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It’shardbeingbackin New York with a boatload of criticism. After talking to my advisors, whom the art world admires, it’s suspect to many of them where this is coming from. I know what it’s all about. I know the source, and as much as I thought bringing Micola on board would help, there’s a strong possibility that it has hurt me more than anything.
My brother, Arturo, claims it’s the Costas. The same brother I haven’t been thrilled to talk to since he takes the chance to undermine my art career from every angle.
“I think you missed her more than anything. You could have any woman at your disposal, and you decided to pick up old garbage.” His words are like lethal spits to my face.
“Watch your mouth when talking about her,” I respond as we sit across from a bar table in Brooklyn.
“Listen, Alex! There’s no way we can work with them unless we are working for our own demise. We learned this as children, but you still want to run and do whatever you want.”
“I don’t want to be a part of that legacy,” I admit, gripping my beer. I really don’t want to drink it; I’d rather be back in bed in London with Micola’s bare ass next to me.
“Show me this chump.” Arturo moves on, speaking of Simon Bell. He clearly didn’t check out the link I sent him with his info, so I open it up and slide it his way.
His narrow face flinches at the image as he curses, “Fucker. That’s one of Mateo’s friends.”
“It is?” My heart screams.
“This guy is fucking ploy. You’re claiming he wants to work with Micola and her kids in return for what? There is something more he wants. Maybe to destroy you?”
“Where have you seen him before? Where haveIseen him before because I can’t pinpoint it?”
“A few years ago, you came with me to that banquet hall for a birthday party of Lombardi’s eldest daughter. He was there leading an art project with the kids. Dude had on some weird red bifocals, and the kids were reacting to his British accent. Remember?”
My memory perks up as I can finally place the asshole.
“How do you know he’s affiliated with the Costas?”
Arturo sighs. “He literally brought them up. You weren’t around at the time. You were probably checking out some girls knowing you.” Arturo jokes, although there’s no memory or humor to be found in what he’s assuming.
“Well, it’s enough info to make me see the obvious.” I shake my head, taking a sip of the unwanted beer.
“That’s all you want to know?” Arturo looks disappointed, although I’m sure this is what he expected.
“It’s not too late to carry on with another project.”
“Arturo, I literally opened a museum a few days ago. You think I can just up and let it go?”
He shrugs, “What else are you going to do?”
I’m not sure how to answer this. I know the answer doesn’t lie in anything he may suggest. I glance at my phone, hoping Micola has finally responded. Thank god.
I’m at the studio now if you want to stop by.
She’s literally around the corner.
“Look. Let me go, and um…if I need anything else, I’ll let you know.”
I force out a smile, leaving my brother and my beer behind.
Micola scurries to unlock her artist’s door, her hair pulled back in a tight small ponytail. Her big dark brown eyes are soothing and calm as they latch onto mine. She appears to be in a good mood to see me, and with the way my days have been going, this is enough for me.
“Hey!” She pulls the heavy door open. Her daisy yellow dress falls between her thighs and knees; I keep my eyes glued on her face.
“Hey. Long time.” I attempt as a joke to lighten the mood.
“How was your last flight on that jet?” She asks.
“Sad, to be honest.”
