“I need to get going now, but I’m sure we’ll see each other soon. I’m here most days . . . as I’m sure you already know, since you’ve been stalking me.” He winked.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Still, I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad you’re on board, though.”
He looked me over for several long moments. “Yeah, me too, Goldilocks. Me too.”
Chapter Fifteen
I was beginning to get anxious about my decision to work with Chase. As psyched as I was that he was on board, he was known to be a volatile guy—not just by me. And, from all my run-ins with him, I knew that his unpredictability would be a major issue if I didn’t set some ground rules with him right off the bat: delivery deadlines and professional expectations, to name just a couple.
I’d been worried about what Kendra would say when I told her that Chase had conceded to do the piece for the show, but if she thought it was a bad idea, she definitely didn’t show it. “Way to go, Annie!” she’d praised me in the midst of painting her toenails bright yellow.
“So you think it’s a good idea? Because I’m not too sure myself.”
She shrugged. “Chase is the hottest artist in New York City, and I’m definitely not just referring to his devastating good looks. What you did was smart—and more than that, it was strategic.” She grinned at me. “You’re one sneaky little bitch, you know that? This will totally make Elsie flip her shit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because that’s exactly what I need: for Elsie Donegan to hate me more than she already does.”
“Oh, I was just teasing you. If anything, it’ll be good for both of you. She needs a little humility. And you could use a little spray paint to tarnish your classical reputation. I’m sure Professor Claremont will approve.”
I was glad my friend had faith in me, but I still felt an inexplicable dread. Chase had been quick to say yes to doing the project, but why? Especially if he felt so ambivalent about Quentin Pierce? There was something in this whole scenario that I was clearly not seeing, and I wanted to know what it was. But, of course, there was no time for that now.
Luckily, my meeting with the committee had been rescheduled for Friday, since Claudia’s family was in town, so I decided to pay a visit to the permission wall in the Meatpacking District and lay everything out for Chase once and for all. Besides, I was afraid that if I waited too long, he would take it all back. He didn’t strike me as dishonest, but he did seem more than a little flighty and unreliable. I at least wanted some dry ink on our contract. Without it, I was never going to relax.
As I headed down to the wall, I felt every muscle inside me bracing itself in anticipation. “Want me to come with and beat him up if he gets all art snob on you?” Kendra had asked. I had politely declined my friend’s offer. I knew that what I most needed to do was gain Chase’s trust. He wasn’t going to do anything for me out of obligation, after all—that much I knew. If he were to deliver on his promise, he’d do so out of respect . . . if not for Quentin, then for me.
Chase appeared to be in a good mood when I saw him. He even came in for a hug, which I received rather awkwardly. It took me several moments to recover from the sensation of his body pressed against mine, but when I did, I gasped at the sight of a freshly painted brick wall behind him. The stunning mural he’d been working on was gone.
“Did someone tag it up?” I asked apprehensively.
Chase laughed. “No way! I just painted over it.”
I was aghast. “Why would you do something like that?”
“Meh—I wasn’t that happy with it to begin with.”
I frowned. “But it was . . . perfect.”
“Maybe so, but all graffiti is a temporary art form. You can’t hold on to a mural, Goldilocks. There are only some things that are forever.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Like a painting in a gallery?”
He laughed. “More like . . . scars. Or love.”
I could feel my heart get all fluttery when he said “love.” I wasn’t sure if he was being facetious or not, and I decided it was probably best not to investigate.
“Um, I need your permanent address for our records, and so we know where to send the stipend,” I said, fishing out the paperwork Claudia had given us.
“Yeah, later,” he said, as if I’d burdened him with the most mundane of details. “First, I want to get to know you a little. I want to know what kind of art you go batshit insane over.”
I regarded him carefully. He seemed sincere, but I wanted to know where this was leading. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Take it easy, Goldilocks. If we’re working together, we’re gonna have to be friends, right? I mean, we could make this all impersonal and shit, but that’s not really the way I like to work. And in order for me to be inspired, I have to know exactly who and what I’m dealing with.”
“Well . . . okay,” I said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But he looked genuinely curious. “I guess my favorite artist is Marc Chagall. All of his work is considered whimsical and kind of storybook-like, but it’s also filled with this deep sadness, this deep sense of time and space and myth and loss. Loss that’s both personal and part of the larger human condition.”
Much to my surprise, Chase was nodding. “Okay, this is good, Goldilocks. Chagall’s one of the few modern artists who doesn’t suck, in my opinion. I don’t know . . . like, his stuff was more homespun or something.”
I smiled at the description. “Yes, that’s because he had this way of combining the art forms of the time, like cubism and symbolism, while remaining true to something altogether more real and moving: village life, the rhythms of the simple people he knew and loved. He had this visual language that conveyed everything from revolution to falling in love. And, Jesus Christ, he knew what color really was, and he wasn’t afraid to use it!”
Chase drew in his breath and let it out in one big exhalation. Then he started to clap. “Preach it,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed.
“So now you like me? I pass the test?” I asked, half in jest.
He grinned. “I think I’m the one who had to jump through a few hoops in order to get your stamp of approval, Goldilocks.”
I wanted to contradict him, given all the occasions on which he’d made me feel like an ignorant upstart, but I decided to stick to the subject.
“Believe it or not, Chagall’s work was a huge influence on the muralists of today. That’s because his sense of space was about movement, not static imagery. And since graffiti draws inspiration from stuff like hip-hop, skateboarding, and forms of art that aren’t just visual, it does a better job of capturing the physical essence of a person or idea.”
“Can you just . . . repeat that again?” he asked, pretending to record me on his iPhone. “Because what you just said right there is pretty genius, and it’s not something I’d ever considered.”
“So maybe I’m the one who’s here to change your preconceptions about street art,” I said playfully.
He looked me up and down approvingly. “Maybe that’s the reason we met, so we could school each other’s asses.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the smoldering sensation in the pit of my belly. “Don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who thinks there are reasons for everything.”
“I don’t think, I know,” he said. “There’ve been too many times in my life when everything could have ended through a random and senseless act of violence, but destiny seems to have strong-armed those opportunities time and again.”
“Destiny? Do you consider yourself spiritual or something?”
He made a sound of derision. “Hell to the no! But I’m not dumb enough to mock the mystery behind things.”
The conversation was starting to get a bit too heavy for me. I didn’t want to be swept into a philosophical debate with Chase, even though I was certainly tempted. “Okay, Chase, the reason I’m here is that I
wanted to give you this paperwork and I wanted to talk a little about your plans for the piece you’re doing. Were you thinking of a mural? An installation of some sort? We’re putting it into the new sculpture garden in the Barney Building, but it’s totally open as to what you want to do . . . although there might be some restrictions with budget and materials—”
“Planning is for amateurs,” Chase interrupted. “I’m not about to create something that’s prescripted and preapproved, Goldilocks. What I make isn’t about the concept—it’s about the experience. It’s not just a cadaver on a slab or some lump of shit sitting in the middle of a gallery.” He moved closer to me, as if to underline his point, and I felt my knees weaken as I breathed in his warm, velvety scent. “What I do is meant to make people feel alive, but, moreover, it’s meant to show you that the art itself is alive—just as much as you or me.”
It was hard to argue with that, but I was still stuck on Chase’s belief that planning was for amateurs. I was about to give him a piece of my mind, when, at that moment, a boy on a skateboard sidled up to us.
“Yo, Chase!”
When I looked at the boy, I almost did a double take. He must have been about sixteen years old. He was tall and gangly, wearing a baggy T-shirt and jeans that hugged his skinny legs. He was wearing a baseball cap backward and slouched over his somewhat shaggy hair, but his eyes were bright and distinct. They were the same bottle green as Chase’s.
Chase’s voice was oddly stern. “What the fuck, Kyle? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
The boy grinned affably. “Yeah, but if I have to hear about telomeres and chromosome deterioration one more time, I swear I’ll shoot myself.”
“Hey, don’t joke about that,” Chase said gruffly, pulling off the boy’s baseball cap and giving him a playful noogie (which I thought was a little strange-looking, considering that the boy towered over Chase by at least three or four inches).
“Whatevs, man. I’ll go back tomorrow, but today’s a prime day for the skate park,” said the boy, as he made an intricate maneuver on his worn-out-looking board (which, I noted, was covered in graffiti scrawls). “I need to practice my heel flips and aileron rolls if I wanna impress the chicks.”
“Oh yeah?” Chase asked, amused. “What does Marcie think of that?”
The boy just winked. “She knows how to hang with a playa,” he quipped. At that point, he noticed me standing there, but perhaps it was just because I was shifting uncomfortably, annoyed with the fact that they’d both been ignoring me.
“Oh, hey,” he said cheerfully.
“Hey,” I replied, smiling despite myself.
“Annie, meet Kyle. Kyle, meet Annie,” Chase said. “Kyle is my younger brother. And apparently, he skipped a grade a couple years ago only to become bait for narcs and truant officers.” He shook his head, although I could tell that he was brimming with pride. “Just as youth is wasted on the young, genius is wasted on the footloose and fancy-free.”
“If being a genius means being caged up all day and made to perform like you’re part of a three-ring circus, no fucking thanks,” Kyle joked, grinning broadly at me. “Hey . . . Annie . . . your name sounds familiar.” He doffed his baseball cap and looked at me a little more closely. “Oh shit, you’re the girl Chase has been talking about.”
“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Kyle,” Chase snarled.
“He told me he thought you were cute and you reminded him of Lila Maynard.”
“Who’s Lila Maynard?” I said.
“The first girl he had a crush on,” Kyle said, ignoring his brother.
I blushed. “Um, thanks, I guess?”
Kyle studied me, as if searching for a resemblance. “I guess I can see it a little bit, but I think he’s mostly using his artistic license in the comparison.”
If Chase felt self-conscious about his brother’s disclosure, I couldn’t tell, since he seemed to be avoiding eye contact by placing most of his attention on the mural wall.
“So, I need some money, bro,” Kyle said, turning back to his brother.
“Kids . . . no respect these days,” Chase said drily, as he shoved a few bills into Kyle’s outstretched hand. “Are you coming by tonight?”
Kyle shook his head. “Nope. I’m heading to Marcie’s for dinner. Her parents said you can come, too, if you want. It’s spaghetti-and-meatballs night.”
“Yeah, sure, maybe I’ll stop by. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Josh and Amy,” Chase said.
Kyle turned to me and bowed in mock elegance. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said.
I curtsied in response. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
At that, Kyle winked at his brother and jetted off down the street.
“He’s funny,” I remarked, noticing the softness that had suddenly come over Chase’s face. “He seems like a really good kid.”
Chase nodded. “He is. Our parents were baked out of their minds when Kyle was born, but that didn’t seem to touch him too much. He’s a child prodigy who couldn’t care less about school, so I’m trying to fix that, but I don’t seem to be succeeding.”
“Well, I don’t know. . . . You seem to have done pretty well for yourself,” I said.
Chase laughed. “I’m not trying to set an example here. But at least he has Marcie. They’ve been together for a couple years. Josh and Amy are like the parents Kyle never had. They’re good people—they take care of him when I’m not able to be around as much as I’d like.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I think if I’d done a better job raising him myself, he’d be less apathetic. Sure, he can ace standardized tests like no one’s business, but still . . . I wanna be sure he has some kind of future.”
A pang of tenderness went through me. Chase was becoming more and more complex every time I encountered him. Suddenly, the gruff and overconfident guy I’d first met was being cast in a totally different light. I couldn’t even imagine taking care of someone else while I was still a kid myself, but it was clear that Chase’s sense of responsibility and love for Kyle were totally instinctual.
“So . . . Lila Maynard was a blonde?” I asked teasingly.
Chase looked at me wolfishly. “Yup, and she was hot.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too hard. What was wrong with me? I’d come here to do business with Chase, not to flirt with him or get swept up in the particulars of his life.
At that moment, I was startled by a man with a large camera, who came right up to us and started snapping photos.
“Hey, what the—” Before I could say anything more, Chase got in the guy’s face and gave him a hard shove.
“Put that fucking camera away, dude, or I swear I’ll put it where the sun don’t shine,” he growled.
The guy backed off. “Hey, man, don’t you wanna be on TV? I’m just trying to get some shots for my story. Help a brother out, would ya?” His voice was nasal and high-pitched.
Chase took an aggressive step forward, sending the camera guy flailing and running off.
I breathed deeply. “Now I’m starting to see why you hate people so much,” I joked. “Is that something you have to deal with on a regular basis?”
Chase gave me an ain’t-no-thing gesture. “Nah, it doesn’t happen that much. Most of these guys know better than to fuck with me, especially when I’m in the act of creating. But in any case, the entire scene around here is wack. If you wanna see my process and the way I live, come by the Silver Edge in the Bronx tomorrow night. Me and some of my crew are getting together to put up some new work.” He leaned in and whispered in mock confidentiality, “It’s the quarter moon tomorrow, so I’m duty-bound to throw up some writing. You’ll wanna be there. We’re planning on hitting up some interesting stations.”
“Stations?”
“Just come, and I promise you’ll get a taste of what I’m gonna bring to this Quentin Pierce thing, okay?”
I looked at him warily, then sighed. I wasn’t that crazy about taking a trip ou
t that far, but it was clear that Chase wasn’t going to comply with my rules unless I showed him that I was just as enthusiastic as he was. “It’s a deal. But you have to give me your permanent address and a working phone number in return. Okay?”
He pulled out his phone, grinning at me. “Give me your number, and I’ll call you now. Then you can save my info on your phone.”
I inhaled deeply, feeling simultaneously giddy and disconcerted. The idea that I could now call Chase anytime I wanted was a huge relief, but more than that, it felt like I was a step closer to a kind of intimacy with him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to, but whatever the case, I could definitely feel it. Things were about to get interesting between Chase Adams and me.
Chapter Sixteen
The next night, I met Chase at the Silver Edge, a dive bar with a neon placard announcing its presence. The inside was tiny and smoky, with a pool table in one corner and a medley of vinyl-covered booths flanking the long bar. A disco ball complemented the lurid decor. Girls in tight dresses and knee-high leather boots were pouring into and out of the bar, while flinty-looking guys with sinewy arms and tattoos galore took long drags off their cigarettes. Rap music boomed over the speakers; I could feel the music pulsing in my bones.
I hugged my arms around me, recognizing exactly how out of place I must have looked. I was wearing a simple blue sweater dress and dark gray boots under black tights. I was almost embarrassed to admit that I had wanted to look cute for Chase, but as I faced down the adversarial stares of the bar’s inhabitants, I began to wonder if it would be all that easy to impress him on his home turf.
The bar was smoky and crowded enough that I couldn’t see Chase anywhere. I frowned. If this had been one of his schemes to bring me out to a shitty neighborhood just for the sake of shaking me up, I didn’t know what I was going to do. The Silver Edge was far enough away from public transportation that I’d opted for a cab. When the cabbie had dropped me off, he’d looked at me as if I were completely out of my mind. “You sure this is the place, honey?”
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