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“Yes, yes, for sure. Are you planning to come in at all?”
“No, not this week at least.”
He sighs. “It’s probably not the best time anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t hear? We lost power at around five yesterday. We had to use our phones to get down the stairs, and I heard a woman from another floor tripped and sprained her ankle.”
“Was it a Con Ed thing?” In the past five minutes, I’ve said about a hundred times more words to Alejandro than ever before, but I need to know exactly what happened.
“Apparently not. I didn’t stick around, but another tenant called me later and said the super thought the problem originated in the building.”
“But they fixed it?”
He lets out another sigh, louder this time. “They did—but it’s worrisome. The super felt maybe some kids had been in the basement and had messed with the circuit breaker.”
What if it wasn’t kids, though? What if it was the same guy who tried my studio door, and this time he wanted the building all to himself?
24
Now
THAT’S SO SCARY,” I BLURT OUT. “COULD YOU LET ME KNOW IF IThappens again?”
“Yes, of course,” Alejandro says. “Please don’t worry. And I’ll keep an eye on your door.”
My heart’s racing as I hang up. I grab my tote bag, wish Tuna goodbye, and head out. All I want right now is to lose myself in my search for materials.
I’ve made it only a few blocks west when my phone rings and Josh’s name is on the screen.
“So tell me,” he says after we’ve greeted each other. “How did the interview with James Tremlin go?”
“Okay, I think.” I cringe a little, recalling how awkward my coffee with the writer actually was. “Did you hear anything about it?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure you were great. Listen, I also wanted to arrange a time for the two of us to go over the installation before the opening. We’re hanging the pieces Monday when the gallery is closed, so what about eleven Tuesday morning, right when we open?”
Wow, this is all really happening. My art is about to hang on the wall for the world to see, or at least the little world of downtown Manhattan gallery browsers.
“That sounds fine,” I say.
“Good. This way it will give me time to make adjustments if there’s anything you hate about the positioning—but I promise, you’re going to love what I have in mind. Anyone who comes into the gallery that day can place an order, but the official opening isn’t until that night, of course.”
The idea of the party still terrifies me, but I can’t deny how excited I am about the actual show.
“I know you mentioned that your family was coming to the opening,” Josh adds. “Are you planning to celebrate with them later?”
“Unfortunately, no. They have to get back to Connecticut.”
I hope my voice doesn’t betray that I’ve been throwing myself a little pity party about this detail.
“That’s a shame. But why don’t you come out to dinner with me and some friends I’ve invited to the opening? You need to be toasted.”
The invitation catches me completely off guard, and I feel my cheeks instantly redden.
“That’s so nice of you, Josh. Um...” The idea of going straight home to Tuna after the opening depresses me, and it would be great to mark the occasion in some way, but it would be even worse for me to sit around a restaurant table with a whole bunch of strangers.
“It will just be four of us,” Josh says to my relief.
