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“Not really,” I said. “I finished the paintings weeks ago. Jane’s doing all the work.”
“I’ll bet she is,” he said and took another drag.
I shifted in my chair. “Well…you look good. And I heard about your Paris show. Congratulations!”
“Right. The Paris show.”
I frowned at his morose tone. “You sold out. And the reviews I read were all raves.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was bloody fantastic. The press was very involved and asking me all sorts of questions, such as, ‘Where is your agent?’ and ‘Hey, wasn’t your agent here a moment ago?’”
“I’m sure Jane knew you were killing it and didn’t need her.”
“Yeah, andI’m sureJane sniffed the Next Big Thing—you—and jumped across the Channel to snatch it.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Bloody hell, listen to me. Whining like a wanker when I’m actually pleased to bits about your show.”
“Thanks, I— ”
“But you know how it is,” he said, pulling another smoke from his pack and talking around it as he lit it. “You get a taste of success and then you’re bloody petrified it’s going to flit away.” His lip curled. “Or jump on a private jet to London. You know what I mean?”
I smiled. “Not really.”
“Well, you’re about to find out,” Vaughn said. “Jane has been plastering the art world with promotional teasers. Little tidbits only, but what I saw was miraculous.” He leaned back in his chair, dragging hard on his smoke. “I never knew. I mean, I knew you were talented but bloody hell, man. How did you come up with that monster?”
“He’s not a monster,” I said a little too sharply. “He’s…someone I know.”
Vaughn’s eyes widened. “He exists, this muse of yours. Who is he? Boyfriend?”
“No, he’s…”
I had no idea how to finish that sentence. Over the past few months, things had been mostly business as usual with Ambri. I painted his portrait during the day, the demonic paintings at night, and filled the in-between hours with my side project: drawings of him at his most human. As he had looked at the windowsill when I’d been sick. I’d filled a sketchbook with them, and to me, it was the most beautiful work I’d ever done. I had an inkling that they’d someday be something more, but I couldn’t see what. Not yet.
In the meantime, Ambri and I talked and had a few laughs, but his impending departure felt like it was screaming toward me like a freight train, and I couldn’t get off the track.
“He’s a friend,” I finished lamely, but Vaughn didn’t appear to be listening anyway.
“You’re on the precipice, Cole. Your show’s going to be a smash. But let me tell you, the higher you go, the thinner the air. You catch my meaning? I’ve only just had a taste of success, and I’m already quite certain it’s slipping away.”
“But…why?”
“Because of you.”
I sat back in my chair. “Me? You’re a realist. I do portraits. And it doesn’t matter anyway. For God’s sake, Vaughn,ArtForumsaid you could be the next Andrew Wyeth.”
“I know, that’s why it’s so bloody maddening!” He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I’m being tricked by my own brain. Plagued by thoughts that tell me I’m an imposter and there’s no room for me now that there’s you.”
“I haven’t even had a show yet.” I offered a smile. “To paraphrase Mark Twain, reports of my success are greatly exaggerated.”
Vaughn didn’t crack a smile. “Oi, fuck me, I’ve gone mental. Don’t listen to a word I’m saying.”
“Hey,” I said, reaching across the table and capturing his wrist with my hand. “Those thoughts you’re having? They’re bullshit. They’re…demons whispering in your ear. Don’t feed them by listening. I know it’s hard, but I’ve been there; it can get really fucking scary.”
He nodded absently. “I know, you’re right. You’re right. But the bitch of it all is that I thought success was the end of wanting more, but I fear it’s actually the beginning.” He stubbed out his smoke and tossed a few quid on the table. “I have to run. I’ll see you Saturday, Cole.”
“Thanks, Vaughn. It means a lot that you’d come.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Oh, and tell Jane that Vaughn says hi. VaughnRitter,in case she’s forgotten.”
I was on the Tube on the way back to the flat. Lucy and Cas were due to arrive that morning on a redeye from New York. I’d finally meet this mysterious guy of hers and hopefully convince Ambri to meet them. And because my heart had stupidly chained itself to his, my imagination concocted every kind of scenario where the four of us went out on double dates, or traveled together, or had dinner parties where Lucy and I—who’d both suffered our own brands of crushing loneliness—would look across the table and know for sure the other was safe and happy at last.
