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.

“That wolf is sure getting a lot of action with those pigs,” Christos said.

“It’s a regular porky orgy,” I smiled. “Whose house do you think they’ll go back to?”

“You mean the straw, wood, or brick house?”

“I think they’ll start with the straw house and bang their way through that and the wood one, until they end up in the brick one,” Christos chuckled. “Everyone knows a brick house is mighty mighty. No amount of bed shaking can bring a brick house down.”

“Gross!” I grimaced. “Are you suggesting that wolf is going to have sex with the three little pig sluts? And instead of blowing their houses down, they’re going to, uh, fuck the houses down?”

Christos grinned, “Hey, I didn’t paint the painting.”

“You’re terrible,” I frowned. “But, what I want to know is, why is the wolf wearing a red riding hood?”

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “Either it’s the wolf who ate Little Red Riding Hood, or it’s a she wolf looking for some sow on bitch action.”

I grimaced. “That’s uber disgusting.”

“Again, I didn’t paint it.”

Christos and I walked to the next painting, arm in arm.

We circled the gallery, enjoying all the art and making more snappy comments about the imagery. One large painting had a crowd around it. Most of the people were talking rather than looking at the painting, so I tried to squeeze past them to get a better look at it.

“Excuse me,” I said as I slid behind some woman dressed entirely in white.

“Watch where you’re going!” she blurted.

I turned to apologize.

It was Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse.

Great. Why was she here?

She wore a white sleeveless keyhole midi dress. And I had to admit, she looked really good in it. The dress contrasted nicely against her tan skin and golden hair. I also noticed she had glittery lip gloss that sparkled almost as much as her diamond earrings. It should’ve looked cheesy, but it was subtle, and on her, it only enhanced. Tiffany was uniquely beautiful.

“Excuse you,” she sneered, holding her champagne glass out of the way. Champagne sloshed around it.

She was also uniquely bitchy. How did such an amazing bitch get into such an amazing body?

I noticed Tiffany was tipping her glass toward me and the champagne was a millimeter from spilling over the rim and pouring on my shoulder.

“Hey, Tiff,” Christos said, catching her hand with his, stopping the champagne waterfall. “You almost spilled your drink,” he said knowingly.

Tiffany frowned at him, staring into his eyes.

Christos stared back. He still held her hand. “Don’t, Tiffany,” he said quietly.

“Let go of me,” she demanded. Christos did and she threw her drink back, swallowing it in several large gulps. “I need another drink now that the riff raff is here.” She shouldered past me, bumping into me hard.

“Hey!” I blurted.

She ignored me.

I rubbed my shoulder where she’d slammed it with her own, “What’s she doing here?” I asked Christos.

“She always comes to Brandon’s openings.”

“Fantastic,” I sighed.

“Don’t worry about her. I’ll deal with her if she gets out of hand.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. She’ll probably get out of hand just so you have to deal with her. That’s what she did on her yacht New Year’s Eve. I saw the way she was drooling over you just now.” Did I sound jealous? I hoped only a little.

“Don’t worry about her, agápi mou. I’m not going to let Tiff come between you and me.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Christos reassured. “Nothing will ever split us apart.”