Sorrow - Tiffanie DeBartolo Page 0,83

I was too ordinary, too mortal, too pusillanimous to be who and what I wanted to be. What I learned from watching October was that it was exactly those prosaic human qualities, expressed in authenticity, that people connected to. Art isn’t about people who are better than us showing us how much better they are, it’s about being reminded of the ways in which we are all the same.

I read a line in a novel once that stuck with me. It said, “People, for some stupid reason, think they can escape their sorrows.” And if I learned anything from my work with October, it’s that there are two ways in which one can escape his or her sorrows.

Art and love.

By the end of October’s performance, I was fixated on the notion of what could have been and questioning whether cowardice was revocable.

Back when Cal was still trying to get me to join him in Brooklyn, he’d written me an e-mail that had haunted me for a long time. It said: The thing is, Harp, everyone is always one decision away from a completely different life.

I never responded to that e-mail. In fact, after Cal sent it to me, I didn’t speak to him again until the morning he walked into October’s kitchen.

Once the visuals faded, the lights went out and the music continued at a much lower volume while the crowd filed out and back into the larger gallery for more drinks. Only then did October give me the go-ahead to set her free.

She held onto my arm to steady herself, and we followed Rae and Shelly back upstairs. The green room was now full of people, and they all clapped when we entered.

October seemed uncomfortable and overwhelmed by the applause, and she went straight into the bathroom. I walked to the bar cart and poured myself another whiskey. When I turned around, Rae was there. And she was smiling.

“Great job, Joe. Well done. Really.”

It was the first genuinely nice thing she’d ever said to me, and I appreciated it. I mumbled a sincere “thank you” and offered her some whiskey, but she shook her head and said, “I’m driving you guys home, yeah?”

Soon, Phil rushed into the room. “That was luminous!” He threw his arm around my back. “You two make a great team! I hope this is just the beginning of a lot more collaborations!”

Is that what October and I are doing? I wondered. Collaborating?

October came out of the bathroom in a black slip dress with a big, camel-colored cardigan over it. Her sleeves were pushed up above her elbows and I could see a bandage on her forearm from where she’d cut herself in the cage.

She slid into a pair of sexy snakeskin boots, looked my way, and sighed. “We have to go downstairs and mingle before the auction ends.”

She’d twisted her hair up into a messy bun and wiped the dark eye makeup off her cheeks as best she could, but Shelly came over and said, “Lordy, let me touch you up before you go meet and greet.”

Thomas sauntered in, brimming with excitement, and announced that the top bid on the birdcage was currently at fifty grand.

Everyone cheered again, and while Shelly was fixing October’s makeup, October’s phone rang and she answered it. She and Shelly had stepped into the kitchen so I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she looked sweet and animated as she spoke, and when she walked back into the room, she came straight to me and said, “Chris says congrats and thanks for the pic.”

I maintained a neutral expression, but I didn’t feel neutral. I felt like I was suffering the loss of something monumental.

Let her go, I thought.

My head believed that, but the little muscle in my chest was tense and tight as we shuffled down the steps to the main gallery, where the crowd still lingered, everyone waiting for a chance to meet October.

People swarmed her, and she gripped my arm, whispering, “Please don’t leave my side.” Then she started introducing me to everyone as the artist who built the cage. Strangers lauded my work and treated me like I was important, and while I tried with all my might to appreciate that, I remained too caught up in my own confusion to relax.

Phil pushed his way through the crowd, holding two glasses of champagne above his head. When he reached October and me, he handed each of us one. I didn’t want it, but I took

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