“It’s like that?”
“Yes. Now. I have an opportunity that could actually change something for me and the kids. Since you can’t even pretend to be happy for me, you do not get to be here to experience it.”
For a second, I saw that maniac in his eyes, the one who liked chaos more than peace. He stepped just a little too close, like he wanted to see if I would move.
I didn’t.
“Go home, Kodi,” I gritted. “Do not come over here unless it is about the kids. That is all we have left.”
He stared a moment longer, chest rising and falling hard, then finally cursed under his breath and stepped back. “You ain’t never leaving me. I’ll show you better than I can tell you.”
He walked out and slammed the door harder than necessary. I locked it behind him, feeling my hand trembling on the deadbolt from the hurt. But his threats had gone through one ear and out of the other.
5
SINCERE BELLAMY
When I walked into Voss Contemporary House, Aria was standing at the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist, Cecily, kept nodding and typing as Aria gave her instructions, “I need you to confirm the delivery window for the pedestals. If they can’t get here by two, tell them not to bother and send the backup order through the other vendor.”
Cecily’s fingers flew across her keyboard.
“And email the collector back. Tell him the viewing is private. He can’t bring extra people. Two people. That’s it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cecily agreed.
Aria finally turned to me with a bright smile. She greeted me with a loving hug, like we were family, because our relationship had gotten to that point. By now, we were like brother and sister.
She angled her body toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s go to my office.”
I followed her through the gallery space. Walking behind her, I took it in like a tourist, though I had been there many times.
Voss had a subtle type of luxury. It was bright, open, and clean with white walls, track lighting, and smooth concrete floors. The art was spaced out, giving each its own spotlight.There were sculptures positioned in corners, and very expensive furniture that didn’t look like it should be sat on was placed around the space. Even the smell was sophisticated and expensive.
Aria stopped at a door near the back and pulled it open. I followed her inside her office. Aria motioned for me to follow her into the seating area. I allowed her to sit first. I sat after as she looked at her watch like she didn’t have much time. “I need you to meet someone.”
My brow lifted. “You asked me to come here so you can play matchmaker?”
She sucked her teeth and waved me off. “Not like that. Business.”
I nodded once. “Okay. Who?”
“Rhythm Brooks. She’s a new artist, and I’m excited about her. She’ll be the featured artist for our upcoming event, Mothers of the Block.” Aria slid a folder across the coffee table between us. “I want Bellamy Urban Development to sponsor it.”
Bellamy Urban Development is the LLC I set up to hold ownership of the Cartier's development project. The Cartier's insisted the LLC be in my name, for both legal and personal reasons. They needed a clean owner on paper, and they also wanted me to have confirmation that I had ownership in the project, too.
“This will help to show those protestors that you all are about community,” Aria advised. “It gives you all something community-centered to attach the development to before you break ground.”
I finally opened the folder. Inside of it were sponsorship tiers, press language, mockups, and partner lists.
She leaned in slightly with a convincing grin. “Let the project sponsor it and consider Rhythm for murals or pieces in the community center lobby.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about commissioning art for a building that doesn’t exist yet.”
“I’m talking about building trust with the community so they will start to trust the process. Rhythm is from that community. If we are saying this development is for the neighborhood, then the neighborhood needs to be represented inside it.”
I stared at her for a second, because she wasn’t wrong. “Show me her work.”
Aria picked up her phone, tapped, and slid it to me. I picked it up and noticed it was Rhythm’s Instagram. She wasn’t just making pretty portraits; she was telling stories. She painted faces that looked like they’d lived through something. There were portraits of mothers holding babies with exhaustion in their expression that didn’t ask for pity. Her portraits evoked feelings of struggle, faith, and survival. Just looking at them, I knew she had to be strong more times than she’d ever deserved.
