination of urgency and concern. “Did your father tell you?”
“No,” I said.
“Then who?” she demanded.
“I don’t know.” I wasn’t going to try to explain my soap opera logic to my mom.
“Well it’s crazy, Samantha. You are Bill’s daughter, and I’m your mom. Okay? You have no idea how much your father and I love you, no matter what is happening between him and I.”
Why did that make me want to cry ten times harder than I already had? Maybe my parents weren’t as lame as I’d thought. “Then why are you leaving Dad?” I sobbed. I needed to sit down. I looked around for the nearest chair. But Christos had already wheeled one of the office chairs in the studio over to me. I sat down and he kneeled beside me, hugging me around my shoulders.
“It’s complicated,” my mom said. “Isn’t that what you girls say nowadays?”
I sniffled a reply.
Mom took a long, deep breath. “I don’t know how to explain it, Samantha. Maybe when you’re older, you’ll understand. I don’t know.”
Understand? When I was older? I hoped I never understood what it was like to be in my mom’s shoes right now. I looked at Christos and he kissed me softly on the cheek. My heart was sling shotting around in my chest like one of those giant bungie rides at an amusement park. I couldn’t even speak.
Mom said in a kind voice, “I know this is a lot to take in right now, Samantha.”
That was an understatement. I was literally speechless.
She said, “It sounds like you need some time to process all this. Why don’t you call me at this number if you want to talk further. It’s my cell phone number. It’s always on.”
That was a shock in its own right. My mom had a cell phone? I wanted to make a joke about her finally stepping into the 21st century. I wanted to accuse her of using it to make secret plans with her new boyfriend, because duh, she obviously had. But I couldn’t talk. My mom had stolen my power of speech.
After more silence, my mom said, “I’m hanging up now, Samantha. Call me if you need anything.”
The line went dead.
My heart did too.
* * *
TIFFANY
I closed the front door behind me as quietly as I could. I didn’t want anyone to know I was home, my mother or the house staff.
I was sick of the elaborate marble grand foyer of my parents’ lavish mansion. When I was a girl, this foyer made me feel like a princess returning to her castle. Now it was like coming home to an elegant, expensive prison.
I couldn’t stand it.
Everything about this house reminded me of my mother Gwendolyn, the evil queen of her domain. The mere thought of her made me nauseous. Literally. But lately, when it came to turning my stomach, this house came in a close second.
I leaned against the front door and slipped off my new $1,000 Louboutin ankle boots. As much as I liked the way they lengthened my legs, they made way too much noise on the marble floor of the foyer.
I padded toward the staircase on the right.
What was the point of having two staircases when they went to the exact same place? Vanity? Gasp! That couldn’t be. Gwendolyn didn’t have an ounce of vanity in her body.
She had gallons.
My father, Westin-Conrad Kingston-Whitehouse, tap danced down the opposite staircase. I swear, he always managed to keep at least thirty feet away from me at all times. “Your mother is looking for you,” he said as he slid out the front door without saying goodbye.
I could never decide who was more scared of my mom: me or my dad.
I turned three corners and as many hallways on whispering feet before making it to my bedroom. I had my hand on the polished brass door handle, about to turn it.
Almost safe.
“Did you go out looking like that?” Gwendolyn sneered from the far end of the hallway.
Typical Gwendolyn.
Throwing barbs at your back when you weren’t looking. But she loved the face off just as much.
“No, Mother,” I said respectfully. “I changed into this outfit in the car before I walked in the door,” I said sarcastically, “just to irritate you.”
She strutted toward me, sashaying her hips. Gwendolyn wore stylish outfits at all times and changed them at least three times a day. I don’t know who she was showing off for. The maids? I’m sure they didn’t give a shit as long as Gwendolyn signed their checks.
Gwendolyn half hooded her eyelids. One of them flickered spasmodically. She was so damn good at that look. It drove me cray cray. I think her expression right now could induce epileptic seizures in the weak and subservient. It was made worse by her ugly beauty. Yes, I had been blessed with Gwendolyn’s good looks. It was my cross to bear.
Gwendolyn smiled like a piranha. “Must you always be so snide? I’ve taught you better than that, Tiffany.”
She taught me how to be snide, that was for sure. Not consciously. I’d picked that up from her along the way. It was unavoidable.
If you asked Gwendolyn, she was determined to fix all the mistakes she’d made in her own life, which she claimed were few, with mine.
Sadly, that made her a tad domineering.
Her snideness was just a bonus.
“Mother, now is not a good time,” I sighed gripping the door handle to my room like a life preserver. If I could just get through this door unharmed…
“I need to speak with you about the summer gala. You still haven’t picked out a dress.”
She was referring to the annual gala at the La Jolla Country Club. Gwendolyn had to make a splash every year, each year bigger and bolder than the last. I was a part of her display. One of these years, I think she planned on hiring someone to build a parade float so she could drive up to the gates of the country club on a throne made of five hundred thousand fresh orchids. I’d be stuck sitting by her feet like a jewel on display.
Gwendolyn folded her hands in front of her waist and said, “Since you have been dissatisfied with the dress options I’ve given you, I’ve had Fred Segal courier down several new gowns from their Los Angeles boutique. They should be here this afternoon. I’d like you to try them on. Two of them are smashing off the shoulder numbers from a hot new designer in Beverly Hills named Rocco Ferrara, who I absolutely adore. Please try them all on and pick one, Tiffany. I won’t have you attending the gala in your street attire.” She eyed my outfit with obvious disgust. But it didn’t show on her face. She kept a perfectly pleasant smile in place around the clock. I think her face was frozen that way. It was just that awful flinty glint in her eyes that gave away her irritation.
I arched my eyebrows, hoping she was finished. I’d learned to say little in the presence of Gwendolyn. It gave her fewer opportunities to pick at me.
“Have you decided on an escort for the gala?” she asked.
Sometimes, the silence didn’t help any.
“No,” I sighed.
“Have you considered Brandon Charboneau?”
“No, Mother,” I muttered. No matter how many hints I dropped to Brandon, he was always too busy. I was starting to wonder if he was gay. It was the only explanation, considering how obvious I’d been with him in the past.
“What about Christos Manos?” Gwendolyn cocked her head slightly. “I’ve always been fond of that young man.”
My lips tightened down. I could feel my eyelids wanting to flutter from my impending tears. I was determined to hold them back. “Christos is…busy.” I choked. My voice was on the verge of cracking. Gwendolyn always struck with practiced accuracy. Right at the jugular.
“I don’t understand what your problem is, Tiffany. Are you scaring off all the eligible bachelors in San Diego?” She made it sound like getting a good man was as easy as filling a gas tank at the gas station.
“No, mother,” I muttered.
“Speak up, dear. That mousy voice of yours is half the problem. No man wants a mousy girl. Show some confidence. You’re a Kingston-Whitehouse.”
“Can I go now?” I asked in a garbled voice.
“Yes. But be ready when those dresses arrive. I want to see how they look on you.”
She was determined to treat me like a dress up doll no matter what I did. I opened my door and stepped into my bedroom.
“Tiffany?”
I stopped, my back to her, bracing for the usual criticism. I still clutched the brass doorknob. I imagined myself yanking it off the door and planting it right in the center of Gwendolyn’s forehead.
“Is that skirt tight on you?” she asked thoughtfully. My mother had the heart and eyes of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon.
Yes, my skirt was tight. It looked like it was painted on, and I looked awesome in it. I worked my ass off at the gym and ate like a mouse to make sure of it.
“Do you need to lose a pound or two? Your waistline is a bit puffy today.”
Typical Gwendolyn.
I didn’t answer.
“No matter,” she sighed heavily. “Those dresses will be here shortly. With any luck, you won’t burst any seams when you try them on.” She sounded defeated already. Double crossed by the puffy waistline of her traitorous daughter. Didn’t Gwendolyn know what a period was? Oh, wait. I think she had her uterus removed a long time ago. My guess was that she’d hired a surrogate to carry me to term rather than stretch her waistline. And I knew she would never have stooped so low as to have an elective C-section. It would’ve left a scar.
I quietly closed my bedroom door behind me and walk into my expansive walk in closet. It held more awesome outfits than a Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. At least there were some perks to being a Kingston-Whitehouse. I placed my red lacquer soled Louboutins in the shoe rack amongst dozens of others.
Back in my bedroom, I pulled a photo album off of my desk and sat down on my plush comforter atop my four poster bed. I leafed through it. There were photos going back to when I was a little girl.
Certain ones stood out, and I lingered on them.
A school play in the fourth grade. Robin Hood. I played Maid Marian and Christos was Robin Hood. Of course. He was dashing even then.
An Easter Egg hunt when I was six. I had known then that I was in love with Christos. I’d even told him I wanted to marry him that day.
Christos at the beach, sometime in high school. He was shirtless and ripped. No tattoos yet, but muscled and handsome. The man he would become was already obvious. All the girls had eyes for him.
My eleventh birthday party. Surrounded by balloons and confetti and friends. The birthday cake was right in front of me and I was blowing on the candles. Christos was leaning toward me, a sly look on his face, kissing my cheek. I hadn’t washed my cheek for a week after that day, I remember.
I rubbed my cheek longingly.
Tears dripped onto the plastic sleeve covering the photos. I pulled the photo out to get a better look.
Christos Manos.
Christos.
I squeezed my eyes shut and my head dropped to my chest. I stifled my sobs. Gwendolyn had ears like a vampire bat and would no doubt sense me out and give me shit if she heard me crying in my room like a baby.
Christos was gone.
I shook my head, not wanting to believe it.
It was that stupid Samantha.
She’d ruined everything.
She’d taken him from me.
It was all her fault.
Christos and I had been getting closer over last summer, before classes had started. We’d been hanging out all the time. Almost every day. I had started to think maybe we’d had a chance. Christos had finally cleaned up his act, working on his paintings, becoming a respectable young man. It had been touch and go with him for several years. But he’d finally gotten his shit together. He wasn’t an embarrassment anymore.
And Samantha had swooped in and stolen his heart.
I fucking hated that bitch.
I hated her.
I hated her with all my heart.
I was going to make her life miserable if it was the last thing I did.
Starting with her hearing in front of the SDU tribunal. She was getting kicked out of SDU. Whatever it took.
I stood up from my bed and walked into my closet, closing the door behind me. I went to the back of the closet and pushed aside coats and gowns. Like I needed yet another gown for the summer gala. I had three that still fit. But no, they’d been worn once. In public. Gwendolyn would be ashamed of me for even suggesting I wear one again.
Hidden in the corner, behind my ski jackets and snow pants was a duffel bag. I sat down on the carpeted floor of my closet and unzipped the bag. I reached inside and felt immediate relief.
I pulled an old, ratty teddy bear out of the bag. Her fur was tattered and she was missing one button eye. If Gwendolyn knew I still had Ms. Bear, she would’ve burned her. Gwendolyn had thrown out every doll and stuffed animal I had when I turned thirteen. She’d said they were childish. I’d managed to save Ms. Bear by hiding her under my bed when Gwendolyn wasn’t looking.
I hugged Ms. Bear to my chest.
Still weeping, and in a shaky voice, I said, “You still love me, don’t you, Ms. Bear?”
Ms. Bear stared back at me blankly with her one eyed smile.
I hugged her to my chest and sobbed silently. My body shook and spasmed with sadness.
Forty minutes later, when the gowns arrived, there was no sign left on my face that I’d been crying.
I never allowed myself to cry long enough for my face to get puffy.
Gwendolyn would never tolerate it.
Chapter 24
SAMANTHA
“Let’s crash this bash!” I cheered as me and the gang walked into Charboneau Gallery on the night of the Contemporary Artists Show.
The place was packed with people. Unlike the crowd at Christos’ solo show last year, which had been more upscale, this crowd was much younger and hipper. They had a DJ instead of a string quartet. People were talking much louder, and drinking more freely. I saw cans of Red Bull in people’s hands instead of wine glasses. It was a party vibe for sure.
Kamiko was already inside. She’d arrived early because she was one of the artists. Christos and I had picked up Romeo and met Madison and Jake on the street before coming inside.
“Let’s go find Kamiko,” Romeo said, “I want to see what cosplay character she dressed up as this time.”
“Okay,” I said as Romeo pulled me along.
Christos, Madison, and Jake strolled behind.
Despite the bomb my mom had dropped about asking my dad for a divorce, I had managed to hold myself together in the days since she’d called. Sure, my legs were still wobbly and I wanted to throw up every five minutes most days, but I was determined to enjoy myself tonight.
“This place is packed,” I said, “we’re never going to find Kamiko.”
Romeo was examining a piece of paper, “I grabbed one of the paper price sheets. It says she’s number thirty-two. She should be over there somewhere,” he pointed toward the right.
The four of us walked in that direction.
“Dude,” Christos said to Jake as we wove our way through the crowd, “you still thinking about surfing the North Shore all summer?”
“Hells yeah,” Jake smiled. “I’m dreaming about Pipeline every night.”
The two of them were right behind me and Madison. I frowned at her and whispered in her ear, “Is Jake talking about your pipeline?”
Madison cackled, “No, silly Sam. He’s talking about the reef break at Banzai Beach, in Oahu.”
“Oh,” I nodded. “I just assume when guys start throwing terms around that don’t make sense, they’re talking about sex.”
“It’s a safe assumption,” Madison grinned.
Christos asked Jake, “Are you taking Mads with you?”
Jake nodded, “Of course, I would never go to Pipeline without bringing my favorite pipeline with me.”
Christos and Jake both started chuckling. Me and Madison turned to each other and said in unison, “Men!”
Jake wrapped a muscled arm around Madison and said, “You know you love it.” He smiled his endearingly white smile, always such a brilliant contrast against his bronze skin, before kissing her cheek.
Madison leaned into him, “If you weren’t so damn cute, Jake, you would never get away with talking like a heathen.”
“Does that mean I can keep talking like a heathen?”
Madison rolled her eyes for my benefit, but I could tell she was totally in love with Jake.
Christos wrapped an arm around me.
I shot him a warning glare, “Don’t start talking about my pipeline,” I joked.
“Whose pipeline?” Romeo asked. “I’m all about the pipeline. Laying it, boring it out, plugging it up, draining it—”
“Draining it?” Jake grimaced.
“Dude,” Christos smiled, “what does that even mean?”
Romeo examined his fingernails and grinned, “You really want to know?”
“NO!” me and Madison blurted.
All the young people around us were dressed in various hipster garb or clubbing outfits. I was just waiting for the lights to dim and the neon glow sticks to come out. But it still was an art gallery. There were so many people we could barely see the paintings on the walls.
“It’s this way,” Romeo said, leading everyone. “Oh my god!”
“What?” I said, curious.
“I can’t belieeeeve it!” Romeo singsonged.
“What, what?” I couldn’t see past the people Romeo had just squeezed between.
I exchanged an excited look with Madison as we squeezed up to Romeo, who had his arms around Kamiko.
“You’re not dressed like a cartoon!” Romeo cheered while hugging Kamiko.
“Okay,” she grimaced, “don’t break me.” She may have been complaining, but she was totally giggling.
When Romeo broke the hug, I finally saw Kamiko’s outfit.
“Damn, Kamiko!” I smiled. “You look totally sexy!”
Kamiko wore a sleeveless red on black colorblock bodycon zip front dress. She stood tall on black platform sandals and her hair was down.
“Whoa,” Christos said. “Kamiko, you look hot, girl.”
Kamiko blushed.
Jake nodded approval. “Nice dress, Kamiko.”
“Does anybody want to pull her zipper down as badly as I do?” Romeo asked.
“Please don’t,” Kamiko pleaded.
“I’m kidding,” Romeo smiled. “You look amazing, Kamiko,” he said genuinely. “In no way do you resemble a cartoon character tonight. If I was straight, I would totally do you. You look fabulous.”
“Thanks,” she smiled bashfully.
Romeo gave her another big hug.
Christos grinned, “If you don’t get at least ten phone numbers from good looking guys tonight, I’d be surprised.”
“Thanks,” Kamiko rolled her eyes like the idea of her meeting a guy was about as likely as the sun suddenly exploding. She said, “I just hope I sell my painting tonight.” She stood right next to it.
Christos took a closer look. “Oh shit, is that Brandon’s face on those koi?”
Kamiko’s eyes widened and we exchanged a giggle.
“OMG,” Kamiko tittered, clearly embarrassed, “is it that obvious?”
“Maybe to me,” Christos reassured, “but I’ve known that bottom feeder for a long time.”
“Which bottom feeder?” Brandon Charboneau asked, suddenly standing next to all of us.
Whoops. I guess that catfish was finally out of the bag. Well, it was technically a koi. Whatever. Either way, I hope Brandon wasn’t offended.
“Brandon!” Christos said extravagantly, clapping him on the back, clearly trying to distract from the obvious.
“Greetings, everyone,” Brandon smiled, looking dashing. “It’s a crowded house tonight, isn’t it?”
“Totally,” Christos said loudly, trying to keep Brandon’s attention away from the painting.
Maybe if Brandon didn’t figure out he was the subject of Kamiko’s painting, he would take note of how sexy Kamiko looked in her dress instead, and finally ask her out.
“Doesn’t Kamiko look sexy in her dress?” I said to Brandon. I wasn’t above hinting.
Brandon glanced at her outfit and smiled politely, “Very stylish, Kamiko.” Then he looked at the rest of us, “Well, I’ve got to circulate.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled as he squeezed past us into the crowd.
Stupid Brandumb.
At least Kamiko didn’t seem to care. “Phew!” she whispered. “That was close!”
“What are you worried about?” Romeo asked.
Kamiko glared at him, “Are you insane? If he figures out that’s him in my painting, he’ll probably ban me from selling in his gallery ever again.”
I started to say, “If he does that…”
Then, two things suddenly happened simultaneously in the next two seconds.
First, Brandon suddenly leaned back through the crowd toward us and said, “Oh, hey, Kamiko?”
And, I finished my sentence, “…then Brandon is a fucking asshole.”
Kamiko’s eyes bugged out.
Oh, fuck me backward and sideways. That foot of mine still had a mind of its own when it came to jumping in my mouth.
Romeo suddenly went into overdrive. “Uh, what Sam meant was, ahh…Brandon, you are the opposite of a fucking asshole!” Romeo’s eyes shone like he’d discovered the cure for cancer. “Yes! The complete opposite! You’re an unfucked asshole! You’re the type of asshole who’s never seen a day’s work! You’ve never been used for fucking! You’re tight as a drum! Couldn’t pass a turd the size of a vitamin pill even if you tried! ”
Note Romeo’s guilty exclamation points. They were all over the place.
Brandon arched an eyebrow.
The rest of us stood and watched in mute horror as the Loco Locomotive crashed into the side of a mountain. Oh, the calamity. At least he was trying to save my ass.
Romeo continued shoveling, “Brandon, you are the most pristine asshole the world has ever known. Fresh off the rack. Untouched, like a diamond. An asshole in the rough. Ahhh…” Romeo finally ran out of steam, looking flummoxed. “That didn’t come out quite right. Sorry.”
Brandon nodded sourly, “I get the idea.”
“What was it that you wanted?” Kamiko asked desperately, her teeth clenched in terror, doing her best to sweep the awful moment under the rug.
Brandon cleared his throat while shooting a ninja throwing star glare at Romeo and me, “I was just going to tell you, Kamiko, that a couple of buyers have already asked me about your painting. They really like it. I think we might sell it this evening.”
A long moment of silence passed between the seven of us as we all stared at the ceiling, our toes, our fingernails. Anything to avoid the social disaster surrounding us.
Brandon looked at everyone, his eyebrows raised high. “Anything else?”
I shook my head, contrite.
“I did compare him to a diamond,” Romeo whispered in my ear, as if that made up for everything.
I stomped on his foot.
Brandon turned away from the group of us.
At least Brandon had never noticed he was the koi fish in Kamiko’s painting.
Brandon turned back a second later, “Oh, one other thing.” He leveled a glare at Kamiko, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that was me on the koi in your painting.”
Thud.
Kamiko went white.
Quick, somebody prop her up before she fainted.
“Oh, Brandon,” Kamiko begged while hyper ventilating, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I mean, I, ah, oh…” She was going to pass out.
Brandon’s mouth curled into a sly smile, “Why do you think I wanted your piece in the show?”
What?
He grinned, “I’ve got a sense of humor. How uptight do you guys think I am?”
“You’re not tight at all!” Romeo said. “You’re totally loose! Diarrhea loose! Like run off from a strip mining operation!”
“Romeo!” we all shouted, except Brandon.
Brandon chuckled, “Can someone turn this guy into a painting? Because I’m sure I could build an entire show around him,” he laughed. “I’ll check in with you later, Kamiko,” Brandon smiled at her and faded into the crowd.
Wow, Brandon wasn’t half bad.
“Does anyone want a drink?” Christos asked.
“After that, I need about ten,” Jake smiled.
I turned to Kamiko, “Can I get you anything, Kamiko?”
“A MUTE button for Romeo would be nice,” she said, “or at the very least, a bag to put over my head so nobody notices me the rest of the night. I’m dying of embarrassment.”
Christos said, “Don’t worry, Kamiko. Brandon is cool. He’s not going to hold it against you.”
“What about me?” I asked. “I was the one who called him an asshole.”
“A fucking asshole,” Romeo corrected. “The kind used for putting dicks in. Frequently.”
I rolled my eyes at Romeo.
“What?” he said defensively. “You said it.”
Kamiko mimed pressing the MUTE button on a remote control, “It’s not working,” she grinned.
* * *
After we got drinks at the bar and brought one to Kamiko, who badly needed it, Christos and I circulated around the gallery, looking at all the cool paintings.
The Contemporary Artists Show really had an eclectic mix of art. There was graffiti influenced art, screen printed digital creations, collages combining paint and found materials, even a large piece done entirely in crayons.
“Hey,” I said, looking at the placard describing it, “it’s a crayon painting!”
On the placard, beneath the dimensions, the card listed the medium as, “Crayola 96 color box on paper.”
Christos nodded, gazing appreciatively at the piece, “This is awesome.”
It was an amazingly detailed picture of a Renaissance era palace interior. It was reminiscent of M.C. Escher, but in full color. The tiles of a black and white floor transformed into birds and fish as the floor receded into the distance, with the black bird tiles taking flight and the white fish tiles diving into a blue pond. The pond emptied into a blue stream that flowed toward the foreground of the painting, and the stream morphed into a blue runner threaded with gold as it approached the bottom of the canvas. The law of gravity was not in effect, and people walked on the ceiling and the walls, going about their business. Then I noticed all the people were animals walking on two legs. Pigs, cows, horses, chickens, geese, sheep, goats, and any kind of farm animal you could imagine. There was even a wolf with an actual red riding hood cloak making out with three girl pigs in a dark corner at the top of the painting.
