Chimera (8 page)

G
lancing at the clock
, I realize how fast the time has flown. Nate will be here in less than ten minutes to pick me up. I’m starting to see why people might think we’re gay, but that man is the greatest brother I could have never been born with. I often wonder what his folks think about my own parents having lost interest in me. I still see his parents some; maybe his mother is giving mine feedback.

Taking a quick look in the mirror, I’m happy with what I see. I’ve managed to put on some weight in the last few weeks. My face looks fuller, my eyes aren’t so gaunt, and maybe just a shred of happiness is starting to shine through again. I smile, thinking about how far I’ve come since that day on Facebook. My tux is fly, the embodiment of dapper.

“Bastian, you ready?” my date calls through the living room.

I stride toward him. “Hey, honey. How was your day?” A deep laugh explodes from my chest.

“Fuck you, dude. Tara’s gonna kick your ass the moment you step through the door.”

“Nope, she won’t touch me if we walk in as the opening is starting. She’ll have to keep up impressions.”

“You couldn’t do something a little more understated than neon-blue Chucks?”

“This
is
understated. I almost put on the yellow ones.” I grin and feel it through my entire body, in every inch, every fiber of who I am. This is the first taste of real happiness since losing Sylvie. The pain is still there, just beneath the surface, but tonight it’s not about grief. I’m proud of myself and I want to enjoy it. That’s a choice I’m making. I may not be able to make the same choice tomorrow, but for the next few hours, I’m claiming it.

“Good to have you back, B.”

I clap Nate on the shoulder before opening the front door, ushering him out.

T
he moment we walk in
, Tara beelines for me. Gracious outwardly for appearances, but when she leans in, she whispers, “When this is over, your ass is mine for pulling that little stunt.” With a kiss on the cheek, she pulls back with a sweet smile on her face and I wink back at her. She’s not
really
mad; she just wants me to think she is. She knows this is me—or it was years ago.

Almost instantly, the introductions start. I’m in awe of how well attended the event is, even right at opening. Typically, people arrive fashionably late, but Tara has put an hour into the event for viewing before any purchases can take place, meaning sales will happen in one hour, and if you weren’t here to make your choices and put in your cards, you won’t get the piece. There are just as many people here to see me as Ferry, which blows my mind. I recognize a ton of the patrons milling around as well-known collectors. I assume they’re trying to catch one of Ferry’s pieces. He has several here that he will never reprint, and they’re magnificent.

Ferry chose a theme to compliment my work and our joint piece. He’s famous for working with all subject matter, but this group is all people capturing specific emotions. My favorite is a little girl with long, flowing, curly hair. It’s a profile of her body, but she turned toward the camera slightly, head tilted back, laughing a hearty belly laugh. You can imagine the scene he caught. Her shoulders raised, her eyes crinkled, and she sports a huge, toothless grin. Whatever she laughed at consumed her entirely. Her piercing-green eyes stare right into you, inviting you to join in her fun.

There’s another collection of three images in black and white of an old man sitting on a bench, the loneliness evident in his face in the first frame, time stamped on his features. The second frame is that of a little boy of maybe age three who joins him on the bench, oblivious to the older man, with the man gazing over his shoulder down at the little boy who’s in shorts and a T-shirt. In the third frame, the little boy is looking up at the man whose eyes have stirred. They’re alive again, but the grin on his face as he enjoys his newfound companion is prevalent—proof that a smile from a stranger can brighten someone’s day and scare away desolation.

All of Ferry’s photographs are poignant, awe-inspiring, thought provoking, still frames that manage to draw you into a specific moment in time, joining his subject in heartache or happiness. I’m envious of his ability to see the moment and capture it flawlessly, seemingly unnoticed. He didn’t arrange the poses; they’re fragments of time he happened upon. His gift is obvious, even to those who aren’t lovers of art. You simply can’t deny his talent.

Meandering through the growing crowd, I still haven’t seen Sera, but I’m sure she’ll be here at some point. I stop to look at what started this whirlwind. When I step up to
Kaleidoscope Dark
, the crowd seems to make room for my private viewing. My jaw drops at the finished product suspended in front of a black divider, showcased by lighting from above and below. The growing lump in my throat causes tightness in my chest. Putting my hand to my heart, I allow myself to appreciate the work for what it was. It’s my defining moment, my fragment of time, one graciously captured on film by Ferry. As much as I love some of my new work, I’m not sure anything will ever top KD. It’s a summation of where I was, the struggle to get through it, the ability for life to perish, but the vitality in the colors we can live.

“There’s going to be a war over this one, Bastian.” Tara stands beside me with a glass of red wine in her hand. She really is a beautiful woman clad in a long black dress, her signature designer heels, and just enough diamonds to show elegance. “I have several collectors arguing over it. They have asked it go to bid.”

When I turn to her, she has to see the emotion in my eyes. I couldn’t be more grateful, but letting go of this one is going to hurt. “That’s wonderful, Tara.” My voice is small, but I’m certain she heard me.

“This is the one for you, isn’t it?”

Trying to clear my thoughts to focus on what she’s saying, I look away from
Kaleidoscope
. “I’m sorry?”

“
The Seraphim
. That was Sera’s piece. She never wanted to let go of it. It was too close to her. She thought she had priced it not to sell so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge she didn’t want to part with it. Every artist does it at some point in their career; this is your piece.”

“Yes, I guess it is. Somehow in my mind, those images signify my transition. Regaining myself, or trying, grabbing hold of life once more. When I look at parts of it, I see the mess, other parts I feel the sun shining on me again, and that spot”—I point to the one that haunts me—“right there was the moment I almost gave up permanently. I see Sylvie, I see my life past and present, I see Nate, and Sera. I see solitude, depression, happiness, elation, and everything in between. This piece is
me
. If I could be captured in colors, this is the expression of my life. It will be very hard to let it go.”

She allows me to stand there silently contemplating the work for a few more minutes before pulling me off to hob knob. Finally, I spot Sera. Even from across the room, she’s as breathtaking as always. Her hair sweeps up off her nape into a loose-bun sort of thing on the back of her head, but the dress she’s wearing is sensational. It’s completely backless with the exception of a few crisscrossed pieces of fabric to keep the dress from falling off her thin body. When she turns toward me, I see it’s a very simple, maroon, silk gown. It graces her skin like it’s only there to enhance the beauty she carries naturally. I watch it move all the way down to her toes when I see her sparkly peep-toe shoes.

She wiggles her fingers at me coyly. With a side smile of my own, I invite her to me, an invitation she readily accepts.

“Oh, Bastian, this is wonderful. I didn’t think anyone could do anything to make your paintings any more alluring, but Tara showcases better than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“Did you just get here?” I reach down to take the scarf she has draped over her arm, but she stops me by placing her hand firmly on mine.

“I’ve been a little chilly. I’d like to hold on to it in case I get cold again. I’m sorry I was late. I got held up, but I’m here now. Tara says you have people fighting over several of your paintings and
Kaleidoscope
! Did you know they want her to take them to bid? Bastian, that just doesn’t happen.”

“It’s a little overwhelming. I knew about KD, but I didn’t know about any of the others. I’ve tried to talk but not hover around any of the pieces. I’m not sure I could answer questions about inspiration, symbolism, or anything else right now. Mingling away from the art is much safer.” I laugh nervously. I see that look in her eyes again, just briefly, but my instincts tell me something happened today after she left.

Now isn’t the time or place to dive into whatever it is I keep seeing, but I can’t continue to pussyfoot around the subject. There’s torment in her eyes and a smile on her face. That doesn’t work for me.

T
ara attempts
to get me to make the decisions on sales, but I refuse. “That’s your job, sweetheart. I just put the paint on the canvas.” I stop myself before I swat her ass. It’s so tempting. She’s on edge trying to please everyone, but she wasn’t prepared for an auction.

“I don’t want you to think I’m doing it to make more money for the gallery, Bastian. But what I
do
want to happen is to create a stir and get people excited about you again. You have the potential to clear more tonight than most people do in a year. And then have people waiting in line for more to come out of your studio.”

“Do what you do, Tara. I trust you. You didn’t question what I was bringing you. You never even asked how many pieces I could produce. You trusted me. I trust you to do what’s in my best interest. If you profit from it, even better.”

“Yes, sir.”

The decision to auction was made because the buzz is spreading around the room as anxious patrons get their cards. Technically, I probably should stick around for this part, but I can’t bring myself to see people put a dollar figure on my work, especially, KD. I’ve never been able to. Every opening I’ve ever had, I’ve left before the end to avoid this. It’s as if I’m selling my soul.

I’m looking for Nate when Sera stops me. “Are you not going to watch?”

“Not if I can avoid it, but I can’t find Nate. Have you seen him? I rode here with him.”

“Another hot date, huh?”

“Not funny. Seriously, any clue where he is?”

“Don’t be mad but he left with some girl about an hour ago.”

“Of course he did. Fuck.”

“Come on, Bastian. Let’s get outta here.” She motions toward the door with her head.

“Yeah?”

She holds her hand out to lead me to the door. Touching her skin is like fire searing my soul. I haven’t touched another woman in so long, I had forgotten what it was like to feel that electric tingle, the one you get when your wanker wants a girl. Just before we walk through the door out to the sidewalk, I swear I see her make eye contact with Ferry and her face fall flat, but she turns away too quickly for me to confirm it. I throw up a hand to him in farewell to which he reciprocates.

Outside, the night has turned cool. Pulling the long scarf from Sera’s arm in an attempt to keep her from catching a chill, I see what she’s hiding. More bruises cover her forearm. These are fresh, and I’d bet my mother’s life she didn’t get them in studio or from a fucking kiln. The outline of fingerprints mars her skin in a melancholy arrangement of colors. When I grab her wrist she flinches.

“Sera?”

“Let’s not do this on the sidewalk.”

I hesitate, not wanting to allow anything else to happen to her, and if I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t keep her safe.

“Please, Bastian.”

“Yeah, okay. Where did you park?” I begrudgingly agree, but I’m not letting this go. I conceded to her silence the day we went to Rulatta’s. I’m not giving in so easily this time.

I follow her lead to the parking lot with her good arm tucked protectively into mine. She hands me the keys when we reach her car and I drive back to my house. I have coffee, and we can sit for hours and talk privately. I’m unwilling to give her an excuse not to open up by taking her somewhere public. I don’t want our conversation to be overheard. She nods her agreement but assures me it’s not what I think, promising me a full explanation when we arrive in my kitchen.