“That’s three sales you’ve blown this week, in rather spectacular fashion. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? This show is going to be a bust if this keeps up. I could get fired.”
“Exactly. And if I alienate enough customers, Phillip will dump me. If he fires you, it voids the non-compete clause in your contract.” She took my hand and placed it on her arm, patting it as she led me back to our abandoned lattes in the kitchenette.
“Ralph and I decided it’s time for you to open your own gallery, and I want to go with you.”
“You’re destroying your career for me?” I was aghast.
“This is a plot of many layers. After you introduced me to Ralph, we sat around comparing notes. Turns out he knew Amalie back when her name was Amelia.
“Amelia? You’re joking!”
“She’s a 24 karat gold digger. Ralph hates her even more than you do. He’s been hoping something would happen to open Jonathan’s eyes before the wedding. So we sat around drinking beer and dreaming up crazy scenarios, and the more we drank, the wilder they got. Then, all of a sudden, we realized we could pull it off, and the results would have some delightful ramifications. One of which would be to get you out from under Phillip’s thumb.”
“But, darling, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Plausible deniability, sweetie. Besides, you can’t act your way out of a paper bag. Ralph knows the owner of a lovely little space that’s going to be available in two months. It’s near The New Museum. Aren’t you tired of Soho?”
“So this whole ‘emo’ thing you’ve been doing has been an act? I thought I was going to have to get you medicated!”
“‘Fraid so. Do you forgive me?”
I pulled a bottle of Phillip’s special reserve out of the cabinet and poured two shots.
“You know,” David ventured, lifting his glass, “I really must confess, I rather enjoyed the look on Mrs. Vaughn’s face when you told her you’d found the lover who inspired Kiss No. 24, dead in his apartment after his pugs had been dining on him. She’ll never be able to look at her Louie the same way again.”
*
C. A. (Carol Ann) Newsome writes the Lia Anderson Dog Park Mysteries, a series of mysteries inspired by mornings at the Mount Airy Dog Park with her trio of rescues.
She is also an artist with an M.F.A. from the University of Cincinnati. You'll see portraits of some of her favorite four-footed friends on the covers of her books. She enjoys creating community-based public artworks. As an artist, she is best known for her New Leaf Global Good-Will Guerrilla Art Project.
Her other interests include astrology, raw food and all forms of psychic phenomena. She likes to sing to her dogs. The dogs are the only ones who like to listen.
http://canewsome.com
*
Moving On
Anna J. McIntyre
“Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it,” Maddison said as Vincent pulled his car up in front of her townhouse. The sun was just starting to set, and the skeletal figures of the leafless trees lining the quiet street swayed slightly from the breeze.
“Hey, no problem. Anytime.” Vincent put the vehicle in park and reached for the key. He held his hand on it for a moment as if trying to decide if he wanted to turn off the ignition or leave the motor running.
“If you want to…” Maddison was about to ask Vincent to come in for a glass of wine when she glanced toward her townhouse. She had left the front blind open that morning. Her husband, Lucas was standing at the window, watching them. Her unfinished sentence ended in a little gasp of surprise. These days, she never knew when Lucas would show up.
Vincent glanced in the direction of Maddison’s fixed gaze and frowned. He removed his hand from the key and placed it back on the steering wheel. The car’s engine remained running.
“Umm… thanks again.” Without saying another word, Maddison hastily unfastened her seatbelt and hurried to get out from the vehicle.
“Maddison,” Vincent called out just as she was about to close the car door. She stood on the sidewalk. “Are you still going to Cindy and Chad’s New Year’s party?”
Before answering, Maddison glanced from the car back to the townhouse. Lucas was still at the window, looking out, watching.
“I think so,” Maddison told him, yet her tone was uncertain. “Thanks again, Vincent.”
He flashed a sad smile, then put his car in drive and pulled away from the sidewalk.
Instead of going immediately to her front door, Maddison stood by the side of the road and watched him drive away.
She had known Vincent since high school. He and Lucas had been best friends. The two had joked about being brothers separated at birth, which Maddison had always found amusing considering they looked—and acted—nothing alike. Lucas was tall and dark with brooding brown eyes and darker hair. In high school, he’d been a member of the band; in college, he’d studied music and gone on to be a music teacher.
Vincent was the high school quarterback, and while he pursued law in college instead of football, he remained active in recreational sports, which kept him physically fit. His sandy-colored hair, clear blue eyes and perpetually tanned complexion made him look like he belonged on the beach rather than in the courtroom.
When Maddison married Lucas a week after graduating from college, Vincent was best man. When Vincent married Cheryl a year later, Lucas was his best man. The two couples were inseparable—spending holidays and vacations together. It came as quite a shock to Maddison when Vincent’s wife asked for a divorce. A week after the divorce was finalized, Cheryl married her boss.
While Maddison no longer saw Vincent’s ex-wife, he remained a constant in her life. Until recently, the thought of Vincent as anything but a platonic friend was never a consideration. Yet, all that had changed.