by Zoey Castile
“Tell me, Lena,” she says in that very serious way of hers, tapping the gold wire of her glasses. “What medium did you use for this piece? It’s frantic, almost sensual in the way you used the brush strokes.”
How do you tell your art teacher that the six-foot-long canvas is a mix of acrylic, gesso, and sex juices? “I—what are you doing here?”
“I admit, this is a bit unorthodox, but when Mr. Halloran told me about your family emergency that prompted your immediate departure from school, he offered me a ticket to come here and give you a second chance.”
I shake my head. Mr. Halloran. Patrick. I can’t breathe. I can’t. And somehow, I find a way to ask. “But I unenrolled—how?”
“My dear,” she says, resting her slender hand on my shoulder. “I never submitted your paperwork. See you next semester. Consider yourself a B student.”
As she leaves me for the cute waiter holding a tray of champagne, I go, “Wait, what do you mean a B?”
“That seems pretty fair,” River says, sidling up next to me.
I nearly scream. They’re all here. Hutch and Kayli. They wish me luck and tell me how much they’ve missed me. Kayli seems to be having her own moment as she sits beside Jack.
Bodies keep walking into the gallery, the narrow hall feels too cramped and tight, but no one seems bothered. Music pumps from the speakers and drinks and hors d’oeuvres flow.
He isn’t here, I keep thinking.
I excuse myself to the bathroom once to fix my eyeliner, and Ariana follows me to help.
“How did you do this?” I ask.
She makes a zipper motion across her lips. “You’ll know everything soon enough. Are you mad?”
I shake my head. “Overwhelmed. But I’m happy.”
“Good. I can drink champagne, right?”
She leaves as I shout, “No!”
I give my reflection a final once-over to make sure I’m presentable. I’m at my very own art show with people here to look at my work. I can do this.
The minute I walk out, River drags me over to meet her friends. “Lena, meet my New York crew. This is Sky Lopez and her cousin, Leti, and this is Lucky Pierce and James Murphy.”
They all take my hands. James winks at River. “She’s Lucky Pierce Murphy now.”
Lucky elbows him playfully, but I can see the love there. I search the room, a bud of hope that Patrick’s face is here. But he isn’t.
“Thank you all for coming,” I tell them. What are the things that you’re supposed to say at your own gallery when you’re not prepared? Am I supposed to give a speech later? Isn’t someone supposed to introduce me? I suppose that will be Mari’s job later on.
“Oh, for sure,” Leti says. She’s a full-figured girl with brown skin and dark curly hair. “River’s told us all about you.”
River does her best attempt at looking abashed. “Lucky and James did the catering.”
Lucky’s sexy alto voice takes me by surprise. “He cooked. I just make sure we know where we’re getting on time.”
The tattooed chef keeps an arm around her waist and pulls her into a kiss. An ache rises in my throat but there is no room for that now. I get to be happy surrounded by my work and my loved ones and new friends.
“I really like this one,” Sky says, pointing a pink nail at the same painting my professor favored. “Is there a story behind it?”
I need to come up with a story. River sees my deer-in-headlights expression, and steps in. But she doesn’t have to create a distraction when Rick Rocket struts in with a horde of men.
“Holy shit,” Leti says, eyeing the men dressed in fine suits. She reaches for Sky to steady herself, like she’s about to faint.
River arcs a dark brow. “And here I thought I brought an entourage.”
Each and every one of the guys is more beautiful than the other. A dark-skinned guy with a flash of white smile kisses my cheek. A guy who looks like Maluma hugs me tightly and thanks me without explanation. A bearded white guy with piercing blue-green eyes introduces himself as Fallon. Twin brothers try to pick me up, but Ricky clears his throat, and they behave.
“Someone is going to have to start explaining things soon,” I tell Scarlett. Ricky is at her side. I glance back and forth at their smug faces.
“Oh, this?” Ricky says, nonchalantly pointing between him and Scarlett. “She couldn’t resist my charm.”
“I mean this,” I tell Ricky. “Where is he?”
Scarlett and Ricky share a long look. It’s the kind of stare you can only give the person who can read your mind because you’ve shared so much together.
In all the time I spent with Patrick, did I even really know him? I knew he was broken. I knew he was lost. I knew he matched my own feelings in a way I wasn’t ready for. When he looked at me, I felt complete. When he held me, I felt home.
“He’s making amends,” Ricky says, and winks.
Why do they all keep winking at me? I mean, it’s cute, but damn.
Mari does a loop around me and refills my champagne. “People are having a good time, Lena.”
There’s music coming from the speaker, and more people filling the room. A woman with curly brown hair and a nerdy, retro-chic look waltzes in like she owns the room.
“You’re the girl,” she tells me, her voice husky, and she laughs for some reason I’m not sure I understand. A drink seemingly materializes in her hand from a waitress.
“I’m a girl, sure,” I say.
“I’m Miriam. Okay, here’s my deal with Patrick.” She points to the front door, her hands poised like they’re holding a cigarette. “You say nothing to the press until I’ve made my rounds.”
“Press?”
Her eyes dart to our left where River, Leti, and Sky are huddled. “Who are those girls? Do they have representation?”
Miriam leaves me, utterly befuddled, as Ariana bounces back over to me with a horde of her high school friends.
“I can’t believe this is our lives,” one of them says. They freak out and go try to sneak champagne on the other side of the room.
Though it’s my party, I don’t feel like I’m in it yet. I am a chess piece waiting to be moved while everything else happens around me. And yet, it’s almost the best time of my life because my worlds have come together. There is music and food and dancing. There is my art on the walls. I turn to the black veiled painting that hushed voices speculate over. I reach for the bottom of the fabric, intent on pulling it, but Mari’s hand stops me.
“Just a second,” she says, her green eyes darting to the door.
The press arrives, sending everything into an excited discord. I can’t do this. I am not press ready. Why didn’t anyone give me a heads-up? I look around the room and no one seems to notice that I’m a ball of anxiety waiting to burst.
Then, the cameras flash and the hair on my spine prickles.
I turn around to find Patrick walking through the doors and my wretched heart revolts with desire and want.
He’s in a pitch-black suit, the button-down open at the collar to reveal the scar that snakes across his collarbone and neck. His hair is cut short and styled back. He’s trimmed his beard down. He is the picture of confidence, but when he takes a step to my side, I notice the tremble in his hand.
“Friends,” he says, turning around, his voice powerful. Every eye in the room is on him. He shoves that trembling hand in his pocket. “For those of you who aren’t here because a romance author shot blanks at a bunch of reporters outside of my house—” Scarlett gives a little curtsey. “Allow me to explain. My name is Patrick Halloran. They call me Hollywood’s Fallen Star. There are other names, worse names. I deserve each and every one of them. For the last eleven months, I’ve been hiding from the world. Then, this artist, this force, ripped through my life. She filled my world with color, my food with far too many chilies, and she forced light where there was only darkness.” He turns to me, and I know that I’m dreaming. I know that this can’t be real.
P
atrick traces the scars on the left side of his face, a movement that the cameras capture, a movement I’ve grown accustomed to in the privacy of our own little universe.
“Lena,” he says. “You brought me back to life.”
Instead of taking my hand, he takes the cloth over the painting and pulls. It falls in a ripple, unveiling the rendering of him—stark naked, perfect, flanked by a forest of saturated green and radiant flowers. His lip quirks as people start shouting and asking us questions faster than I can hear them all.
Mari steps in, the epitome of #bosslady. “All the paintings will be for sale except for this piece. Ms. Martel will be available for interviews in the new year.”
Patrick holds out a hand, an offering I hesitate to take. When our eyes meet, I can see his remorse, his guilt about the way things went down.
It’s not enough, a part of me says.
But the rest of me begs, reaches for him because I have missed his touch.
“Lena,” he finally says. “Can we talk?”
I nod and Mari takes us into the manager’s office in the back for some privacy. A desk is shoved into a corner with a swiveling chair. The door to the bathroom is open, the lightbulb inside flickering. I sit on the edge of the desk and Patrick stands in front of me. There is so much that I want to say to him. I want to yell and cry and tell him that I still love him. But all I say is, “You let me go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry, Patrick.”
Here, alone, the bravado from outside becomes slack. He’s just Patrick—the flawed, beautiful, angry, sorrowful, loving man I’ve gotten to know.
“I don’t deserve you,” he tells me. “I never did. I pushed you away and I regret every second of it.”
“Then why did you do this?”
He looks up, one strand of hair too short so it flops over the scar on his left eyebrow. I take a step to him, my body heating up as I brush the irreverent hair back.
“Because I love you. Because I meant every word I just said. You brought me back to life. You, Lena, are the cure for everything.”
“I don’t want to be someone’s cure. I don’t want you to use me to fix yourself and then throw me away.” But I’m spreading my hands against his chest, roaming the planes of his shoulders, strong and solid and here.
“What do you want, then?”
My heart is unsteady. I shouldn’t be making these decisions when I am feeling too much of everything. But for the first time in so long, I am sure of this one thing. “I want you.”
I said those words before and I still mean them. Now, in this cramped office stacked with papers and prints, I grip him by the collar and kiss him. I press myself against him, letting my hands explore him after our long absence.
Kissing Patrick is different this time. There are no walls between us. In a way, we were both hiding away in that house. We were so enveloped in the security of each other. His mistake was not trusting me, and I want to believe that we can work on this because I love this man in ways that have changed me from within.
“I love you, Lena,” he says.
He rakes fingernails up my thighs, and I work nervous fingers on the snap of his pants. I free his erection and guide it, pushing aside my underwear. Thank goodness I chose to wear a dress. He lifts me up and pins me to the wall, nestling his face in the crook of my neck. He’s fast and hungry and I know that I can’t let go of this love any more than I can stop breathing.
As we both come, I kiss his face, his beautiful face. “I love you, too.”
When we’re finished, I clean up in the office bathroom, and make sure my makeup and hair don’t scream “I just had makeup sex.”
He chuckles and zips up, a pink blush on his face. “I’ll go out first.”
“I’m sure everyone will guess what we’ve been doing.”
“We can always keep them guessing.” With a wink, he’s gone.
I stay in here a little bit longer, going through the orders Mari has taken. Lucky and her husband have bought the sex canvas, and I realize I should give it a name. Two of my paintings, landscapes of the area around the house at midnight, have been bought as well.
When I’m ready, I fold back into the party, grabbing another glass from a waiter.
“Lena! Is this piece still available?” my teacher asks. “I think you should consider taking it back to the art department for show. What’s it called?”
“Actually, it’s just been bought by a couple,” I say. Mari darts by and puts a little red sticker on the wall beside it. I look at the painting, think of everything that led Patrick out of his dark torture chamber and me into painting again. “It’s called The Salmon Run.”
Moments before midnight, everyone gathers outside on the street. Ari dances on the sidewalk with her friends, music outpouring from everywhere all at once. A couple of guys are handing out sparklers, the scent of embers drifts through the air. I sink into Patrick’s embrace. We are surrounded by the people we love and we’ve made it through the night. He presses his forehead against mine and we share a sigh of relief.
I love this city with all my heart, but I can’t wait to go home.
“Lena?”
“Pat?”
“Will you kiss me at midnight?”
I can’t think of another way I want to start the new year. The breath between us is a puff of warm clouds, and as I bring my lips to his, I ask, “Why wait?”
EPILOGUE:
Vivir Mi Vida
LENA
February
“Don’t give Kayli a hard time,” I tell Ari over the phone. “Don’t move things around my studio. Don’t forget to do your homework. And—”
“Oh, my gosh, Lena, relax,” Ari sighs, clearly annoyed with me. I haven’t found a balance between guardian/sister/friend yet, but I’m sure we will. “You’re only going to be gone for a weekend. Thanks for bringing me by the way.”
“It’s an adults-only resort,” I remind her.
“That sounds gross.”
“It just means there are no children clogging up the pools,” I say, and can practically hear her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. “Seriously, don’t burn the place down. We love you.”
“Bye, Pat,” Ari shouts, without a single acknowledgment to me.
Patrick grins, and takes my phone from me. We’re in the resort in Playa del Carmen for the wedding. “Okay, no more cell phones. If there’s an emergency, Kayli has all of the numbers to have the front desk get ahold of us. You deserve this weekend off, too.”
I know he’s right. January was a long month for all of us. We moved both of our siblings from New York to Montana. I’ve been pronounced legal guardian of Ari while we sort out the adoption papers. I had my first successful show, but then I got right back to work. Professor Meneses is already talking about being my advisor should I want to go to the grad school program. It’s been a whirlwind for Patrick, too. He did one appearance on a late-night show and spoke about the accident for the first time in a year. He has the support of the director and his co-star. Though he keeps saying he doesn’t want to act again. He’s still finding his way.
This weekend is about rest and relaxation and celebrating our friends getting married. River and Hutch will get the low-key wedding they’ve always wanted.
That evening, we join everyone for the joint bachelor and bachelorette party by the pool. The guys from Mayhem City, River’s New York Crew, and plus ones are all in attendance.
“What exactly happens at a joint hen-stag night?” Ricky asks, his arm slung over Scarlett’s shoulder.
“Well, Hutch wouldn’t let me have cigars and poker,” River says with a wink at her groom. He gives a playful shake of his head.
“So, we’re settling for cigars and an open bar,” Hutch says.
A round of drinks appears, and Patrick picks one up. “Wait, I thought River brought us all here to dance for her?”
Hutch blanks, but then Aiden tackles Patrick into the pool. They’re like thi
s for hours. I join River and her girlfriends under the cabana.
“I don’t know about you lot, but I’m going to catch up on my reading,” Scarlett says, and takes the book she bought at the airport to a hammock nearby. Ricky joins her, and pretty soon, they seem to fall asleep that way. So much for reading.
“How do you smoke these?” I ask, grimacing.
River takes a slender one from the box brought over by the concierge, a gift from Ricky, and cuts off the tip. “I had this manager who used to dip the end of cigar in sambuca and then smoke it. I took a liking to it.”
“One of my uncles did that,” Faith, says as she slathers sunscreen on her brown skin. She’s Aiden’s fiancée. “Don’t tell Aiden, but I’m really loving these piña coladas.”
I breathe in the cigar and let myself sink into the Mexican sea and sun. Sky and a girl I haven’t met join us.
“Hi, I’m Robyn,” she says, and settles in.
“Okay, who’s my wingwoman tonight?” Leti asks.
“I thought you and Sky were each other’s wingwomen,” River says, lounging in a way that made her curls look like a golden halo.
“I call dibs on Jack,” Mari says, glancing over to check and see if Patrick’s brother is looking at her. He is.
I laugh out loud. “Oh, is that why you’ve spent the last three weeks surprise visiting me? I see how it is.”
“The heart wants what it wants,” Sky says. “Shoot your shot.”
“What about you, Sky?”
“I just broke off an engagement,” she says. There’s a round of apology and sympathy, but she gives us a smile. “It’s good, really. I’m perfectly happy to help, but I’m not looking for anything. It’s River’s weekend!”
“River is already getting married,” River says, and we all laugh. “This is just the formal part. Do me a favor. Have fun.”
Lucky stands, her red bikini already leaving tan lines on her shoulders. “This is my new challenge.”
“Luck!” Sky shouts, but the girl is already heading to the pool.
