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?????????????????
DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND ABOUT THESE SHADOWS??? What is in the shadows, Starcomet? WHAT?!
Please come to me. I’m crying.
I sighed and texted him.
Sorry, boss. My phone died. On my way home, call you when I’m there.
“I have to go,” I said to Fort. “I’m sorry to rush out.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
He held the hanger with the coat so I couldn’t reach it. “I’ll drive you. No arguments. We need to get you back to the Black Wall before Goodluck’s head explodes.”
It was easier to go in Fort’s car than to wait for a driver or take the subway, even if our conversation during the ride was a little stilted. I knew he wanted to talk about The Gallery, what I’d thought of the whole experience, but it was too much to hash over while I still felt half asleep, so we talked about safer things. Small talk. When he pulled up to the Black Wall, I gathered my coat and uniform.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, turning to open the door.
“Juliet.”
I turned back to him. He wanted to talk, but I was afraid of what I’d say. “I’m sorry, Fort. Please. I have to go. He’s going to get crazier about this whole candle thing before he calms down.”
“Okay. Call me later though, after you’ve…processed.”
Did he want to hash over our experience at The Gallery for sexy thrills? I didn’t think so. He was worried that I was hiding uncomfortable feelings, that I was upset.
“Everything’s fine,” I said, touching his hand on the gearshift. “Let’s talk later.”
I got out of the car and crossed to the stairwell, feeling silly in my sweatpants and stilettos. When I got up to my floor, I found Goodluck crouched beside my welcome mat, cupping his hand around a silver taper candle’s flame.
“You’re going to burn your fingers,” I scolded. “Why don’t you have a holder for that?”
He gave me an accusing look. “The holder is me. Where have you been? I asked you to call me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I shifted my coat to the other hand. “I was out late doing a…a thing.”
“A thing? How late?” He stood, still cupping his candle. “It’s almost one in the afternoon, in case you haven’t noticed. You still have sleep all over your face.”
I knew my eyes were puffier than normal from crying last night. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts. My phone died. Please, Goodluck. Chill out.”
“Chill out?” he said, flinching as if I’d slapped his face. “I experienced things last night that you can’t imagine. I needed to talk to you about it. How long have we worked together? You know that inspiration comes when it comes.”
I rubbed my forehead, wondering how it had come to this. I was tottering on black stilettos in a chilly stairwell in someone else’s clothes while an artist in meltdown-mode chewed me out.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to listen,” I said, even though I wasn’t.
He frowned at me, his ocean-blue eyes filled with emotion. “You have to be here when I need you. I can’t work like this.”
“Look, I’m going to go in and change into some other clothes, and do something with my hair, and then we can talk, okay? I’ll come upstairs and knock.”
“Starcomet!”
“That’s not my name,” I said, struggling with the lock while trying not to drop my coat, or the bag with my uniform. “Don’t catch me on fire. I’ll come upstairs in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” he snapped, like I was the unreasonable one.
I had too much on my mind to deal with his crazy-artist tantrum right now. I went into my apartment and kicked the door shut behind me, juggling the coat as I threw down my keys. I dropped everything on a chair and took off the stilettos, and went into my bathroom, grabbing a pair of pajama pants on the way. I took off Fort’s clothes and put on a bra—a real one, not a peek-a-boo one—then turned around to inspect my butt again in the mirror.
Holy hell, what a mess of bruises and marks. I gingerly prodded one of the bruises. It didn’t hurt that much. The welts were what hurt. I pulled on a pair of thong underwear and turned back to the mirror, splashing water on my hair. I heard the door bang, heard Goodluck’s voice as he entered my living room.
“I need you to call someone about candle modeling. Who was that girl we used last year—” His voice cut off with an ear-piercing shriek.
I’d left the bathroom door open, so he could see me as he skipped down the hall. I spun around, covering my ass.
“Goodluck! Get out of here.”
He gaped at me. “Holy fucking shit!”
“I’m not dressed. Leave!”
But he didn’t leave. He crowded with me into my bathroom, throwing his candle into the sink, where the flame hissed out. “What the fuck happened to you?” Goodluck had gone sheet white. “Holy tears of the goddess. What happened to your butt?”
“Nothing. It was…”
“Oh my God.”
I grabbed Fort’s shirt from the counter and yanked it over my head, its excessive length covering my ass, but Goodluck pushed it up again. He gawked. “You are so, so hurt.”
“I’m not hurt. They look worse than they feel,” I said, pushing his hands away and pulling on my pajama bottoms. “And they were consensual.”
“Consensual with who? The Marquis de Sade?” He let out a soft breath, like my life choices were too awful for him to accept. “Your body is your temple, Juliet. It moves and sustains you. It makes art for the world. How can you hurt your beloved body this way?”
Juliet. He almost never used my given name, so he was using it now to send a message. We were about to have a tragedy, like my namesake. We were going to end up a couple of corpses by the time we were done.
I moved by him, out into the living room where I could have some space to breathe. I wasn’t even sure last night was worth all this. Had The Gallery turned me on? Yes. Did I enjoy it as much as scening with Fort privately?
No. There was something missing, some intimacy or connection, which was probably why Fort liked The Gallery better.
“Are you listening to me?”
Goodluck’s voice brought my head up. “What? What did you say?”
“We can go to the police. Whoever did this—”
“I wanted him to do this.” My words rose over his shocked voice. “For some reason, my body likes to be hurt. I just discovered this. You always talk about discovery, about trying new things, about keeping your soul fresh. I enjoy the way it feels to…to be hurt. It’s called being a masochist.”
He looked more horrified, not less. “Your soul is crying right now. Your body is sick. Your mind is sick if you want that kind of hurt, those bruises, those welts. My God, they’ll leave scars. It’s him, isn’t it?” He ran his hands through his wild hair. “That man from the ad campaign, the one you’ve been running around with, he’s making you think you want this. I told you, he’s worse than Keith. He’s hurting you even worse.”
I put my hands over my ears. “I don’t want to talk about it. What Fort and I do is none of your business.”
“The integrity of your body is my business. You are a human being who must be cared for. You’re my friend.”
He tried to take my hands away from my ears but I held them there harder. Soon we were struggling, pushing at each other like scrapping children. It would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so sad.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I yelled. “I know we’ve had a special, close working relationship. I know you care about me, but Jesus, I need some space right now. If you can’t give me space when I ask for it, then I’ll—”
“What?” he said, interrupting. “What’ll you do, quit? Work for some other artist who’s half as talented as me?”
I covered my eyes. I couldn’t cry now. Goodluck went nuts when I cried. “I don’t want to quit, but I can’t be only yours,” I told him. “You do this every time I date someone. You criticize
and poke into my business. You want me to yourself, so you vilify them.”
“Because they’re all assholes,” he yelled. There was no sign of the serene guru here, just a scary, disapproving boss. “It boils down to this, Juliet: you’re either with me, or you’re against me.”
“This isn’t a war!”
He spoke over me. “I need one hundred percent of you, or…”
Or I don’t want you anymore. He didn’t have to say it. I understood it in his hard, unsympathetic gaze.
“Well, thanks for sharing how you feel,” I snapped. I felt judged and shamed. I felt punished all over again, but this time the pain didn’t turn me on. “Maybe this comet is dying out. These things have a physical life.”
