The Medium of Desire Page 22
“When you said you were on a Tinder date.”
“Yes.”
“You just said that to hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“That girl was my sister.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I’m not lying to you. She was in town for like 24-hours. I can probably get her to send me her flight itinerary.”
“What about that night you went home with Carol?”
“You pushed us together.”
“You failed the test.”
“You shouldn’t have tested me. You told me you were going on Tinder dates. We’ve talked about this. We have a lot of history after that. Why are you bringing it up now?”
“Because you’re dating Carol.”
“I’m something with Carol, but it’s not what I want. It’s just what I have.”
Olivia growled, balled her fingers into fists, released, and balled them again. She took two steps away and paused, before turning and walking back.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Brett said. “I made my play for you. You rejected it. You don’t have any right to be upset with me for inviting you into my life.”
“Sell me the painting.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want?” Olivia asked.
Brett sat up, crossed his arms and looked away with squinted eyes.
“Would you be open to giving it another chance?” she asked.
He laughed out loud and rolled to his feet. She started along beside him.
“I mean, I’m in a good place right now. I just landed a big contract. After that day at Secco, I couldn’t paint for weeks. Do you know what it does to me to not be able to paint?”
If he didn’t want to get his heart broken, he could have not hooked up with someone else, well he didn’t hook up with anyone else, well he did but it was complicated, and he did invite her to live with him and he was being really genuine now, and maybe she had really messed everything up, but she couldn’t be totally held to blame because she’d acted on bad information, because she’d been insecure. If it was going to work, she needed to live without a doubt in the world. She felt sick at the thought she’d been responsible for him being unable to paint. She felt sick she hadn’t been stronger. The earth wobbled, her stomach turned, and she felt like throwing up.
“No, I didn’t know,” she said.
“Shouldn’t you already be gone to San Francisco? Don’t you have some shiny new job waiting for you?”
“Maybe that’s not what’s best for me.”
“Finance is your path.”
“Path to what, you know? I mean what’s the ultimate goal? Isn’t it to be happy? I see myself going out to San Francisco, working long hours, making great money, sure, but if I go down that road when will I let myself live? What would living look like once I got that success? I’ll tell you what success, real success looks like when I close my eyes: it looks like Olivia Martin with Brett Bale. It looks like me with you. Why go to all that trouble in San Francisco, and wherever else I have to go, when I could enjoy life with you here, now. That is, if I could convince you to give me another chance.”
They stood together in silence, in the middle of Monument Avenue standing on the grass, surrounded by trees and cobble stone roads and post-antebellum mansions, passing cars and singing birds and the heat of the furnace of the sun that you occasionally feel burning when you let yourself feel everything, in those moments lived without fear of repercussion or loss or the breath of gravity on your neck, a moment when time stands still, giving us an opportunity to consciously arrange the pieces of our life.
“I’m not going to sell you that painting.”
A punch to the gut. Okay. She had played and lost. She felt alone and disoriented and wasn’t sure where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do. Cars whizzed by. The sky, seemingly unhinged, started spinning. He had offered her a golden opportunity, and she’d basically told him to shove it, and now she knew how good things could have been. But she couldn’t go back.
“Okay,” she said. She wanted to run away, wanted this terrible moment to end as soon as possible. She switched the manual, held herself upright, and started to turn away.
“But,” he said, “You could look at it every day, if you’d come live with me.”
She went to brush her fingers through his hair but instead just grabbed him, pulling him close and showering him with kisses. She wasn’t going to say no twice.
Epilogue
In a taxi in route to the big L’ouverture in Soho with Paco, Salina, and Olivia, Brett watched Olivia’s face light up when she caught a glimpse of the fountain at Washington Square Park.
“How does it feel to be back?” Brett asked.
Olivia didn’t respond, perhaps lost in a memory. Paco and Salina were speculating about the review of Paco’s food cart that was set to drop imminently.
“Or we can talk about it later,” Brett whispered.
“I didn’t tell Cleo I was coming back to town,” Olivia said.
“Why not?”
Olivia laughed. “I think I vaguely thought I was going to surprise her, but if I’m being honest, I think I was anxious I was going to run into other work people and be sucked back into my shitty old life.”
“You’re afraid your old boss is going to chain you to your desk?”
Olivia laughed. “Something like that.”
“Do you miss it here?”
“You know what? Aside from Cleo, I don’t.”
“You should call her.”
“I would, but it’s such a short trip.”
“Invite her to the show. Invite her out afterwards.”
“It’s such late notice.”
“If she can’t make it tonight, let’s stay another day.”
“You could stay away from Richmond that long?”
Brett winked. His phone buzzed and he looked down to read his new email.
“Paco’s review just posted online,” Brett said.
“Is it bad?” Paco asked. He tugged an ear lobe and winced. “I don’t want to hear it if it’s bad.”
Brett held up a finger, silencing Paco, while he finished reading the article. He didn’t need long.
“It was short. It was bad?” Paco asked.
“Do you want me to tell you how I feel about it, or just read it to you?”
“Read it,” Salina said. “I bet it’s great.”
“Tucked away in one of the Fan’s secret gardens, Paco’s kebobs are worth walking down the wrong alley twenty times. I walked down a few before finding the jolly proprietor, and even though I was late getting to a meeting, I’ve already made plans to go there again tomorrow.”
Paco started breathing hard. “You think my spot’s too tough to find?”
“No,” Brett said. “I think the guy’s saying he enjoyed the food and the adventure.”
“Are you sure?” Paco asked.
“Yes!” Everyone yelled in unison.
While everyone listened with eager ears, Brett finished reading the review.
Salina petted Paco on the lap and kissed him on the cheek.
“I like the part where they said they choke on my portions,” Paco said.
“It didn’t say that,” Brett said.
Everyone laughed.
“I’ll make sure the next review does,” Paco said severely.
Salina pulled a wet bottle of champagne from her purse, and circulated a stack of Styrofoam coffee cups around the vehicle.
“Why is the bottle wet?” Brett asked.
“Because it’s been on ice,” Salina retorted. “If you don’t want any, I’m fine to drink yours.”
“No, no, I’ll have some champagne. Just can’t believe you’d risk water damage to your fancy purse, especially on opening night. Just think of all the power brokers,” Brett said.
Salina laughed. “A little water doesn’t ruin leather. Besides, this champagne isn’t just for you and Paco. I got it for
Olivia.”
A questioning look crossed Olivia’s face.
Salina looked to Olivia: “I sold your canyon landscape to a New York collector this afternoon for $1,000.”
Brett laughed. Salina had told him what she had in the works on the flight up. She had told him many things over the years, and now that he was riding with her to his inauguration, he realized how instrumental those formative pieces of wisdom had been throughout the years.
Once the champagne was poured, they all took turns tapping cups. Brett swallowed a big gulp, reclining in his seat, searing the moment in his mind with the deepest, flame thrown etching. He filled in the lines with the most vivid colors he could imagine. He was excited for the night, but if he was being honest, he was just as eager to get back to studio. He was eager to spend the following days with this group.
Excited and eager. That was a good place to be.