The Game Changer The Final Score - By L.M. Trio Page 0,20
to get some air and have a cup of coffee. I sit in my preferred spot by the window, watching the tourists stroll in and out of the many colorful shops along the avenue. I keep myself buried in my work, not wanting to think of anything else.
I love working at the gallery; it makes me happy, along with my evenings spent at The Blue. By the time I arrive home, I’m too exhausted to think of anything besides sleep. I dedicate the remainder of my free time to painting. Painting plays a big part in ridding myself from the anxiety that overwhelms me knowing that Luke is home.
Thankfully, I’m back in school now. Another welcoming distraction. I have somewhat of a light schedule this semester, leaving time available to work at the gallery, which also counts towards my internship, earning credits while working.
As I sip my coffee, I have thoughts of my mom and other things. What would she think of my life? Would she be proud? Would she be upset that I haven’t visited her grave? I talk to her often. I hope that she understands. Is this what she would want for me? I wish I had just one more chance to talk to her again.
I think about my life now; I feel as if I’m in a good place. I love my jobs, school, apartment and I’ve come to love living in Florida. I realize I probably would never have been here if it wasn’t for Luke.
Once again, I’m hit with a hard dose of reality. Luke has been home since spring, he’s had access to a phone and computer. Not once did he try to contact me. I was sure that if he wanted to reach me, Mikey and Deanna would tell him where he could find me.
Would I have gone to see him if he called? As much as I’d like to think I wouldn’t have gone back, the truth is, I would have been there in a second. Not anymore, I say to myself as I take my last sip of coffee.
The bitterness I feel towards him begins to take over my emotions. I’m annoyed at myself for not getting over it. I crumble the plastic cup and toss it in the trash can on the way out of the café, waving to the girl behind the counter as I leave.
By the time I reach the gallery and take a few deep breaths, I’m already feeling better. Walking through these doors in the morning always makes me feel better. Frank’s been such a good friend to me and we’ve grown close over the last few months. He’s taught me a lot and has given me the opportunity to show off my work. I sometimes forget the age difference between us. We have a lot of the same interests. He’s taken me with him when he is out visiting galleries throughout the state, purchasing new pieces for the gallery. I like seeing him in action. He introduces me to his many clients and contacts in the art world.
Frank is usually all business in his fancy Armani suits, seeming so worldly and grown up compared to me. Sometimes, we’ll have dinner before an art show or have lunch at the sports bar down the street. It’s those times that he lets down his guard and opens up a bit. He told me about his brief marriage of three years. He met her in Paris while he was studying abroad. They had only known each other for a few weeks before marrying. He brought her to the states, but she never could adapt, things fell apart, and she ended up moving back to France.
As I walk through the front entrance of the gallery, Frank is rushing out, nearly knocking me over. “Oh sorry, Jesse. I’m late.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, disappointed he is leaving so quickly.
“Meeting in St. Pete’s at ten thirty,” he replies.
“Ohhh… Traffic. You’re cutting it close,” I say, glancing at my watch.
“That’s why I’m rushing.” He laughs. “Jazz is in the back. Don’t forget, Wellingtons will be in at eleven.”
“I know. See you later,” I call out.
He flashes his handsome smile and gives me a wave as he jumps into his convertible, which is parked in its usual spot outside the gallery. The Wellington’s are big clients of Frank’s. They have a lot of money and have been clients of his for years. He knows what interests them and he found a