“Oh yeah, aren’t those great?” Brad says. “Lin made those especially for this exhibit, if you can believe that. She and Audra go way back. Wayyyyy back, if you catch my drift. Wayyyyyyyyyyyyyy back.”
As Katie marvels at the cranes, Brad takes the pieces I’ve chosen out of the portfolio and spreads them on the table.
“Ooh!” he says. “Oh yes. Hmmm. Fierce. Very fierce.”
Katie is pretending not to be listening, but it’s obvious that she is. I turn to another wall to find a series of sketches of two men kissing. It starts when they are young—probably twelve or thirteen—and then, gradually, they age. Almost year by year. They’re my age. Then they’re older than me. And older. Their haircuts change. (One of them goes from blond to brunette to something in-between.) Their faces alter slightly, starting full, then narrowing, then regaining the fullness in a different way. The one thing that doesn’t alter is the intensity of the kiss.
There isn’t any explanation. Just the artist’s name, Nic Pierce. But I don’t think I need an explanation. I know, instinctively, that this has happened, that this is true. Nic Pierce found it. The kiss that lasts for years.
“Wow!” Brad says. I turn my head and see he’s gesturing Katie over. I go over, too, because I feel she wants me by her side.
“These are so fierce,” Brad tells her. “I mean, so, so fierce.”
“Fierce,” Katie repeats. “To be honest, I don’t even know what that means.”
“Ha! You are so adorable. The bottom line—and I’m a bottom, so I’d know, ha!—is that Audra loves your work. Adores it. Have you sprung fully formed from the head of Cindy Sherman? No. Is your work on par with, say, Lin Chin’s? Ha! But you have more promise in your little finger than most people have in their heads, and Audra just loves how many followers you have. Buzz always greases the wheels of art, and our wheels need all the lubrication they can get! You leave these with me and I will get them framed lickey-split—I know a guy who owes me some favors, and his framing’s better than any of the other favors he could offer, ha! It’s too late for us to get you in the catalog—sorry about that—but we can send out a release pronto that you’ve been added to the show, and the hits will follow. I promise: The hits will definitely follow.”
“Can I have a minute to talk with my manager?” Katie asks.
“Sure!” Brad chirps. “Especially since he’s cute as a butt. I mean, button. Ha!”
Katie yanks me over to the front of the gallery. We’re now near a wall that has what I’d call the c word written in different fonts. It’s very strange to see it in Comic Sans, but I guess that’s the point.
“It is very unclear to me whether they are truly interested in my art, or are simply interested in my followers,” Katie tells me. “And it’s also very unclear to me whether that matters.”
“I think he genuinely likes it,” I tell her. “I mean, he finds it fierce.”
“Catwoman is fierce. Cate Blanchett playing an assassin is fierce. Lady Macbeth is fierce. I’m not sure my art is supposed to be fierce.”
“He did say wow. That’s less ambiguous, right?”
“I just don’t know if I’m ready for this. Am I ready for this?”
I want to tell her, How am I supposed to know? I want to point out to her that the only reason I’ve even looked at the lit mag was because I knew it would mean a lot to Ryan if I did. I want to pass the buck to someone who knows her better.
But I also want to tell her what she needs to hear. So I simply say, “Yes. You’re ready for this.”
She doesn’t question my credentials. She doesn’t thank me. She just nods and says, “Violet thought I was going to be in an art show. Now I’m going to be in one. I can’t accept it, but I will anyway.”
“That’s the spirit,” I tell her.
“Are we good?” Brad calls out.
“We’re good!” Katie calls back.
Brad squees, then says, “Ooh, Audra will be so pleased. She has such an eye for talent. Such an eye. This will make her so happy. And when Audra’s happy, we’re all happy! No wire hangers! Ha. I think I’m going to break out some sparkling apple cider. Who’s in?”
“We are!” I tell him.
He runs into the back room and returns with three plastic cups and a bottle.
“It’s always good to have something on hand for special celebrations with the underage!” Brad proclaims. At first it looks like he’s going to open the bottle over the table where Katie’s art is lying, but she body-blocks him. Which is good, because when he pops the cork, the contents geyser onto the floor. “Ooh, that’s always happening to me!” he giggles.
Eventually he gets some into the cups. As he does, I tell Katie, “I’m excited to be here. This is a big moment, right? Your first gallery showing.”
“This is happening, isn’t it?”