“I think they’re little pink smiley faces right now,” Christos chuckled.

Christos, Romeo, and I all smiled at each other while we slowly retreated, leaving Kamiko and Dillon to geek out about Adventure Time, cosplay, and the San Diego Comic Con.

* * *

CHRISTOS


The DJ turned up the volume as the crowd grew more boisterous. People had to talk loud to be heard, enhancing the nightclub vibe.

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to introduce Kamiko to Dillon sooner. They were perfect for each other.

Samantha demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me your Adventure Time friend was so hot? And perfect for Kamiko?”

I frowned, “Are you reading my mind?”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“Never mind,” I grinned. “Anyway, I guess I had other things distracting me back then.” I gave her a knowing look and leaned down to kiss her lips.

Romeo grunted, “Somebody get me a bucket. There’s so much true love around here tonight, I’m going to puke.”

“Oh,” Samantha said compassionately, “I’m sorry Romeo. Christos, do you have any hot steampunk friends for Romeo?”

“I’ll have to check,” I smiled.

Brandon came walking up. “How are you all?” he smiled. “Enjoying the show?”

“Great show, Brandon,” Samantha said.

I think her mood had improved ever since Kamiko had sold her koi painting. I knew Samantha was trying to keep a game face about her parents’ split, but you could only fake so much. Her guts were probably flip flopping every sixty seconds morning, noon, and night. I know mine had when my mom had left my dad over a decade ago.

Fuck, my guts still knotted when I thought about my mom.

(mom)

“Thank you,” Brandon smiled his stock Mr. Pleasant smile. “Christos, can I talk to you for a few moments?”

“Sure,” I said. I raised my eyebrows at Samantha and Romeo.

“Let’s go look around, Sam,” Romeo said. He pulled Samantha off into the crowd.

“What up, Brandon?” I asked.

“I wanted to check in about your progress on your paintings. Care to take a stroll in the sculpture garden?”

I nodded.

We walked out back. The sculpture garden wasn’t quite as crowded as the inside of the gallery, and it was outside so we had a vague sense of privacy in the hedges mazing around under the starlight. Brandon was all about appearances, so taking me back here meant he had something to say that was going to irritate either him or me.

When we were secluded, he asked, “How’s that portrait of Isabella coming along? Did you make the changes like Stanford Wentworth suggested?”

I chuckled. As if.

“What?” Brandon smiled.

Did I tell Brandon now that I’d destroyed the painting of Isabella in a fit of rage? Or let him find out when it was noticeably absent from my solo show? Fuck it. I didn’t feel like dancing tonight. “I’ve decided to go in a different direction for the show.”

Brandon narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m trashing the idea of using models. It wasn’t working for me.”

“I thought they were looking pretty good.”

“You heard Wentworth,” I chuckled. “You were there. He said the paintings were lifeless.”

“I could sell them,” Brandon scoffed.

“You could sell a car to a canary.”

Brandon frowned, “Why would a canary want a car? They have wings.”

“Exactly.”

Brandon dismissed my comment. “Christos, you and I have known each other a long time.”

 I nodded.

“I’m trying to build your career,” he said.

I said, “But I don’t want a career painting models I don’t give a shit about.”

“Beautiful women sell, Christos. They never go out of style.”

I arched an eyebrow and nodded at him.

“At any rate,” he continued, “I can’t build your career if I don’t have any paintings to sell. Here’s a suggestion. We sell the nudes you have now next month, at your solo show. Next year, we transition you into more meaningful subject matter. The important thing is we keep your momentum going. I have fifteen possible buyers lined up for your paintings. I even have one for the Isabella portrait. I don’t care what Stanford Wentworth said, I can get us one-twenty-five K for it.”

Whoops. I could use $125,000. Nothing like attorney’s fees to drain your wallet down to zero. Fucking Hunter Blakeley.

Sadly, if I dug the tatters of the Isabella painting out of the dump now, I don’t think Brandon would get fifty cents for it.

He asked, “How much longer do you think it would take for you to finish fifteen paintings?”

Brandon needed a reality check. He was under the impression I’d been busily working away in the studio these past few months, cranking out more paintings of his L.A. models. I’d kept hidden until now the fact that I’d fallen way behind because of the Horst Grossman trial and because I’d decided to go in a different direction with my art.

“Months,” I said.

Brandon’s eyes goggled. “Months? I don’t have months. I’ve got shows lined up for the rest of the year. I can’t shift things around. Christos,” he said, sounding deeply disappointed, “I can’t keep these buyers waiting around. If I don’t close them now, they’re going to go elsewhere.”

“Why don’t you sell them on some of your other artists?”

“These are big name buyers. They’re not interested in my other artists, Christos. They’re interested in you. They want the Manos magic. I need your paintings. Now. How many do you have?”

“Three are finished. The ones you’ve seen of Avery, Jacqueline, and Becca. I’ve got three more in progress.” I was thinking of the LOVE painting of me and Samantha, the solo portrait of her, and the surprise I had brewing for everyone.

“Six? I thought you had seven. I know I sent you seven models and you were working on all of them. What happened?”

“The, ahhh…well…” I was going to have to tell him, “The painting of Isabella is R.I.P.”

“What? Why?” He was frowning.

“I told you, it wasn’t working for me.”

“You didn’t change it, did you, like Wentworth asked?”

“No,” I scoffed. “He’s an idiot.”

“Good. Because I’m telling you, I can sell that painting for six figures for sure.”

Fuck. He may as well know. “It’s gone.”

“What, did you sell it already?” he chuckled nervously.

If I had, I would be a total prick and Brandon would reconsider our business relationship. I wouldn’t blame him. Lucky for me, I hadn’t. “I, um, tore it to pieces.”

Brandon’s eyes goggled wider than before. “Why the hell would you do that?” He actually sounded angry. Brandon never lost his cool. “I had a buyer lined up. The guy buys nothing but high priced nudes. He wouldn’t think twice about paying a hundred grand for yours. You’re crazy, Christos.” Brandon shook his head and frowned, looking half defeated. Then he paused and his angry expression eased into an easy grin. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you, Christos?”

I shook my head, “No. I tore the shit out of it and threw it away.”

Brandon’s eyes goggled a third time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Christos, you’re killing me,” he sighed. “I can’t put up a solo show with six paintings. The gallery will look empty. I’m going to need more.”

I felt bad. I had put myself in this position. “Look, maybe I can make it nine.”

“Nine?” he asked skeptically.

“I never finished the three ones of the other models.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, I started on new pieces.”

“Christos, what are you doing to me?” he pleaded. “How far are you along on all the unfinished paintings?” He sounded totally exasperated. “Are you going to have any of them done in time?” Now he sounded like a disappointed parent.

Poor Brandon. I couldn’t blame him. I was fucking everything up and I knew it. I sighed, “The three new ones will definitely be finished. If I hustle, I can get the other three finished too.”

“You’ve only got a few weeks to do it, Christos. Is that going to be enough time?” He said it like he knew it was impossible but he was being too polite to call me on it.

“I hope so,” I said quietly.

Brandon eyed me like I’d gone from being his hot property to a thorn in his side in the span of five minutes.

Because I had.

I felt bad. I was taking a huge risk with my new artistic direction. Brandon didn’t deserve the stress I was piling on him. Despite the fact he annoyed me at times, he’d always been good to me and my family over the years, and he’d been counting on me to deliver a certain amount of work in a certain amount of time. Now I was blowing my deadline. But what the fuck. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life painting for other people.

I thought the whole point of this artist thing was to do what you wanted?

Fuck.

Maybe I was being a bit too narrow minded in my view of things.

* * *

SAMANTHA


Madison and Jake had already gone home from the gallery because they were getting up early to surf in the morning. Romeo was chatting with Dillon and Kamiko out back in the sculpture garden. Now that Kamiko’s painting had sold, she was ready to relax.

I wandered around in the main gallery, still entranced by all the art. It blew my mind that so many people had sold paintings tonight. Most of them were inexpensive by gallery standards, ranging between $500 and $3,000. That meant Kamiko’s had been one of the higher priced pieces to sell. I was so proud of her.

Maybe one day, I’d sell a painting for a thousand dollars.

Out the corner of my eye, I noticed Tiffany stumble toward the entrance. She looked totally drunk. I think she was leaving, but she was in no shape to drive.