Aaron blasted through the back door and I stood there alone. There were a lot of people out front looking at pictures and paintings. Discussing what they meant. What I was thinking when I created them. People debating if it was worth making an offer on one or more.
I touched my back pocket.
I thought about unfolding the letter and taping it to a wall. In an empty gallery. Nothing but that letter. And have everyone come and read it. So I could finish the promise I made a long time ago.
The problem would be letting go of the letter, which I was supposed to do after writing it.
I moved my hand and licked my lips.
I needed a drink.
I met Randy five years ago. He loved to paint gigantic paintings with lots of colors and shapes. He would finish a painting and get high to stare at it. He said if the painting moved and spoke, it was a good one.
After some millionaire paid a lot of money for a painting, he had gotten messed up one night and signed the painting Razor. Then for some reason he decided to drop the R to make himself sound more… artistic?
Either way, Azor saved my ass the second he handed me the large, silver flask.
I flicked the lid open and drank like a man finding fresh water after a month in the desert.
“Let’s go make you famous,” he said. He wore an extra-large sweater with thick knitting that looked like a blanket.
He was tall, skinny, and his long hair and messy beard made him look like he belonged in some hippie band from the sixties, singing about peace and tripping on drugs.
“Fuck famous,” I said. “I just want people to understand.”
“Then let’s go make them understand,” Azor said. “And, hey, there’s a woman looking for you.”
“Who? What’s her name?”
I had a handful of Azor’s ugly sweater.
I released my grip and backed away. I took another drink. The brandy was good. Really good.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
I took another drink from the flask and slipped it into my other back pocket.
“That’s my flask,” Azor said.
I ignored him and walked to the front of the gallery.
The crowd was buzzing with people. The owner of the gallery - Sasha - was floating around in a long black dress. She looked beautifully morbid, something she took pride in. Her grandfather owned half the block and this place was given to her as a just because kind of thing, but it worked to my benefit.
“Josh!” she called out when she saw me. “Come talk to us. Tell us everything.”
I gave a wave and kept walking.
Soon I had a lot of people calling my name.
It was almost like an echo in my mind.
The brandy started to really set in.
So much so that I heard a voice…
My plan was to walk right out the front door of the gallery and leave. I could walk home from where I was. A thirty-minute walk or so, but the fresh air would do me good. Maybe.
But the voice.
It was in my head and then it was real.
A familiar voice.
An impossible voice.
Someone touched my arm. “Great work here, Josh. I love it.”
That wasn’t the voice though.
It was a short woman with a low-cut dress. Her eyes dark and flirty.
I nodded and thanked her and kept walking.
I heard the voice again.
I stopped again.
This time when I spun around, someone was standing there.
The woman from before.
The curly hair.
The dark blue eyes.
It wasn’t Delilah. No. No way. Delilah wouldn’t be here. Delilah couldn’t be here.
But I knew this woman.
“Can we talk for a second?” she asked, her voice smooth and nervous.
My eyes moved left to right around the swelling crowd of people.
I slowly started to nod.
I couldn’t explain it, but looking at this woman made me feel comfortable.
Chapter 7
Left For Nothing
NOW
(Amelia)
He was drunk.
He kept staring at me like he wanted to hug me or something.
Swaying a little to the left, then the right, working his way through the large gathering of people all there to look at what he had created.
He looked like he wanted to leave.
That intrigued me.
I only knew Josh from the few times we ran into each other. Which didn’t seem like much, but each time seemed to be a life changing situation for me. Probably not for him, but it was impressive how he managed to get out of the bad boy life and do something else.