Giggling, I shifted my body to face him. “Have I ever told you what a pervert you are?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Mistakes you can learn from; sins stay with you forever.”
-Corey Taylor
CALEB
The best part of the show was that I didn’t have to do any of the work. All Jim required of me was to show up and speak with the attendees. Debra, the gallery manager, had set everything up with the help of her technical assistant, Donald, and Tyler. As an intern, Norah wasn’t yet trusted with the most important details of the event.
Since I had to be there before it started, Gianna was coming later with her dad. Sydney Atwood, the urban realist artist, stood next to me, watching as the gallery staff ran around, completing the finishing touches.
I suspected Jim viewed Sydney and me as finishing touches ourselves. She was an attractive twenty-two year old African-American chick with black braids halfway down her back and golden brown eyes. She was tall, almost as tall as me with her heels on, and had a toned body. I knew my own attractiveness and figured Jim expected us to photograph nicely for the media he’d invited.
An article featured the exhibit in this morning’s Denver Post. Jim had promoted the showing online and in 5280 magazine. Two attractive young Denver artists, who painted urban life, drummed up a lot of interest. While my work focused on the violent reality, Sydney’s art concentrated on the artistic pursuits of the city’s youth. Her subjects were musicians, poets and other artists like herself.
I wore a navy suit with no tie and a black t-shirt underneath. Sydney was dressed in a clingy turquoise dress with lots of chunky jewelry around her neck and wrists. We were like an advertisement for young and modern.
My mom helped Debra set up as if she worked at the gallery, even checking that everything was a go with the catering company. She was more excited than I was about my first show.
The only thing I looked forward to was the red dress I’d made Gianna promise to wear. It was shorter than what she usually wore and had sat in her closet for months. Cece had given it to her as an early Christmas present last year but she’d refused to wear it.
“Caleb, can I talk to you for a minute?” Norah asked, stopping in front of us.
“Sure,” I answered cautiously. The last time I’d spoken with her, she’d been pissed at me.
Following her to the back of the gallery, we went behind a partition and she pointed to the painting there. “Is that your girlfriend?”
“I’m sure you know it is, with all the snooping you and your roommate did to track her down.”
She placed a hand on my arm, causing me to shake it off. “It wasn’t me. Christina knew I was upset and felt protective.”
“Whatever, just keep your stalker roommate away from Gianna.”
Her face was earnest and I almost believed her. “I promise, Caleb.”
“What are these doing up, anyways? I told Jim not to put them in the show.” The painting she’d pointed at was of Gianna the night of the attack. Hanging next to it was the painting of a raging Josh in his football uniform.
“Nobody will see them but select and trusted clients of the gallery,” she explained. “This area is already partitioned off from the rest of the gallery for more taboo artwork. It’s away from the bathrooms and office so nobody will wander back here on accident.”
I wasn’t happy with the paintings being up at all after I’d changed my mind about including them in the show, but if Jim sold them I’d be rid of them forever. “Fine,” I said, irritated and wanting away from Norah and her soft looks. There was no intimacy between us and I wouldn’t be accused of leading her on again.
She stopped me with a hand on my arm again. “Caleb, we can still be friends, right?”
Turning back to her, I shook her arm off to make my stance clear. “I wouldn’t do that to my girlfriend.”
The doors were unlocked at seven o’clock and people began steadily streaming in. I was told by my mom, who acted as my agent, that mine and Sydney’s paintings were moderately priced. I’d heard my mom brag on the phone to one of her artsy friends that my work was as good as Sydney’s even though she’d been to art school. Her enthusiasm was embarrassing.
My dad and Julie were among the first arrivals. I’d warned my mom ahead of time so she wouldn’t be blindsided. My mom hadn’t been serious with anyone since the divorce years ago and I wondered if it hurt to have my dad’s happiness rubbed in her face. Julie would be polite tonight whether she meant it or not.
Even I had to admit Julie looked good. My dad beamed, obviously thrilled at the reconciliation. I spotted my mom pursing her lips as they entered and promptly turning her back on them.