For 100 Days(4)

I don’t make her say the words. There’s no need. I know this conversation can’t be easy for her. Hell, it’s not easy for me, either.

I sag against the brick wall of the toilet stall and close my eyes. “How soon before you need to remove my work?”

She blows out a short breath. “Shit, Avery. You know I hate this, right? I wish the decision was up to me, but—”

“It’s okay. I understand. You don’t have to say anything more.”

My words are clipped and quiet, but not from anger. Not at Margot, anyway. She’s the only reason my work made it into the gallery in the first place. Dominion is one of the smaller galleries in the city, but it’s got a reputation for quality and vision. It’s also known for a willingness to take risks when it comes to the artists they showcase in their small, but respected, Fifth Avenue location.

Margot Chan-Levine is both the manager and the principal curator for the gallery. I didn’t know that when we met for the first time a year and a half ago, nor could I have imagined that she would like my work enough to acquire some of it for sale at the gallery.

Unfortunately, it seems her instincts were off when it came to me.

“Sundays are my only free day right now,” I tell her. “Or I can come by one night before work this week and make arrangements to pick up my stuff.”

“No, don’t worry about that,” she assures me. “We’ve got a lot of events going on at the gallery right now, so honestly there’s no rush. I can keep your pieces in storage for a while until you’re ready to take them. I realize this is a total blindside, and I feel awful about that. Besides, I know you don’t have any extra space at your apartment. Let me at least do this for you.”

Her offer to help stanch this new hemorrhage in my life should be a comfort, but my old defenses kick in, urging me to refuse. I can’t stand the thought of asking her to do anything more for me than she already has. Except she’s right about my furnished one-room studio having no room to spare. It’s small even by New York standards, but that’s not the worst of it. In a couple more weeks, I won’t even have that meager roof over my head.

My building was sold a few months ago and is going condo. I’ve held out as long as tenacity and the law will allow, but my time is almost up now. I’ve got the eviction notice to prove it.

“Say something, Avery. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Sure I am. I’m fine.”

My mouth is on autopilot, my head spinning while my stomach feels ready to revolt. I’ve got a lot of decisions ahead of me—most of which I’m not eager to make. Right now, I just need to get through the night and get home so I can start figuring out what I’m going to do. And in the back of my mind, I know this conversation has just solidified the fact that I’m also going to need to get busy packing up for . . . somewhere.

I feel the walls crushing in on me the longer I stay on the line. I need to be moving. I need to be busy or I’m going to scream.

I clear my throat. “Listen, we’re really slammed over here tonight. I’ve got to get back out to the bar.”

“Oh, of course. I thought I heard restaurant noise in the background. I’m on my way home now, so if you need anything tonight—if you just want to talk some more—give me a call, okay?”

“I will,” I lie.

“Avery, I’m really sorry.”

“I know. I get it, and it’s all right.” I feel awkward and inferior, and I can’t deny that I’m also more than a little heartbroken to hear that my art wasn’t good enough for Dominion’s owner. And I’m pissed at myself for actually thinking it could be. “I gotta run now. I’ll call you in a few days. Thanks, Margot. For everything.”

I hit the end button, then tip my head back against the wall and exhale a curse.

What the hell am I going to do now?





Chapter 3



When I head back out to the floor, Tasha doesn’t give me as much as a second to regroup before she’s bee-lining my way. “So? Tell me! What’d she . . . Oh, fuck.”

My face no doubt tells it all.

“Oh, honey. Come here.” At twenty-seven, she’s only two years older than me, but she slides effortlessly into nurture mode, looping her arm around my shoulders and steering me away from the busier area of the bar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I lost my spot at Dominion. They’re bringing in some better artists and they need the space, so I’m out.”

“What?” Tasha doesn’t hold back her outrage, and to my chagrin, about a dozen people seated at the bar glance in our direction. “That’s bullshit. You’re an amazing artist, Avery. You deserve to be there as much as anyone else.”