Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3)

by Devon Hartford

  Wow, he must have loved Vesile like crazy if he still broke down twelve years after she’d left.

  I felt so bad for him.

  ===

  “All right everybody,” Brandon said over the microphone. He stood in front of the two paintings still covered in black silk, “There’s one more surprise. The final unveiling. I’m sure you’re all wondering about the two paintings that are still covered up.”

  The crowd murmured agreement.

  “I’ll let Christos fill you in himself.” Brandon handed the mic to Christos and stepped out of the spotlight.

  Christos had been so busy for the last hour, I hadn’t said a single word to him.

  “Some of you may know,” Christos said to the crowd, “that a very special woman came into my life nine months ago. If you haven’t met her, you’ve already seen her in my painting entitled LOVE. That’s me and her, Samantha Smith, together. Samantha, will you come up here?”

  Gulp.

  Christos shaded his eyes from the spotlight with his hand and searched the crowd for me.

  Nervousness suddenly seized me. Did I have to stand in front of everyone? Of course I did. But maybe I wouldn’t have to say anything.

  “Go, Sam,” Madison prodded at my elbow.

  “Yeah,” Romeo said, pushing my back gently, “get up there.”

  I didn’t have a choice. I made my way through the crowd and stepped into the spotlight. It was really effing bright. I squinted until my eyes adjusted. I hoped nobody was snapping photos. I probably looked terrible.

  Christos took my hand and held it in his.

  I’d never felt so on the spot in my entire life. Literally.

  Christos smiled at me, gazing into my eyes. He said to the mic, “What none of you know is how much Samantha means to me,”

  His blue eyes burned into my heart in that moment, in a good way. Oh my god, where was this going?

  “Samantha has been an inspiration to me since the day we met,” Christos said. “If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know that I’d be here tonight.”

  Gulp.

  “Samantha saved my life, and for that, I am forever grateful. But more than that, she has been my guide. She has shown me how to embrace myself, to be me. Not someone else. Her courage blows me away every time I think about it. She moved all the way to San Diego from Washington D.C. with the dream of becoming an artist. And she never wavered from it. She stuck to her guns, no matter what challenges life put in her way. She has come so far in such a short time. She has a natural talent for art that I’ve never seen before. Sadly, for all her hard work, Samantha has never had a painting in a gallery show.”

  Christos paused while the crowd went “Awww.”

  He continued, “But she should. She’s an amazing artist already, and she’s just getting started. So, without further ado, I introduce you all to master artist Samantha Anna Smith.”

  One of the two remaining black silks dropped to the floor.

  I was going to cry all over myself.

  It was my phoenix sunset landscape painting I’d done for the Contemporary Artists Show, the one Brandon rejected. I couldn’t stop myself. Tears ran down my face.

  The whole room clapped. I was overwhelmed by their energy. I leaned into Christos and hugged his chest. I was laughing and crying at the same time. I couldn’t believe what was happening. My tears dripped all over his black T shirt. I buried my face in it.

  Christos leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You have no idea how much I love you Samantha Anna Smith.”

  No, I think I did. I sobbed and laughed.

  After a minute, he muttered “Are you okay, agápi mou?”

  “Yeah,” I sniffed, “I think I died and went to heaven.”

  The crowd was starting to make a bunch of noise. Everyone was talking about my painting.

  “Hold on,” Christos said into the mic. “We have one more surprise. When I saw this painting of Samantha’s that you’re looking at now, I was blown away by it. She’s only been painting in oils for six months, and I think it’s fucking incredible.”

  Several people in the crowd chuckled.

  I spontaneously pulled the microphone down to my mouth and said, “I had a lot of good advice from all of the Manos men. I couldn’t have done it without a million tips from them.”

  The crowd chuckled.

  “It was all her,” Spiridon shouted from the back.

  More laughs from the crowd.

  “Go, Sam!” Madison shouted.

  I think it was Jake next to her who did one of those really loud whistles.

  “SAAAMMMM!!!” Romeo squealed. “I want to be your baby daddy!”

  I heard Kamiko laughing next to him.

  I was going to pass out from happiness in about thirty seconds. I was totally, joyously overwhelmed. I’d never felt so accepted, or so important, in my entire life. It was incredible.

  Christos spoke into the mic, “I’ve been so inspired by Samantha’s transformation from a mousy little girl to an amazing artist, I wanted to immortalize the person I know her to be in my final painting of the evening.” He motioned to the big painting behind him still covered in black silk. “She has a warrior spirit, and she is indomitable. I wanted to pay tribute to that.”

  Christos nodded to Brandon and the final black silk fell away.

  The crowd gasped and went silent.

  It was so quiet, not even the dropping pins made a sound.

  I was almost afraid to turn around and look at the painting.

  But I did.

  Oh, my god.

  It was amazing.

  It was me, a life size painting of me as a naked angel with wings of fire. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I stood in a graceful pose, my arms spread wide to the sides, the pose I’d held in our studio until my neck and shoulders had cramped into knots. The huge angel’s wings sprouting out behind me were made of fiery red and gold feathers. I floated in the air above the surface of the earth, which was a wide curve at the bottom of the painting, running from left to right. The purple blackness of space, surrounding the golden orange flames dancing around my legs, held thousands of shining stars.

  Christos’ portrait of me as a fiery angel had a similar palette of colors to my phoenix sunset. They looked like a matched set. His and hers paintings honoring the energy of creation, done in red jewels and molten gold.

  I was overwhelmed. My knees gave out.

  But Christos caught me.

  He always did.

  I was the luckiest girl on the planet.

  ===

  After Christos unveiled his painting of me as the fiery angel, everyone crowded around the two of us. They couldn’t get close enough to Christos. Everyone wanted a piece of him. It was kind of scary, actually. It was this weird mob mentality fame thing. I guess this was what being famous was like. It was weird being the center of attention, but with Christos beside me, I was fine.

  People were asking both me and Christos tons of questions about the paintings and our relationship. We just answered them as they asked. Everyone was entranced with the idea that we were two painters in love, inspired by each other’s creative ideas. I guess maybe I took it for granted. Not in a thoughtless way. I just never really stopped to think about how special what we had really was.

  One of the most common comments we heard was about the similarity of color palette and subject matter of our two paintings. When people asked, Christos told everybody casually, “I know genius when I see it. I just took Samantha’s idea and ran with it.” That was a total exaggeration, but every time he said it, even after the hundredth, I was stunned and flattered and blushed like crazy.

  I did so much smiling, my cheeks started to hurt. Was it possible to get cheek muscle cramps? I wouldn’t mind if I did. It was worth it. I don’t think I’d ever been this completely happy in my entire life.

  At some point during the evening, Christos whispered in my ear, “Do you realize we’ve been standing here talking to peopl
e for almost two hours?”

  “I know. I totally have to pee,” I hissed.

  “Keep holding it. It’s your job,” he winked.

  Brandon came walking up to us. “You’re never going to believe this.” His eyes were on fire with excitement.

  “I probably will,” Christos said casually.

  “Everything has sold.”

  “You mean all of my paintings?” Christos said uncertainly. “Or all of them?”

  Christos had less than ten paintings in the show, so that’s probably what Brandon meant. Christos sold more paintings at his solo show last year. But between all the paintings from Spiridon and Nikolos, there were at least sixty or seventy on sale tonight. That was a lot of paintings to sell during a single show.

  “No,” Brandon said, “Everything has sold. Your father’s, your grandfather’s, all of it. Well, everything except one.”

  I could only assume Brandon meant my painting. It was the obvious one not to sell. Spiridon, Nikolos, and Christos were world famous artists with reputations. The Manos family had a painting legacy, and people wanted to buy a piece of their fame to hang on their walls while it appreciated in value. I was just the girlfriend. I doubted anyone actually wanted my painting. Sure, it made for a good story to go with Christos’ life sized portrait of me, but that was all.

  “Which one hasn’t sold?” Christos asked.

  I grit my teeth in preparation of the news. I’d get over it. One day, I’d sell a painting at an art gallery show. Just not tonight.

  “Yours,” Brandon said.

  That’s what I thought. Oh, wait. Was he talking to me, or Christos?

  Christos said, “You mean Samantha’s painting sold?”

  Brandon scoffed, “Of course Samantha’s painting sold. I sold it five minutes after it was unveiled.”

  “What? No way!” Christos blurted.

  Okay, my brain must have broken, because I think Brandon just said my silly little fantasy landscape had sold tonight.

  Brandon nodded and grinned at me and Christos.

  “How much did it sell for?” Christos asked.

  Brandon’s smile peeled back charmingly and he said, “Twenty-seven thousand.”

  I slapped my hand over my wide open mouth, stopping my broken brains from rolling right out.

  Christos grinned at me and rubbed my back affectionately, causing a shiver to run up my spine. “I knew you would,” he said.

  “I didn’t!” I said, flabbergasted. “You know what this means?”

  “What?” Christos asked.

  “I’m going to be able to pay my tuition next year!” I hopped up in the air with my arms over my head. “Yes!”

  Christos hugged me and kissed me. “Congratulations, agápi mou. It was only a matter of time until you started selling. Didn’t I tell you that when we first met?”

  “You did!” I said gleefully. Wow. I couldn’t believe it. My dreams were coming true like I’d never imagined!

  I was definitely the luckiest girl in the world tonight!

  ===

  CHRISTOS

  “So, Brandon,” I said, turning to face him, “which painting hasn’t sold tonight?”

  “Your portrait of Samantha as the fiery angel,” he answered.

  “Oh,” Samantha crooned. “I’m sorry, Christos. Your painting of me is so beautiful. I would totally buy it, if I could afford it. Would you take twenty-seven grand for it?” She winked at me.

  “Thanks, agápi mou,” I said reassuringly. “Save your money for your tuition. Besides, if no one buys my portrait of you, I’ll fucking keep it,” I smiled. “I put my heart into it.” I glanced behind us at the eight foot tall fiery angel winged Samantha portrait hanging on the wall. “Yeah, I would never get tired of looking at it. It’s the real you, agápi mou, the one I see every time I look at you, the one other people don’t always realize is there.”

  “Oh, Christos,” Samantha sighed, “I love you so much.” She leaned into me and hugged me around the waist.

  “I love you too, agápi mou,” I said and kissed the top of her head. “Hold on a second,” I blurted, suddenly realizing something. “Brandon, did my LOVE portrait of me and Samantha sell too?”

  “Yeah,” Brandon nodded. “For half a million.”

  “What?!” Samantha blurted

  “Yes,” Brandon’s smile widened. “You heard me right. A half a million dollars.”

  Samantha clapped both her hands to her face, “Oh my god! I can’t believe someone bought a picture of you and me nude!”

  I grinned at her, “Believe it.” I turned to Brandon, “So, who bought it?”

  Brandon’s eyes flashed and he looked away momentarily. “It was, uh, an anonymous buyer.”

  I could tell Brandon was hiding something. “Anonymous?” I said sarcastically. “It’s not like we’re selling porn or drugs. You can tell me, Brandon.”

  Brandon shook his head seriously, “I was given explicit instructions not to reveal the buyer’s identity under any circumstances.”

  Samantha said, “Now I’m totally curious.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Brandon shrugged. “It was in the terms of the contract.”

  “Terms?” I asked. “It wasn’t Stanford Wentworth, was it?”

  “No,” he chuckled.

  “Who’s Stanford Wentworth,” Samantha asked.

  She’d been spared the torture of enduring Wentworth’s visit to my studio that day he’d said I needed to change up my paintings because they were shit, and had said Samantha’s Calla Lily oil study was awful. Thinking about him now, all I wanted to do was punch his face in then rub it in the pile of money I was making tonight. Then I heard Russell Merriweather’s voice echoing through my head, “No. More. Fights.” I smiled to myself.

  Brandon said, “Stanford Wentworth is one of the richest art buyers in the world, Samantha. He can make someone’s career if he buys their art.”

  “Oh,” she said, “That sounds like a good thing.”

  “He’s also a prick,” I said. “I don’t want his sorry ass owning my art. I’m doing fine without him.”

  Brandon said, “What if I told you he put in a bid on your portrait of Samantha?”

  “No shit,” I chuckled.

  “He did,” Brandon said.

  A smug smile spread across my face, “I guess he changed his tune about my art.” Knowing it gave me a delicious sense of satisfaction.

  “Wentworth was one of the early bidders. Once the other buyers started driving up the price,” Brandon smiled conspiratorially, “he was mysteriously unable to get any more bids through to me.”

  I grinned back at Brandon. Wentworth had been a prick to him that day at my studio, too. Brandon was blocking him out of the bidding process. Wentworth had a bit of a reputation as a star maker. He would sweep up an artist’s early work, before they were famous, and hold onto it. This would drive up demand on the artist’s work, at which point Wentworth would often sell it for a hefty profit. Fuck him. He wasn’t going to make a dime off my sweat. He’d had his shot that day at the studio and he’d blown it.

  “So, Brandon,” I asked, “what’s the status on the bidding?”

  “Actually,” Brandon smiled smugly, “It’s turning into something of a heated battle. Two people here tonight have insisted the painting must be theirs, and four other buyers on the phone are calling me every five minutes to find out if they need to raise their bid or not.”

  “I hope none of the people on the phone are agents of Wentworth’s,” I said.

  “No,” Brandon said, “I know all of them well. We’re in the clear. Wentworth will walk away empty handed after tonight.”

  I nodded approvingly.

  “Wow,” Samantha said, “If you’re turning buyers away, that means you’re totally popular, Christos!”

  “What’s the bid up to?” I asked Brandon.

  He grinned, “One point five million.”

  “Holy shit!” Samantha blurted.

  I felt
the same way.

  Brandon’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it before turning to me, “Another bidder calls. The price keeps climbing. I’ve got to answer this,” he smiled as he walked off, holding his phone to his ear.

  “Christos, that’s insane!” Samantha squealed. “You’re making so much money tonight!”

  “You are too,” I said.

  “I know,” she smiled. “Twenty-seven grand! I can’t believe it!”

  “You’re making a hell of a lot more than that.”

  Her brows narrowed, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m splitting whatever I get on my portrait of you, and the LOVE portrait of both of us, with you.”

  “What?! That’s crazy. Those are your paintings! I can’t take your money!”

  “What do you mean? I wouldn’t have either painting if it wasn’t for you. All I’d have is a self portrait of myself and some paintings of Brandon’s L.A. models. I don’t think there’d be a million dollar bidding war over any of them. You made both paintings special, agápi mou. You, Samantha Anna Smith. Because you’re my girlfriend, you’re in the paintings, and you’re an amazing artist in your own right. This is the stuff art history books write about a hundred years from now. The whole story, the whole package. Us. You and me. Without you, I’d be the third Manos. With you and your art, I’m something special.”

  “I don’t know, Christos,” Samantha frowned, “it’s so much money.”

  “So what? It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

  “I can’t take your money, Christos,” she sighed.

  “Why not? Let me put it another way. What if I’d painted a portrait of you, spent maybe two or three hours on it, and sold it for, say, two hundred bucks. Would you split the money with me then? I get a hundred for painting it, you get a hundred for modeling?”

  She frowned, “I guess.”

  “So what’s the difference between that and this?”

  “Hundreds of thousands of dollars!” she blurted.

  “No,” I shook my head adamantly, “That shouldn’t make any difference. Do you think just because more money is involved you deserve less?”