reared back as if offended.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Chrysalis. That’s not an Irish last name. I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s not Irish. I am so sick of liars. You stood here and lied about something as simple as this. What a silly thing to fabricate. As if it even matters. Your real name is probably Brad Hinkley and you are from Long Island. It’s cool though. Paint away, Picasso.” She cast him a wink then turned away once more.
“Chrysalis is my stepfather’s last name,” he called out. She paused and turned back in his direction. “He adopted me when I was a little kid. And for the record, it’s Greek, but you should know that too, since apparently you know every damn thing.”
She heated with embarrassment, but before she could utter another word, he was walking away. She called out to him, but he either ignored her or didn’t hear her over the now thumping sounds of ‘Kaleidoscope Love,’ by AlunaGeorge. His long legs and quick pace made it virtually impossible for her to be able to catch up to him. So, after trying for a short while, she stopped. She simply stood there amongst a crowd of bobbing bodies and half-inebriated forms.
After a while, she could only see the top of his head. The black hair caught the spinning lights as if it were some ebony crown, and then soon, that was gone, too.
CHAPTER THREE
Aladdin, Red Riding Hood, and Buttercream Frosting Walk into a Bar…
King set out the well-used, plaint splattered tubes of acrylic on the small bench to his right, just so. An empty silver champagne bucket, arranged to collect cash, was placed nearby as he began to prep the large canvas before him. It was a bit too high to reach all of the areas on his feet, so they’d provided a ladder. Running his finger over the canvas, he gauged the thickness then grabbed a roll of painter’s tape and lined the backdrop frame in order to create a border, using a ladder for the hard-to-reach parts. He thanked the host for delivering a warm glass of water for his brushes, then removed several of them from his satchel, laying them out from largest to smallest. He removed his black shirt, now only in a black wifebeater.
Seinabo Sey’s, ‘I Owe You Nothing,’ began to play as he prepared to start. He bit his lower lip and snapped his fingers, feeling the flow of the music creeping inside of him and taking hold. It was a salve to him, the perfect music to set his mood. Jalil approached him, sporting a shit-eating grin.
“What’s up?” King asked.
“I ain’t gonna hold you up, man. I know you’re in the zone. We can talk after you’re done, but, uh, I saw you talking to shortie.” He winked. Ever since Jalil had become spiritual, as he called it, he’d take it upon himself to try and play matchmaker, a love encourager of sorts, for all of his single friends. Having been a poet in their high school days and a hopeless romantic, Jalil had recently gotten engaged. He was now mostly focused on his small food courier service he was trying to get off the ground after leaving a lucrative accounting job. Thus far, it had turned out to be a great decision. Business minded as he was, it came as no surprise that he stuck his nose in King’s business, too. King had become one of his latest projects.
“She was niiiice,” he added. “I take it you’ll have to meet up with us later this weekend?”
“Man, that was a no-go.” King shook his head and laughed as he unfolded his favorite cloth to dry his brushes. “She’s straight drama. I had to release her back into the ocean.”
“Damn, man. That was fast. What exactly happened?”
“Silly bullshit. Not even worth getting into. Hey, when I’m done with this, let’s all head to another spot. The drinks here are kinda high and since I need to mind my budget right now, I figured we could hit another place and just hang out.”
“That’s what’s up. Yeah, we can do a little bar hopping tonight. Maybe we could head over to 67 Orange Street. I bet they’ve got a good crowd tonight.”
“That’ll work.” They bumped fists.
As he grabbed a paintbrush and dipped it in white paint, a woman came by with a wine glass filled with sand and lit incense sticks stuck in it. “Hey, sweetie, let