but she wasn’t prepared for an auction.
“I don’t want you to think I’m doing it to make more money for the gallery, Bastian. But what I do want to happen is to create a stir and get people excited about you again. You have the potential to clear more tonight than most people do in a year. And then have people waiting in line for more to come out of your studio.”
“Do what you do, Tara. I trust you. You didn’t question what I was bringing you. You never even asked how many pieces I could produce. You trusted me. I trust you to do what’s in my best interest. If you profit from it, even better.”
“Yes, sir.”
The decision to auction was made because the buzz is spreading around the room as anxious patrons get their cards. Technically, I probably should stick around for this part, but I can’t bring myself to see people put a dollar figure on my work, especially, KD. I’ve never been able to. Every opening I’ve ever had, I’ve left before the end to avoid this. It’s as if I’m selling my soul.
I’m looking for Nate when Sera stops me. “Are you not going to watch?”
“Not if I can avoid it, but I can’t find Nate. Have you seen him? I rode here with him.”
“Another hot date, huh?”
“Not funny. Seriously, any clue where he is?”
“Don’t be mad but he left with some girl about an hour ago.”
“Of course he did. Fuck.”
“Come on, Bastian. Let’s get outta here.” She motions toward the door with her head.
“Yeah?”
She holds her hand out to lead me to the door. Touching her skin is like fire searing my soul. I haven’t touched another woman in so long, I had forgotten what it was like to feel that electric tingle, the one you get when your wanker wants a girl. Just before we walk through the door out to the sidewalk, I swear I see her make eye contact with Ferry and her face fall flat, but she turns away too quickly for me to confirm it. I throw up a hand to him in farewell to which he reciprocates.
Outside, the night has turned cool. Pulling the long scarf from Sera’s arm in an attempt to keep her from catching a chill, I see what she’s hiding. More bruises cover her forearm. These are fresh, and I’d bet my mother’s life she didn’t get them in studio or from a fucking kiln. The outline of fingerprints mars her skin in a melancholy arrangement of colors. When I grab her wrist she flinches.
“Sera?”
“Let’s not do this on the sidewalk.”
I hesitate, not wanting to allow anything else to happen to her, and if I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t keep her safe.
“Please, Bastian.”
“Yeah, okay. Where did you park?” I begrudgingly agree, but I’m not letting this go. I conceded to her silence the day we went to Rulatta’s. I’m not giving in so easily this time.
I follow her lead to the parking lot with her good arm tucked protectively into mine. She hands me the keys when we reach her car and I drive back to my house. I have coffee, and we can sit for hours and talk privately. I’m unwilling to give her an excuse not to open up by taking her somewhere public. I don’t want our conversation to be overheard. She nods her agreement but assures me it’s not what I think, promising me a full explanation when we arrive in my kitchen.
14
S he’s mentally preparing herself to let loose of whatever it is she’s about to bestow upon me. I watch her breath deeply as she tries to calm herself, aligning what she wants to say with what she needs to say, or maybe just how to say it. Sitting down at the table with her, I put the pot of coffee center stage, two large mugs, cream, and sugar. There’s no reason to leave this spot for quite some time. I’m hunkering down for the long haul. Something tells me this is not going to be a quick conversation.
“It’s not what you think, Bastian.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that. So tell me what it is that’s causing bruises all over your body and why you feel the need to cover them and lie
“I don’t want you to think I’m doing it to make more money for the gallery, Bastian. But what I do want to happen is to create a stir and get people excited about you again. You have the potential to clear more tonight than most people do in a year. And then have people waiting in line for more to come out of your studio.”
“Do what you do, Tara. I trust you. You didn’t question what I was bringing you. You never even asked how many pieces I could produce. You trusted me. I trust you to do what’s in my best interest. If you profit from it, even better.”
“Yes, sir.”
The decision to auction was made because the buzz is spreading around the room as anxious patrons get their cards. Technically, I probably should stick around for this part, but I can’t bring myself to see people put a dollar figure on my work, especially, KD. I’ve never been able to. Every opening I’ve ever had, I’ve left before the end to avoid this. It’s as if I’m selling my soul.
I’m looking for Nate when Sera stops me. “Are you not going to watch?”
“Not if I can avoid it, but I can’t find Nate. Have you seen him? I rode here with him.”
“Another hot date, huh?”
“Not funny. Seriously, any clue where he is?”
“Don’t be mad but he left with some girl about an hour ago.”
“Of course he did. Fuck.”
“Come on, Bastian. Let’s get outta here.” She motions toward the door with her head.
“Yeah?”
She holds her hand out to lead me to the door. Touching her skin is like fire searing my soul. I haven’t touched another woman in so long, I had forgotten what it was like to feel that electric tingle, the one you get when your wanker wants a girl. Just before we walk through the door out to the sidewalk, I swear I see her make eye contact with Ferry and her face fall flat, but she turns away too quickly for me to confirm it. I throw up a hand to him in farewell to which he reciprocates.
Outside, the night has turned cool. Pulling the long scarf from Sera’s arm in an attempt to keep her from catching a chill, I see what she’s hiding. More bruises cover her forearm. These are fresh, and I’d bet my mother’s life she didn’t get them in studio or from a fucking kiln. The outline of fingerprints mars her skin in a melancholy arrangement of colors. When I grab her wrist she flinches.
“Sera?”
“Let’s not do this on the sidewalk.”
I hesitate, not wanting to allow anything else to happen to her, and if I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t keep her safe.
“Please, Bastian.”
“Yeah, okay. Where did you park?” I begrudgingly agree, but I’m not letting this go. I conceded to her silence the day we went to Rulatta’s. I’m not giving in so easily this time.
I follow her lead to the parking lot with her good arm tucked protectively into mine. She hands me the keys when we reach her car and I drive back to my house. I have coffee, and we can sit for hours and talk privately. I’m unwilling to give her an excuse not to open up by taking her somewhere public. I don’t want our conversation to be overheard. She nods her agreement but assures me it’s not what I think, promising me a full explanation when we arrive in my kitchen.
14
S he’s mentally preparing herself to let loose of whatever it is she’s about to bestow upon me. I watch her breath deeply as she tries to calm herself, aligning what she wants to say with what she needs to say, or maybe just how to say it. Sitting down at the table with her, I put the pot of coffee center stage, two large mugs, cream, and sugar. There’s no reason to leave this spot for quite some time. I’m hunkering down for the long haul. Something tells me this is not going to be a quick conversation.
“It’s not what you think, Bastian.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that. So tell me what it is that’s causing bruises all over your body and why you feel the need to cover them and lie
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