“Oh, Christ.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Simone said.
“Uh, yes, okay. Let’s talk about it when I come to review the contract.”
“Fantastic! It’s a week away, so plenty of time to prepare.”
Plenty of time. Right. He shook out his numb hands. “See you in a bit. And thank you. I’m very excited.”
She chuckled. “Don’t thank me. Thank Cosmo.”
After checking on Phantom, who seemed content to stay beneath his bed for the time being, Micah drove to Night Gallery in his best suit and a fit of indigestion. He had to hold it together. If he didn’t go through with this, once Night Gallery’s actual registrar came back, they might let Cosmo go. Royce would undoubtedly find out, and it wasn’t a leap to picture him pouncing on Cosmo when he was vulnerable, convincing him to come back to Identical Dog.
Micah swallowed, grimaced, and pulled into the gallery parking lot.
Checking his appearance in the rearview mirror was a mistake. His bangs were already mutinying from his coiffe, and he’d taken on a pallid, sweaty sheen. After dabbing his brow with a napkin from the glove box and taking a long pull from a bottle of water, he left the car and walked inside.
A white man a bit older than Micah stood at the reception desk, squinting at a computer monitor. Micah gave his name and the man introduced himself as Clarence, the gallery’s director. Micah followed him into an office, and after a moment, they were joined by Simone. She sat behind a desk and pulled out a folder. A resin cube sat atop a stack of papers on the corner of the desk. Inside was a partitioned bird skull bursting with seeds and tiny plant sprouts that were probably actually beads and knotted bits of thread.
The sculpture anchored Micah, and he reminded himself that he could do this. It was hard to focus on the conversation about their gallery and what sort of collaboration and networking they offered, but it wasn’t dissimilar from the last gallery Micah had been in, so he nodded his head and hoped he looked enthusiastic.
The commission fees and terms were reasonable, so Micah signed the contract. He patted the resin cube on the corner of the desk for a bit of physical reassurance, and said, “You have one of his pieces.”
“Oh, yes. One of his first. He’s so talented.” Simone smiled. “And I can’t get over the portraits you’ve done of him. I hope you can make me look as good.”
Micah turned the resin sculpture, sliding his fingers across the slick surface, but didn’t dare pick it up. Instead, he studied Simone’s features. She had wide-set eyes with feathery lashes and eyebrows plucked to oblivion, drawn back on in a shade darker than her bister complexion. Her hair was a high flat top cut at a slant, with a fade around the sides. Her white suit jacket created hard angles of her hourglass figure. “You’re a study in contrasts. Geometric hair and pencil-thin brows on a soft, heart-shaped face. A suit with a dramatic cut struggling to contain generous curves. Long, chitinous nails on rounded fingers.”
Clarence frowned. “Did you just comment on her weight and compare her fingernails to beetles?”
“I love him!” Simone stood from behind the desk and grinned. “Such fascinating perspective. You’ll have to tell me what to wear for the portrait.”
“We’re not doing a nude, then, right? Sometimes it’s what people want and many of the portraits in my portfolio are because–”
She laughed. “I donothave that much confidence.”
“You should. All bodies are beautiful.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but getting naked in front of a hundred attendees at the event is more than I’m willing to do.”
“Right.” Because this was going to be in public. Drawing in front of others had never bothered him before, but the risk of freezing up and panicking when it was just Simone was bad enough. If he made a scene in front of an entire crowd, it would be a disaster.
Simone frowned, searching his face. “Are you okay?”
His throat was closing hard enough he was certain he’d choke on his own tongue. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. Simone stared at him with concern. He turned his attention to Cosmo’s sculpture on the desk, thinking about the corner exploding and chunks of resin skittering across the floor in Identical Dog.
All he needed to do right now was say yes to this event. Baby steps. Sweat itched at the collar of his shirt. He gave her a smile that felt more like he was merely peeling back his lips, and said, “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed.”
“The atmosphere will be very casual, I promise. But not ‘no clothes’ casual.” She laughed. “And any accommodations you need, just say the word.” She strode around the desk, then air-kissed both his cheeks. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Micah. Clarence can take care of any questions you have and give you details about your exhibit.”
“Thank you. Will you excuse me for a moment?” He left the room, limbs stiff, and strode quickly for the restrooms. He pushed through the door, slammed open the stall, and vomited into the bowl. Sweat coated his brow, his hands shaky as he gripped the seat. The end of his tie floated in the putrid water.
Past-Micah – not the depressed and unwashed man who’d been sleeping on the couch less than a week ago, but Micah from before the assault – would have been overjoyed at this opportunity. The idea of drawing a gallerist during an event, with so many potential new clients watching, would have sent him into a fit of excitement. How incredible for his career! He could build up his base of clientele and fans, and would surely meet plenty of new artists. Past-Micah would call Everett with the news. Past-Micah would ask someone to record the event so he could share the footage with Mom and Dad.
Micah ripped off his soggy tie, wiped his mouth, and flushed the toilet. He gargled with the tap water, splashed some on his face, and scrubbed off his tie, then wrapped it in a wad of paper towels and stuffed it in his pocket.
Now that he was part of a gallery, he’d have to attend receptions and art fairs and charity events. If he was able to draw Simone, other people would commission him for the same. He’d have to let them inside the studio to draw them. Fixing his career wasn’tquite incentive enough to ask for help. After all, he’d spent the past nine months hiding away at home while his life spiraled down the drain, and it wouldn’t be hard to do that again. But the idea of failure reflecting negatively on Cosmo meant Micahhadto pull himself together. Cosmo had promised to slip into Micah’s apartment and be a “ghost” for him, but he hadn’t done it yet, and they were running out of time to practice.
Micah needed a therapist.
