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I take a tentative step closer, then another. And finally it comesinto focus. Stamped in the lower-right corner, on an old photograph I’d used as part of the collage, is the wordwhore.
I reel back, horrified. It’s the same stamp mark as the one on the note I was left. Before I can think, I wheel around, letting my eyes go from piece to piece.
The wordwhorehas been stamped on every single one of them.
30
Now
ICLAMP MY HANDS OVER MY EYES AND LET OUT A WAIL OF DISTRESS.This can’t be happening.It can’t be happening.I’m going to release my hands and find out I’ve imagined the whole thing.
I hear footsteps—from two different directions. Someone touches my shoulder. As I lower my hands, I see that it’s Josh. Nell is on the other side of me, and they’re both asking if I’m okay. I open my mouth, but I can’t catch a breath long enough to speak.
“Nell, get her some water,” Josh orders, and she scurries away. He puts a comforting arm around me.
“Skyler, what is it?” he urges.
“I-I...” Nothing else comes out. I feel swamped by both panic and despair, like I’m on the top of a fog-covered mountain and have no idea how to find my way down. I slip out of Josh’s hold and point to the stamp mark on the nearest collage. He shifts his attention to the spot.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims.
Still unable to summon the words, I jab my finger at the othercollages. Josh begins to circle the room, running his gaze over each piece as his eyes widen with alarm.
Nell returns with a cup of water and I attempt a few sips, but my hands are so shaky half the liquid splashes onto the front of my sweater. She brushes at the wool with one hand, flicking off the water, and then joins Josh by the wall, clearly confused as to what’s going on.
“Oh my god,” she blurts out, then looks back at me. “This isn’t something you added, is it?”
“No, it’s not something she fuckingadded,” Josh snaps. “Someone obviously came into the gallery and defaced them. Was there anyone acting weird or out of the ordinary today?”
Nell clasps her long thin arms to her chest, as if she’s suddenly cold, and shakes her head. “Not that I noticed. But of course I can’t see people what people are doing back here.”
“Was anyone in here by themselves?” he asks.
As I try not to hyperventilate, she stares at the floor, clearly searching her memory. “Uh, a few people. A woman with a little dog. And a couple of different guys on their own. But no one for a very long, or I would have come back to check it out.”
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” I ask Josh. Though I’m finally able to speak, it comes out as a pathetic squeak.
“Uh, I guess. I don’t think we should have them comenow, at the start of the show, but I’ll call the precinct first thing tomorrow.” He looks back at Nell. “Give us a few minutes, okay?” he says bluntly. “And lock the front door. If anyone comes early for the party, don’t let them in.”
As soon as she rounds the partition, Josh steps closer to me again.
He’s visibly shaken. “Skyler, I know this is horrible, but we’re going to work this out, okay?”
Sure, my collages are ruined and everything I’ve hoped for has turned to shit, but we’ll work it out, right?
I shake my head. “But how?”
“We’re insured, needless to say, and I’ll help you get the collages repaired. But first we have to talk about how we’re going to handle this tonight.”
There can’t be a show, of course—at least of my pieces.
“I-I have to call my family,” I say, suddenly picturing them walking over from the parking garage at this very minute. “I have to let them know not to come.”
Josh lifts his hand in ahold ongesture. He taps a fist against his lips a couple of times and strides around the room, quickly examining each piece again. At the last one, he pauses and rocks back on his heels. “Wild card idea,” he says. “It’s really far out there, but I want to salvage the show if we can, and we’ve got twenty minutes.” He glances back at me. “What if you took a black marker and just blotted out each of the stamp marks? It could seem like part of each collage and—and even unify them as series.”
I gulp for air, trying to fight off the panic, which is coming now in waves.
“I want to fix this, too,” I say, “but it wouldn’t make any sense to have an ugly black rectangle on each piece. What point would it be trying to make? Besides, even with a marker, the letters might bleed through.”
