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“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” I correct him and he looks up. He looks startled when we make eye contact and looks away quickly.
I stifle my sigh of frustration and turn back to Nadia.
“The fame or notoriety I can do without, but to have the chance to paint for a living, I’d love it. It was a dream when I was a kid. I work two jobs and only teach that class on Saturday mornings, but I would love to be able to teach more and paint more. Also, I know people like looking at my art, but have no idea if anyone would actually want to buy it.”
“I’d pay for a portrait. In fact, I would love to be your first commission,” Nadia says.
I wave her off. “You don’t have to pay me. I’d love to paint you.”
“Oh my God, you need to stop giving your art away. Let me be your patron. I’m made of money. My advisor told me to make a budget…and I was like, why?” She rolls her eyes and pops an olive into her mouth.
Penn drops her head into her hands with a loud groan. “Oh Nadia, what am I going to do with you?”
Nadia’s eyebrows draw together. “What? It’s true. I mean, Forbes told the whole world how much money I made last year, so it’s not like it’s a secret.”
“Well, then how about you take some of that money and go down to Momufuku and get some of that Crack Pie,” Ryan drawls and comes to standing. I find their pairing so wonderful. Talk about opposites attracting. He has barely taken his eyes off her all night. And she can’t keep her hands off him.
“I don’t know how you stay so fit with the way you eat,” Nadia grumbles but takes his outstretched hand with a smile on her face.
“Anybody else want a slice?” Nadia asks the group.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Only the most delicious pie in the world,” Nadia gushes. “It’s just sugar and butter and salt and flour all gooey and delicious and addictive.”
“It was Loren’s favorite,” Penn says, her eyes dancing as if she’s remembering something wonderful.
“Carter and I had our monthly quota a couple nights ago,” Porsha says
“Beth and I will have some,” Dina says brightly.
“Get a whole one, Nad, I’ll make tea.” Penn moves to the kitchen.
They say their goodbyes.
“Is Chai okay?” Penn asks and stands to head to the kitchen.
“Oh, yes, I can help,” I offer and stand.
“No, sit, relax and I’ll be right back.”
“So, when’s the last time you saw each other before the other night,” Joe asks.
“Two years ago. In Texas. She painted me.” Carter says, his voice is flat, but has a combative edge. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, he’s leaning back, his phone in front of his face.
The prickle of unease makes my throat dry.
“She did?” Joe asks, sounding intrigued.
He nods, without looking up. “Blue piano and all.”
“Oh, I’d love to see it” Joe says.
“Oh, it’s at my studio.”
He finally looks at me and his eyes are bloodshot, as if he’s been crying, but completely dry. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Something has upset him. Badly.
