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I was furious about it all. For where I came from, what I had said to Mya, and for what Mya had done to me. There was no end to my anger. No words that would ease the pain I felt. Betrayal was the most complicated emotion to deal with.
I could deal with rejection. Eventually, you got over it. I could deal with loss, with not being loved. But betrayal was worse. Betrayal came from someone who made you believe you could trust them. Where you thought that you were essential to them—that they cared as much for you as you did for them.
Betrayal tore into not only your heart but your soul and the very essence of your life. How did you get over that? Could you overcome betrayal? I didn’t think so.
I thought that Mya was different. Hell, I had even fallen in love with her and wanted to tell her at the grand opening. I hadn’t planned it, hadn’t wanted it to happen, but it had. She had become part of me. The best part, yet as I drove, I wondered what that said about me. If she were the best, just how shitty was I?
I was tempted to cancel everything, but that was spiteful and would ruin what I had planned. How had I received over sixty thousand dollars in donations for the orphanage without even knowing? How was that possible?
Were they right? Would my story of growing up link me to people willing to help? People who would be willing to give more, pay more to help other children?
Once I got home, I got on my computer and started looking at my social media accounts. I checked the donation page and found that it was up to almost seventy thousand dollars.
I spent hours reading the comments, sometimes even replying to them. By the time I pushed my computer away after lunch, the money raised was nearing ninety grand, and I was beginning to see that maybe they had been right all along.
No, I wasn’t keen on people knowing the details of my private life, but maybe because it was out there, it would help. There had even been a couple of people who said they too had been there, and they remembered me. They thanked me for what I was doing and wished me the best.
That afternoon, I received a phone call from the director at the orphanage. Ronald Parker was overwhelmed with the support and generosity of the people and wanted to thank me and invite me to visit the children anytime I wanted.
I was moved by what Ron said and promised them that we would soon sit down and figure out the best way to spend the money. When I hung up the phone, I went into my studio and stared at the two wrapped paintings I had excluded from the show.
I unwrapped them and set them up on the easels, sitting back on a stool and looking from one to the other. Broken Angel Wings was a perfect title for the second piece. Had I painted that as a premonition of what was to come? Had I known that someone as perfect as Mya would break me?
I sighed and turned the pictures around to face the wall. With a heavy heart, I turned off the lights and closed the door to the studio.
The show was even more incredible than I could have imagined. I sold eighteen finished pieces and had eleven more commissioned for private sittings.
Unbeknownst to me, the prices had been raised due to the interest of my cause. I brought in a staggering half a million dollars in my first show. Douglas said that was the most he had ever seen a new artist do at a first event and invited me to take a wall in his gallery for exclusive pieces.
The fundraiser not associated with the gallery show raised almost two hundred thousand within two weeks. One hundred percent of that was going to the orphanage, and they said that local direct donations had risen over one hundred percent.
As much as I didn’t want to thank Milt, I did. I also told him that I would finish the following two shows already booked with him and then terminate my contract per agreement. I was already putting my feelers out for a new agent, and Douglas said he’d help me find the right one.
During the next two months, I spent my time painting to prepare for the shows. I continued to let Rebecca handle my social media, but I didn’t speak with any of them unless something was needed. I also didn’t see Mya around.
I made sure to leave the building when I knew she would be working and return when I felt she would be safely tucked inside her apartment for the night.
Ironically, at my first show, a man named Tyler Downs approached me and said that he had one of my paintings. I asked him where he got it and said that Buck had sold it to him. I tried to keep the anger out of my voice and asked him if he remembered how much he had paid for the piece. He told me he’d paid twenty thousand.
I almost lost my mind, and I explained to him why I was asking. He told he me that he would be happy to supply me with the receipt from the purchase so I could use it in court.
That made a huge difference because when my attorney asked Belinda if she was aware of that, she got agitated and finally admitted that, yes, Buck had kept the extra money. The judge finalized my divorce and didn’t give her a penny extra. I now had a civil suit against Buck for the paintings he sold, where he pocketed over seventy-five percent of the money.
Things were going well, and a week before my second show Douglas called me. “I think I have an agent for you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and I’d like you to come to my gallery and meet them. Could you do that tomorrow evening after it closes?”
“I could.”
“There is one stipulation, though.”
I chuckled. “What’s that?”
“I will only introduce you if you let me display those two angel paintings in my gallery.”
I rubbed my jaw. “I’m not sure about that, Douglas.”
