“This is the worst arrangement in the world, you realize?”I grumbled.“You take a load of antisocials who deal with the absolute bloody nightmare of being alive by drinking or getting high or numb or whatever, and the way you help us reintegrate into society is forcing us tointeract.That’s mad, innit?All we want is relief from the world, and you shove us together to talk about the worst parts of it: the shame, the ick, so we can rub our failures up against each other, hold up these sad, manky little successes that to any normal person would befunctioningand—”
“Had a good time, did you?”
I thumped my head against the wall.“Aye.”
“Proud of yourself?”
I groaned.
“I like what you said at the end there.”Karim’s eyes were laughing at me over the edge of his Styrofoam cup.“About wanting to be one thing, but knowing you’re another.”
“Piss off,Sidi.”
“Nah, nah, say it like you said it.I loved it.”
I shut my eyes tight, scraping the back of my head against the bricks.“Some people drink too much, and some people are alcoholics.And I’d give my left nut to be the first, but I know I’m the bloody second?”
“Yeah, that.Loved that.And so did the lads.You really found yourself in that teaching business in America, didn’t you?”
“Piss off.”I opened my eyes long enough to see him coming at me for a hug.“Bloody—mmfff!”
“Your sexy cowboy will be fine,habibi; you’ll find a way to tell him everything you need to, and I bet it won’t matter in the end.”
Oh, it was going to matter.And Iwasgoing to tell him, damn it, but not until after the exhibition.The last thing I wanted was to steal his thunder—sour this moment, ruin the lovely little artistic community he was building around himself.He’d spent the last few weeks fully immersed in it, making friends and connections, learning about gallerying ...
Spending time with Jean.
I extracted myself from my sponsor’s arms and attempted to act like a fully grown adult man rather than a stroppy child.“Thank you.”
“Everything will be fine.”At some point Karim had made the transition from twinkling inspirational mentor to taking the piss, but that line was always a bit fuzzy.
“I’m going to leave now.”
“Cheers.”
I huddled into my jacket and started toward Angel Station.I was about to cross White Lion Street when someone called my name.No, not my name.
“Darling.”
I skidded over the curb and nearly rolled my ankle, twisting around to look.There he was, in a long burgundy coat that should’ve clashed horribly with his hair but didn’t.Perhaps because there was more silver in it these days.
“Desolé, Armand.I didn’t mean to startle you.”He held a long white hand to his chest and grinned at me like he always did, silver-blue eyes flashing dangerously in a vulpine face.Like I was chum in the water.
“You okay, kid?”the dark-haired man next to him, wearing classic gray tweed and a deep scowl, asked in a surprising American accent.The frighteningly skinny woman beside him made someOch, poor dearnoises as well.
I grunted, realizing I’d landed in a puddle, and stepped back onto the pavement, trainers squelching.My heart hammered in my throat, and I’d gone cold all over, but I didn’t want to come off strange.“Er, aye.”
“Jackson, Olivia, this is Armand Demetrio, my little comic artist.”Jean presented me like an exemplary vegetable.“Armand, these are my dear friends: Olivia Voclain, patroness of the arts, and Jacoby Jackson, the very famous New York playwright.They’ve got a bit on at the Almeida.”
Jacoby Jackson didn’t look particularly pleased to be called his friend, but that could’ve been the result of the general crag of the man’s face.Olivia Voclain, on the other hand, was giving me a familiar, calculating look.“Oh yes, I’ve heard quite a bit of chatter about you, young man.Something about this year’s Falcon Awards?”
That was news to me.Or at least it would be once I processed what she’d said.No, running—that is, politely excusing myself—was definitely the right move here.“P-pleasure meeting you both.Er.Goodbye.”I tugged my actual forelock, turned on my heel, and scarpered.
I could hear him laughing behind me.“Always the temperamental artist.We’ll see you at the exhibition, darling!”
I wrapped my jacket tighter around me and focused on not tumbling down the escalator steps.Once I was safe on a moving train surrounded by strangers, I sat down on a rare empty seat and closed my eyes, letting my shoulders slump and my fists unclench.
It didn’t matter if I’d made a fool of myself in front of two random nobs.He hadn’t grabbed hold of the bits of soul I occasionally and embarrassingly left trailing out of my body like toilet tissue stuck to a shoe or an untucked shirt tag only he could see.It had been a quick encounter on the street, but I was shaking like I’d barely survived a traffic accident.
