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Butterflies are going wild in my stomach. This is far from my first show, but I feel like a student again, presenting my work for the first time.
Orlando did a great job, placing the pieces just right. Not that it’s a surprise, he’s co-owned a handful of galleries with my friend Mandi for years, so we’ve worked together before and he knows what he’s doing.
And as much as I’d love to see Mandi, I’m glad she decided to stay home tonight.
Last time we saw each other, I was leaving her house to get my car from Lee’s after the wholehe’s marriedthing. And now… I glance down at my still wildly sparkly ring. Well, now, I’m married to the man who was sitting on her couch during that whole altercation. And no matter how you cut it, three weeks is awfully quick to go from being strangers to being spouses.
I blow out a breath and try to focus on today.
This gallery is mostly just one white-washed room, with high ceilings and two movable, partition walls that are currently set up at opposing angles in the center of the room, each side showing off one of my four largest paintings.
It’s clean, contemporary, and even though I can’t stop feeling like I’m gonna gag from nerves, I know it’s the perfect way to showcase this collection.
“Would you like a glass of wine while we wait for the doors to open?”
I’m shaking my head before Orlando even finishes his question. “I think I’ll just go to run cold water over my wrists, and maybe throw up.”
He laughs, and I don’t miss him lifting a hand, like he’s going to pat my shoulder, only to drop it again. “I’ll make sure to yell for you when it’s time.”
And I have to wonder if he was remembering what King said about breaking arms.
* * *
My hands are sweating sobad, I’m surprised they’re not dripping when Orlando unlocks the door, allowing the line of people inside.
It still blows my mind that anyone cares enough about my art to come to a live showing, let alone to come early and get in line. But a lot of that credit goes to Mandi and Orlando, since they’re out in the world working hard to build hype.
I stand in my usual spot in the middle of the room, next to one of the partial walls, so people can choose to either come talk to me, or wander through the room.
And when the nerves kick up a notch, and I have nowhere to put my hands, I curse myself for picking pants without pockets. I choose these bright red, high-waisted and wide-legged pants for the drama, but I didn’t consider the panic attack it’d be having while wearing them. But at least my white lacy top shouldn’t show any of the stress sweat I’m sure I’ll be covered with in no time.
Orlando’s offer of wine is sounding more and more like a good idea…but if I start drinking now, I’ll end up drunk.
Voices start to fill the room as people stream in. And finally, as I look for King in the crowd, I admit that he’s the reason I’m so nervous.
I mean, I’m always a little nervous, but this…
This is… different.
Because I really want him to like everything.
Because I want him to be impressed.
Because he’s told me that the world needs my art.
People are still entering the door, when Orlando checks his phone, then walks over to one of the six foot paintings and places a round sticker on the tag next to the frame designating the price. He gives me a wink, then goes back to greeting the newcomers.
Mandi had convinced me to do a set on an extra-large scale, and Orlando convinced me to price them five-figures.
I swallow.
I can’t believe I sold one.
When I decided to paint a whole collection of lions’ heads, I did it because it was fun. Because it gave me a little freedom to decide if they’d have their eyes open or closed, mouths open or closed. Manes flowing in the wind or laying flat.
But now when I look at them, all I can think about is King.
“Wow!” a voice next to me exclaims.
