Splash

by Kristen Kelly

  Walking around the brightly lit gallery, I was glad I’d gone with a professional for the entertainment. While everyone and their uncle was busy setting up big bands, dramatic light displays, and overall extravagance all over the city of New York, I’d opted for soft classical music. A little Mozart, Bock, and some Beethoven seemed just the ticket. Nothing loud. Nothing flashy. With my past being anything but serene, the first half of my life filled with wild parties and people coming in and out at all hours of the night, I really wanted this to be tasteful and quiet. The last thing I wanted was loud music distracting the clients from my artists.

  As I scanned the shining tiled floors, the damask velvet shades, the color all around me, I couldn’t help but feel grateful and blessed with all the support.

  Several of the artists with supportive families were absolutely thrilled to volunteer. They distributed flyers, set up tables and chairs, printed tickets, and any other little task I’d not had the foresight to think of.

  Luckily, someone in my own family had heard about the showing, volunteering to help on my behalf, which really surprised me. Especially with my name all over the media. I’d have thought anyone related to me would be hiding his head in the sand. But Maura, a cousin on my mother’s side, was on the next plane out after I told her about the Art Show. She lived in Florida and was some sort of hot-shot attorney with lots of connections. I was touched that she thought my little venture was something worthy of her attention.

  As a kid, I had the time of my life in Florida. I learned to rollerblade on the boardwalk. It was the one time Jason and I got to act like normal crazy kids. I’d grown fond of all five of my cousins, but it was Maura that I connected with most. We’d always kept in touch.

  “Where should we put ole Adonis here?” asked Maura, cupping the scrotum of a very large alabaster statue. “I would put him by the door, but he may scare the kiddies.” Her smile was infectious and I giggled when she licked the earlobe of the sculpture. “Who’s the artist of this one anyway?”

  “No one you’d know.”

  “Oh really?” She appeared skeptical. “I’ll have you know I’m up to date on nearly every well-known artist in New York. Even the struggling ones.”

  “Vincent Marrow.”

  “I knew it! Give me a hand. He’s quite endowed, don’t you think?” I took the bottom half of the statue and Maura grabbed the top, but we didn’t have far to go. We set it on a pedestal by a similar work, careful that it was completely centered on the square tiled floor.

  “There,” Maura said, taking out her tape measure. She insisted every piece be exactly four point two inches apart. She said if it was an inch this way or that, it was bad luck. She was a little strange that way, but who was I to argue?

  I love my cousin. She had one of those brains that remembered everything. When she learned about the Art show, she did a little reading, which was something she always did when she was about to learn something new. Once, I asked her about the types of fish we’d find in Miami. She rattled off over one hundred different species! She’d read their names in an encyclopedia. But only once.

  “So who is your mystery artist?” Maura asked, fiddling in her briefcase for God knows what.

  “He’s kind of new. And he’s not technically a New Yorker. The only one I allowed outside of the country actually.”

  “A little eccentric?”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “You should know.”

  “I’m not eccentric.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Anyway, you’ll love his work. He’s fresh and innovative. God, there’s no one like him. No one.”

  “Hmm. Give me a hint.”

  “Combines poetry with his paintings and his works are kind of whimsical, but not too much.”

  Maura looked up at the ceiling tapping her chin simultaneously, as if searching for the answer. “Depicts heaven and hell? Bold colors. Rich eye popping vivacity?”

  “You know him? But he’s barely done anything in public. How did you…?”

  She shrugged a shoulder as if she guessed these kind of things every day. “I just do.”

  “His works are astonishing! Look at that one over there.” I pointed to a three-dimensional painting over her shoulder of a dragon eating a couple of fairies.

  Maura followed my gaze. “Yup, that’s Dabble.”

  We both stared at the painting. “Eye catching, isn’t it?

  “You can say that again.”

  Vibrant colors of half- naked fairies and strange goblin-like creatures prancing through a forest with blossoms and mushrooms screamed out at them. But these were not your ordinary fairies. The fairies were topless, the goblins with big dicks shaped like serpents. Beneath the picture were the words, Snow White’s Dance to Hell. “Very enlightened view of the fairy tale,” said Maura.

  “So you know its Richard Dabble”

  “Who else could it be? He’s not here, is he?” She glanced around the room as if expecting the artist would jump out and introduce himself.

  “Nope, Still in the asylum, but I contacted him and he said we could use his painting for the show. I got it from his…friend.” I made quotation marks in the air.

  “Didn’t he kill his father because he thought he was the devil?”

  “Which is why he’s not here. I’m not that brave.”

  “Still, it should draw a crowd just having his work in the show.”

  “Exactly what I thought.”

  “I’m impressed, Liz. You’ve really made a great go of this. I knew you would. My camera crew will ….”

  “About that,” I began. I patted the air for emphasis. “Can we keep it short and with not too much hub bub? I’d really like this to be a calm relaxing venue. All right?”

  “Oh absolutely. Anything you want, Liz.”

  “And thank you for helping me today.”

  “No problem, Cuz.”

  Maura was a little pushy but I could deal with pushy, as long as we got coverage with her contacts in the press. That being said, I knew she would run interference if the wrong kind of reporters tried to wiggle their way inside. Mainly, the kind following my stepfather’s trial. Just having Maura around kept those frazzled butterflies zooming around my stomach safely under control. I hoped.

  “Okay, let’s set up for the caterer now,” I said, leading her toward the adjacent room.

  “Now, what time did we set the refreshments for? Seven? Eight? Seven twelve?”

  “You decide,” I said laughing.

  “Got it. Seven after eight it is. My lucky number.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks, a look of horror on her perfectly made-up face as we walked around the corner.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She groaned, and her whole body went stiff. She started ringing her hands. “This is all wrong. All of it. Oh my god, what are we going to do now? I tried to delegate like you said. Not take every little detail on by myself. But that was hard, you know. I’m not built that way. But I did like you suggested. I let Belinda make one of the phone calls. Only one, but an important one. And now…! Well, just look at the place! This is all my fault. I just had do take over. I always do that. My sister’s are always telling me that I do that and now….” Her lips curved down, her eyes close to tears. “I’m so sorry, Maura. I’m so very sorry.”

  “Maura, what are you babbling on about?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? The chairs are different sizes! How are we to set up tables with chairs all different? The spacing will be all wrong. No, not wrong. A flipping disaster!”

  “It’s not a disaster.” I tried not to laugh because she was really and honestly upset, her body coiled like a drum. To me it was such a small detail, but to Maura it was a catastrophe.

  “Maura…” I placed a hand on her back. “This is the wrong room, honey.” I pointed. “Our room is that one to the right.”

  Maura sagged, the tension releasing from her shoulders. “Really?”

/>   “Really.”

  “Thank god. I thought I ruined your show.”

  Chapter TWENTY FOUR

  Damon

  I had no idea how I was going to win Liz back.

  The only thing that came to mind was sending her flowers. I knew it wasn’t the right answer, but what else was a guy to do? A guy with zero imagination. I had to do something. After ordering from the sixth florist in a row with as many roses as they would allow me, I sat back in my computer chair, put my feet up on an ottoman, and closed my laptop, pleased with myself.

  “What are you doing?” asked Tabitha. “I thought you were working on a plan to win back your girlfriend. Surely you haven’t thought of one in the last fifteen minutes.”

  “I just ordered five hundred dozen red roses to be delivered to Elizabeth’s house in New York. That should get her attention.”

  Tabby groaned and shook her head.

  She shoved my feet off the ottoman. “Idiot.”

  “What? You don’t think it will work?”

  “Maybe. That is, if she was actually in New York.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s in the city this weekend knucklehead. Don’t you remember?”

  “Fuck! The art show. I forgot.”

  “Yeah. Besides, she’d see right through that.”

  I groaned. “Now what am I going to do?”

  “Listen, how much does this girl mean to you?”

  “I love her. Why?”

  “Not enough.”

  “What do you mean it’s not enough?”

  “Think about it, Damon. Think about it long and hard. How does she really make you feel? What’s so different about this one from every other woman you’ve ever dated?”

  I scratched my head, recalling the sweet smell of her skin against my own, the sizzling heat she kindled inside me, the moment she said my name, the sound of her laugh early in the morning. I remembered the way she looked at me, like I was the only man in the world. “Okay, it’s like this. You know when you and I trained for that triathlon three years ago?”

  “Boy, was that a mistake.”

  “Yeah, well I worked you pretty hard, but it paid off if you remember.”

  “I have to admit that, yes. You are the king of that kind of torture.”

  “Whatever. Remember how we got up every morning at the crack of dawn, and did laps across the pool and then ran on the treadmill, plus lifted weights? We didn’t stop until lunch. Remember how the first week of that schedule, you wanted to quit, you said you couldn’t take another step. That it hurt too much?”

  “Damon, you f worked me like a madman!”

  “We won, didn’t we? And what did I tell you?”

  “You said I would be stronger for it.”

  “Yeah. That’s how I feel when I’m with Liz. Stronger than I’d ever felt in my life. Like I could take on anything. She makes me a better man, Tabby.”

  Tabitha nodded and her face brightened. “So go and show her.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but it has to come from the heart, and it should be kind of dramatic and…outstanding. Girls love that stuff.”

  “I thought the flowers…. ”

  “Everyone does flowers. Trust me on this one, Damon. Outstanding and dramatic. And don’t go barging in all half-cocked like some sort of Neanderthal. Wait for the right time.”

  With that, she threw an imaginary fishing rod in my direction and pretended to reel it in. “And she’ll be all yours, brother dear.”

  Suddenly, I knew exactly what to do and my grandmother was going to help. God rest her soul.

  Chapter TWENTY FIVE

  Liz

  I handed some brochures to one of the volunteers and then shifted a small bronze sculpture of a man on his tip-toes, arms behind his arched back, and his head tilted like he was looking at the moon, when my body went rigid.

  “What the hell is that demonic sound outside? Maura, can you check that out? I’m still setting up these pieces over here.”

  “Right on it, Liz.”

  I knew there were parades, music fests, and other annoying celebrations happening all over town, but they usually shared the same parade route over on 77th street, so what the hell was a Scottish Bagpipe band doing right outside my front door? I’d never had much love for the music, myself. To me, they sounded like a dozen asthmatic pigs being slaughtered. So much for my calm relaxing venue.

  A few minutes later, Maura returned to my side. “Here, let me help you with that big one.” We moved a fairly large painting into its rightful place beside the others.

  I stepped back and sighed, wiping the sweat off my brow. “Are they moving in this direction?” I asked, meaning the pipe band.

  “Sorry. Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

  “Just great.” I said, flustered. “Well, let’s hope they go by quickly, although it would have been nice if they had waited until after I made my welcome speech. Hopefully, the patrons can still hear me.”

  “Sorry. I should have looked into the schedule for you,” Maura said.

  “No. It’s my fault. Not yours.”

  I covered my ears with my hands trying to drown out the drums.

  I fucking hated bagpipes. Those stupid little skirts. The huge pom-poms on the end of the drum sticks. That high nasally pitch pierced my ears until they bled. Not really, but it felt that way. The noise made me edgy and disagreeable.

  “Over there,” I snapped at Maura. “No there. No, go back. It was better in that first position.”

  “Make up my mind already,” Maura said.

  “Sorry. It was good in the first place you picked.”

  “Told ya!”

  This was not the way I pictured my first art show going. I couldn’t even hear the violins, flutes, and cello I’d hired. I wanted people to dream while they walked, immerse themselves in the art. I wanted them to drink wine, talk, relax, enjoy the experience. But with all that racket outside, getting louder by the minute, we sounded more like a circus than anything else. And how could anyone relax? I sure couldn’t.

  Frustrated, I stuck my fingers in my ears as the pipes grew louder still. “Damn, why did they have to do this today…of all days…at precisely this moment?” The nervous butterflies that made their home inside my stomach kicked up a notch, sending beads of sweat to my palms, chest, and the back of my neck.

  “It won’t last long,” Maura said. “Just relax. I’ll shut this outside door to give us more of a barrier.”

  She slammed it with a thump, and a bunch of flyers on the table near the door flew off the table from the draft.

  I sighed with relief when I realized what a big difference it made after Maura closed the inside door. “I can almost hear myself think now.”

  “Great, because it’s almost time for your welcome speech.”

  The bagpipes droned on as I made my way to the podium where at least half the people who were attending the show had already taken seats below the stage. I tested the microphone, but then forgot how sensitive it was. It was strong, the kind the networks used, and picked up everything within a five foot radius. To my horror, it amplified my voice as I muttered to Maura that if the men outside showed us what was under their kilts, we might actually be interested in listening to that horrid stuff they were playing. The room burst into laughter and after my face heated up, I realized I was actually more relaxed now. I just needed to find the lighter side of things.

  “Well, on that happy note,” I said still giggling. “I want to thank everyone for coming for the first ever Sultry Dreams Art Show. On your seat you’ll see a ticket for twenty percent off if you choose to purchase something in the first two hours of the show. I’d also like to take this opportunity to…”

  I paused as that ghastly Scottish noise grew louder and louder. I had to raise my voice to be heard over them. Was it possible they were right outside the door? A few of the children in the audience ran to the windows and several adults turned around in their chairs as a man
dressed in full Highland dress walked through the door and took a seat in the shadows. I had no idea who he was, but there was something oddly familiar about him. That didn’t make me any less annoyed however.