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Pop didn’t like her to work the really bad scenes, so probably sixty percent of her work was at home, doing the social media stuff, the advertising, answering the few press queries they got. Really, it was a part-time job for which she drew a full-time salary, as well as whatever equity she had in the business.
She had time to do something she liked better, and HRC gave her financial room to not have to make a ton of money at the side gig. “I have a weird idea. Maybe a terrible idea, but definitely a weird one.”
Michelle gave her a smile and her full attention. “Well, you know I like weird.” She leaned in and in an evil co-conspirator’s voice added, “Go on ...”
“You know that closed up little shop by the Thai place? By the Riverwalk?”
“That thing that’s like ten feet wide? Like a retail hallway?”
“Exactly. It’s narrow but deep, and it’s got those brick walls on both sides.” Confusion was carving deep furrows into her friend’s brow, so Lyra hurried on. “When Pop and everybody were looking at real estate for the club, I asked their agent, Patrick, about it. Even though it’s right off the Strip, it’s not that much to rent. The space is so weird they have trouble putting anybody in it, and we could get it pretty cheap.”
“Okay, but why? Not for your mom’s shop. Her garage is way nicer than that dump.”
“No, not for my mom. For us.”
“Huh?”
“I started thinking about this because Zach keeps saying my art is good enough to sell. He really likes my photorealistic stuff.”
“Because it’s brilliant, and he’s right.” As Lyra’s idea dawned on her, Michelle’s eyes widened to circles. “You want to do a gallery?”
“Sort of? Not just for my stuff—most of my stuff isn’t much better than doodles.” Ignoring Michelle’s scoff, Lyra went on, “but, like, maybe a collective? There’s a ton of artists around here, potters and sculptors, painters and photographers. We could do a consignment kind of thing, I guess, but I was thinking more like a ... membership. Like, artists pay dues to display their work, and maybe we could have some studio stuff in the back—like some photographic production equipment, a framing table, a mat cutter, maybe some drying shelves. Stuff it’s hard to have when you’re working out of your house.” Michelle was still simply gawking at her, so she added, “I did a little bit of research, and I think I could get us started with my savings.”
“You’ve been saving for your dream house.”
“I know. But we’re young. I’ve got time to save for a house.” Also, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be buying a house on her own anymore. Zach earned well, and since they’d exchanged the L word, they’d done some light future talk. “Maybe this is a new dream.”
Finished with her tacos, Michelle wadded up the papers and arranged them in the cardboard tray the tacos had come in. She took a long, noisy sip of her soda.
“It’s a cool idea, but I don’t see how it addresses my lack of employment. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, as you very well know.”
It was true. Michelle even had trouble making stick figures not look deformed—seriously, she couldn’t figure out how long to make the arms or legs, so her stick figures always looked like their feet were attached to their knees and their arms could wrap around the globe.
“No, true. But you’re very good with math and you’ve got lots of experience working with the public. Also, I have HRC, so I couldn’t do anything else full time. I was thinking you could manage the place—I could add the gallery to my to-do list when I do advertising stuff, like, recruit the artists, and you could handle the memberships and the customers and whatever. We could both do the gallery show stuff, if it gets going enough for that to happen.” Feeling her cheeks heat with an abashed blush, Lyra added, “I thought of a name: Mira Gallery—the first two letters of your name, and the last two of mine.”
“Shit, you mapped out a whole business plan.”
“Hardly. Just ... things are changing lately. Most of my life, I’ve felt like nothing would ever be different until I died, but for the last couple of months, everything’s different. Some bad stuff, but lots of good stuff, too. And ... I don’t know. It made me think about what I want. What I’d ... enjoy, I guess. I’d enjoy being in business with you.”
“I don’t have savings, Ly. You know I give everything I can to my mom. I mean, shit, I’m still driving Grover. I can’t buy a business with you. And I need to earn an actual paycheck.”
Grover was the car Michelle’s father had fixed up for her sixteenth birthday: a 1978 Ford Country Squire station wagon. It had once been her grandmother’s car, and had come out of the showroom a bright metallic blue—hence the name—with faux wood siding, but age and the desert had worked their will, so now the whole thing was a kind of mottled light grey with occasional glimpses of blue. Like a mostly cloudy sky. That ridiculous dinosaur was running on prayers and curses these days.
“I know,” Lyra replied. “I was thinking—and I don’t know if this will work, but it’s a thought I had—that I could get us started, like I said, and you’d draw a salary for managing. You could, I don’t know, pay a little bit in installments toward buying in a half share? Or maybe just make a promise to pay when the money starts coming in? Or maybe I’d take the profits until I earn back the outlay, and then once I’m paid back, we split 50-50?” She shrugged. “If that’s a thing. Reed could help us figure out the money stuff.”
Lyra had run out of ways to explain her idea, but Michelle just sat there, staring. Another big truck roared past and blew their hair around their faces while they held down the detritus of their lunch. This time, Michelle didn’t whip around to flip off the back of the truck. She just stared at Lyra.
And then she grinned. “Mira Gallery, huh? You and me. Could be cool.”
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~oOo~
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When Lyra got homethat afternoon, her mind was busy. She was thinking of Tommy’s funeral, and funerals in general. She was thinking of the Bulls and the funeral for Jason, and what it foretold that the Laughlin Bulls had already lost a patch before they even had a clubhouse. She was thinking of Zach, of how happy she was to have him, and how scared she was of losing him. She was thinking of her idea for the gallery, which had become a legit plan while she and Michelle sat by the taco truck. And she was doing a mental tour of the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner and if she had enough to feed her army. It was becoming a Thing that the entire MC showed up like Dickensian orphans every night around dinner time.
With all that going on in her head, she was almost at the front door when it occurred to her she’d seen ...
