And, yeah, it was a little on the creepy side.
During the day and early evenings, the Arts District was pretty bustling. But it was late. Security gates were down. People drifted around, but not many.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing some pep into my voice so she didn’t worry. “It’s an after-hours gallery show,” I said, nodding toward the gallery in question.
It was a quiet, unassuming brick building with one plate glass window.
But the curtain was drawn and it seemed dark from the outside.
“Do you want me to wait to make sure?”
Maybe a part of me did.
I felt a little chill slide down my arms.
But I gave her a smile and a nice tip on the app. “Nope! I’m good. Thanks!”
I slid out of the car and reminded myself not to clutch my purse too tightly, to look like I was trying to protect my goods.
So, shoulders back, gait quick but not scared, I made my way to the gallery front door and knocked.
“Yeah?”
“Onomatopoeia,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder when I heard voices drifting closer. I saw no one, though, just long shadows that could hide just about anyone.
But the door unlocked and pulled open.
Light spilled out onto the sidewalk.
Music drifted into the air.
And the tension slid from my shoulders.
Then there he was.
One of the most famous actors in the country. His brown hair tousled, wearing a hideous Hawaiian shirt, yellow shorts, and flip-flops. It was a far cry from the action-movie-hero look everyone associated him with.
“Are you the pro?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“If by ‘pro’ you mean a sex worker or professional poker player.”
That got a little chuckle out of him as he moved aside to let me into the gallery.
So.
It isn’t actually a back-room game.
The whole gallery was to be our playground, likely thanks to a nice chunk of money handed off to one of the employees, if not the owner himself.
The walls were lined with canvases. To the left, the modern splashy style I wasn’t smart or cool enough to understand. To the right were darker, almost macabre canvases featuring glossy beautiful people with dark, subhuman creatures acting as their shadows. Surely something to do with the ugly side of some of the most beautiful people.
Directly in the center of the room sat a hilariously normal set of tan-colored folding tables.
That was probably one of my favorite things about these back-room games. There was almost no effort put into them. Folding chairs and tables were the norm. Not like the fancypoker tables and cigar-puffing men in suits like you saw in movies.
