through places that had been stuffed with people as they talked, laughed and stared at Josh’s artwork.
A door at the back of the gallery opened. Out came a woman dressed in super tight blue jeans and a baggy black top. She was tall, skinny, elegant, her hair messy but done that way on purpose. She wore bright red lipstick and her eyes were a bright hazel color, highlighted by mascara and eye shadow. Her cheekbones were a mile high, chiseled to perfection. When she looked at me, I felt like I didn’t belong there at all. Hair? Makeup? I couldn’t remember if I had brushed my teeth that morning. This woman looked ready to walk a runway in a fashion show.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a curious smile.
“I was here last night…”
“Oh, of course. Did we formally meet? If so, I do apologize. So many faces. I’m Sasha.”
“Amelia,” I said.
We casually shook hands for a quick second.
“What can I help you with?” she asked.
“You know, it’s going to sound strange, but I was here to interview Josh.”
“Well, he’s not here right now,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since last night. He does that though. He’ll slip away and disappear.”
“Right,” I said. “I didn’t expect him to be here. What am I saying? I also came because I lost… well, I didn’t lose. I mean, I found something.”
“Found something?” Sasha asked.
“Outside here. Was just wondering if someone reported something lost?”
“That’s rather vague,” she said. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” I said. “I… it wasn’t anything important. I mean, of monetary value. It was a letter. Looked like someone had written someone else a letter.”
“Well, I don’t have a lost and found in here.”
“Right,” I said. “I’m sorry for bothering you. I guess I wanted to see the aftermath. Try to understand a little more about Josh and his artwork.”
“And you said you’re a writer?”
“Yeah,” I said, skipping the long-winded, boring story. “I was here to do a piece on him. I didn’t get a chance to really talk to him. So, I’m building a puzzle.”
“Good luck,” Sasha said. “That puzzle has a million pieces, and many you’ll never find.”
“No?”
“I’m not the one to talk to about it,” Sasha said. “I consider Josh a friend. I would never divulge anything about him.”
“Oh, I’m not asking…”
“Of course you’re not,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
“Okay,” I said.
I curled my lip as Sasha strutted away.
The only reason you fit into those jeans is because you have no ass.
I laughed in my mind and walked to the front of the gallery.
Grace had tried to help me get my spark back for writing. And a letter I found was doing just that. I wanted to write about the letter. I’d never know the true story behind it, but I could make one up.
As I opened the door to exit the gallery, a smell hit my nose.
The familiar, harsh smell of cigarette smoke.
From the corner of my eye I saw wisps of smoke curling around from the side of the building. Excitement got the best of me, wondering if the person who wrote the letter had come back to try to find it where they thought they had lost it.
I turned the corner and saw who was there, smoking.
“What are you doing here?” his voice questioned.
It was Josh.
“Want a smoke?”
“No thanks,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first,” he said. He pushed from the building and started to walk away.
“Where did you go last night?” I asked.
“Why does that matter to you?”
“Just curious. It was your night. All your work on display. You looked like you didn’t want to be here.”
“Is this you being investigative? Didn’t get enough for your story? So you came back for more?”
“Actually, no,” I said. “I came back for something else.”
“Like what?”
“That’s none of your business,” I said.
We moved down the sidewalk and past the gallery.
I was next to him as he smoked.
“Then I guess whatever I did or do is none of your business too,” he said.
“I’m not looking for a story, Josh,” I said. “I’m done with that.”
“Done? Can I read what you wrote?”
“I didn’t exactly write anything. Yet.”
Josh laughed. “I’m sure your editor will be pissed.”
“Good thing I’m not actually hired.”
He paused. “What?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got nothing to do.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he said.
“Can you at least tell me what you were doing here?”
“Last night was my show,” he said. “I always come back.”