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I return to where my father is chatting with one of his friends, and I see a huge bouquet of flowers come bobbing down the hallway. There are white roses and indigo lilies that are set off with the darkest greenery I’ve ever seen a florist use in an arrangement. It looks like something out of a dream garden. The flowers are lowered, and Beck grins at me from above them.
“Congratulations, Lia. You did it.” He hands me the crystal vase and its flowers, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. It’s all very chaste, and I’m not sure if he’s doing this because my father is there or because he is trying to put some distance between us. His face is blank but pleasant, the same one he gives any coworker. Beck smells so good, like his soap and cologne, but also just the scent that is him. My mouth waters as I breathe in that scent, and my mind replays the feeling of him on top of me, inside of me, and I whimper.
He smiles, and I know he heard me. His public persona fractures; hunger burns to life in his eyes, and I can feel the need stretching between us. Beck walks behind me, his fingers trailing over the top of my ass, and I don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking as I lean back into his touch. His mask comes back up as he twists, all in the same smooth movement, greeting my father and his companions. It’s easy to forget that they have been friends, almost by necessity thanks to Tasha and me, for over fifteen years.
I know I’m smiling like an idiot in love… love? I mull over the word as I take the flowers to an empty spot where hors d’oeuvres have already been finished and replenished a few times. Tasha is staring at me when I look up, and heat floods my cheeks at having been caught. She knows me too well to write off my giddiness as being happy about the flowers. I don’t want her to know about Beck and me. She wouldn’t understand. I promised her… My heart aches at the duplicity of the act, is torn by knowing I shouldn’t do it again. Not if I want a chance at keeping my best friend.
The colors of the floral arrangement remind me of something, and I snatch off a velveteen petal from a lily to carry its indigo beauty with me to gallery’s front parlor. There, surrounding the shattered glass and mirrors forming a giant compound eye, are the same shades of night sky as the flowers. I tuck the petal into a gap between a gear and nail. If this piece doesn’t sell, I will try to preserve the flowers and attach them somehow. For me, it will always be the piece that witnessed my first kiss with Beck.
“That’s interesting.” A guy about my age is looking in the mirrors, reading the card posted beside the piece. If not for Beck, I could see myself being interested in this guy. He’s tall, well-built, and has the sort of jawline and sleepy eyes that always caught my attention during college. I explain to him about the recordings and show him how it works. “Are you the artist?” he asks.
“Yes, she is.” Beck is suddenly beside me, a shadow beyond my shoulder. “Lia is very talented.” He is gone just as quickly, but I can smell him long after the admirer has moved on to get a drink and chat with a gallery employee around my age. He was scared off by Beck, it seems. My feelings for him and my dedication to Tasha distract me, and it’s harder to focus on being truly present at the show.
Going back to the sculpture, I peer into the mirrors and straighten my blouse and skirt. I toy with one long curl that has escaped my updo, and I mentally paint a smile onto my face before making my muscles move to match the mental image. Fake it until you make it…
I don’t see Beck again at the show; I’m kept busy with making rounds to talk to prospective buyers and am led by my father to a journalist who is doing a review of my work for the newspaper. It’s been months since I felt a glimmer of hope in my art, and now I feel like a fucking rock star. Buoyant and joyful, I bounce from group to group until the last person leaves and the gallery owner has started to turn off lights. I’m disappointed that Beck didn’t find me to say goodbye before he left, but I know he was exhausted from traveling. At least I get to see him at work tomorrow.
“Lia, what are your thoughts on the show?” the owner asks.
“I think it went great. I know at least a few pieces sold.”
The woman laughs and shows me a stack of receipts. “I have seventeen sales slips here, Lia. You killed it tonight. Do you think you can have enough new pieces for next season’s lineup? We have a few weekend openings for a show. If you want to come in on Monday, we can compare schedules and settle up on what we owe you for the pieces.”
Agreeing, I dance past my portraits and sculptures on my way out the door. Tasha is waiting on me outside and is the first to hear the great news. “They want me back in four months for another show! I sold all but like four pieces!”
Excited for me, Tasha decides we need to celebrate. At least that’s her excuse for not going home yet. Chris is at a party, and after making sure it’s okay for us to crash, we head north. As nice as it is to just lean back into her heated seats and let Tasha drive, I miss having my own car. I miss not needing to borrow one or worry about transportation. Most of all, I miss the sensation of the night air blowing through my hair.
“You are going to look like a troll doll or like you’re doing the walk of shame if you keep that up, Lia. I forgot you are part dog with your need to stick your head out the window on the freeway,” Tasha teases. I can hear in her voice that she’s rolling her eyes at me. I don’t mind. It’s such a gorgeous night, and my heart is light with how well things are turning out.
My fingers smooth my hair back into the clip, and I sing along to the radio with Tasha. It’s easy to forget my worries when I’m with her.
We’re both laughing and more like the us we were before I went to art school. Walking into the stranger’s house glued at the hip, I feel nothing but joy even as I’m abandoned when she goes to find Chris. There are photographs on the wall and tons of symbols, and it takes a while for me to realize we are at a frat house. I avoided them during my years in college, and I’m not thrilled to be at this one now, but to see Tasha so happy, I can deal with almost anything. I perch on the arm of the couch beside them as she sits in Chris’s lap, and we’re chatting about the show, about life… It’s a near perfect ending to the day.
The music changes from something techno to something better for dancing, and Tasha is up and grabbing my hands before I even recognize the song. “Let’s dance, Lia!” Her moods are more up and down than mine!
I barely have a chance to close my water bottle before we find our way on to the dance floor. My skirt isn’t really meant for this, and when I spin, I know I’m showing more thigh than I intend. It’s so easy to lose myself in the beat when Tasha is laughing in front of me.
Chris joins us, arms around Tasha, as the music becomes something a bit more intimate. The three of us dance, and they’re almost grinding. I back up a bit, feeling like a third wheel for the first time since arriving. Looking around for a dance partner or a way to escape, I catch the eye of the guy I met earlier at the gallery. He lifts his chin and winks, draining a beer in one chug before coming over.
