Trust Fund Baby

by Aiden Bates

  "It's a friend's show," Kurt said, disappearing into the building .

  Rubbing his temples, Luke debated catching a cab back to his condo. "Five minutes," he said to the gold foil of the window .

  In contrast to the historical building, the inside was contemporary white from floor to ceiling. There were islands of light and color with people clustered around them, and the hum of quiet conversation reminded him of the library .

  He hadn't been inside a gallery since Liam's last show. Thankfully, this wasn't one of the galleries that had hosted the shows he'd haunted like a ghost. Some things were constant, like the woman standing by the door in a crisply starched uniform handing out pamphlets and glasses of wine .

  "This isn't funny," he said when Kurt grinned at him. "Let's go ."

  Ignoring him, Kurt took a glass in each hand and flashed the attendant a charming smile. Shoving one of the glasses at Luke until he took it, he raised an eyebrow. "I'm not joking. If you want to wait outside, I shouldn't be more than an hour ."

  His voice echoed in the empty space, the people closest to the door casting glances at them. Shushing him, Luke had to force his jaw to relax. "What exactly do you expect me to do here?" he asked .

  "You walk around and look at the pictures," Kurt replied, sarcasm thick and honeyed. He elbowed Luke in the ribs when he tried to protest. "In case you've forgotten, that's it. Just go and look, and if anybody asks you if you think they're better than the exhibition from two years ago, tell them you just like the pretty colors ."

  "Fuck you," Luke hissed. Kurt didn't pay any attention to him, blowing a kiss as he slipped away to examine the first painting .

  Stuck for anything to do, Luke downed the glass of wine and grabbed another off a passing tray. His stomach turned at the thought of spending an hour staring at some stranger's canvases, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to let such a tiny thing defeat him. Stalking further into the gallery, he kept his eyes on the floor. If nothing else, maybe he could find somewhere to sit .

  Ten minutes later, standing in front of a painting of a black dot on a storm-tossed gray canvas, he found himself leaning in to examine the brushwork. The paintings weren't bad. The one in shades of green had drawn him in immediately. It felt familiar .

  Most of the pictures were abstract, but there was one toward the end that he circled back to again and again. Blue waves forever caught in the perfect curve crashed into a beach of flawless white sand. Half buried in the corner over the red 'SOLD' label, a discarded sandal stuck out at a whimsical angle. It should have been trite, the same retread image in every cheap, mass-produced hotel room art piece, but there was so much emotion just under the surface. It radiated off the canvas as he looked at it, warmer than the spotlights raising sweat on the back of his neck .

  He sipped his wine and stared at it .

  4

  "Y ou promised you'd come to the show," Jay said, clutching his phone to his ear. One of the waitresses slipped past him, swiping at a stain on her little black dress with a damp rag. In the whirling panic of his brain, he couldn't remember her name for the life of him. Smiling tightly at her, he ducked into the storage room off the hallway to the bathroom .

  "Victor's business trip was cut short," Mary whispered. "I couldn't get away ."

  "Mom," Jay begged, "this is the biggest show I've ever done." He rubbed at a smudge of soot on his shirt cuffs and tried not to think about the disaster area the kitchen had turned into. "The chef burned all the hors d'oeuvre, and the owner has been stuck behind a five-car pile-up for the last three hours ."

  "You'll figure it out, Jay. You always do ."

  "Mom," he said, but she was already gone. He pressed his forehead against the phone, trying not to breathe too deeply. The lingering smoke smell rising off his shirt made his eyes burn, and he wanted to go back to his studio and hide. He was running out of time. If he didn't sell at least one painting this weekend, he wasn't going to have enough money to pay rent on the space next month .

  "We're almost out of wine." The hostess slipped into the small storage room, wringing her hands. "I thought we had another case, but I can't find it ."

  "Of course, we are." Jay laughed, the sound slightly hysterical as he wiped the tears off his phone with the corner of his shirt. "This is how my life is going right now ."

  "Should I call Bonnie?" She kept looking at him, chewing her lip and smearing lipstick all over her teeth .

  Squaring his shoulders, he pulled out his wallet. "Send Emily to get more wine, and make sure that the chef hasn't been drinking it on the sly," he said firmly. "When she gets back, put the bottles in here, not the kitchen." He handed her the last of the money that Bonnie had loaned him for incidentals. "Don't bother calling. Even if she wanted to, she can't do anything stuck in traffic ."

  "Okay," she said, losing some of the nervousness with concrete instructions to follow. "Are you going to be okay ?"

  "Yes," he said, digging up a smile for her. "It's just the stress," he lied through his teeth .

  "Artists are so sensitive." She nodded sagely, patting him on the shoulder .

  Jay let himself slump against the crates as she disappeared back into the gallery. Peeking through after her, he groaned. The gallery was packed, and he wasn't sure he had the strength to deal with the crowd. Most artists would kill for a full house on opening night, but he just didn't have the energy tonight. He hadn’t eaten since last night, and was counting on stealing some of the appetizers out of the kitchen .

  He could see the two art critics that Bonnie had warned him about huddled in front of the three paintings he'd done after getting drunk in his studio last Christmas. He'd camped out there for almost a month because the heat had been shut off at his apartment. They'd probably say the paintings were about lost love or some bullshit like that because of the red. If he was honest, it had been the only color he had left. With barely enough money for food that month and his job at the restaurant ending on a sour note when he wouldn't sleep with the manager, he hadn't been able to get more paints .

  He straightened his back automatically, his chin coming up "If nobody will support you, you have to support yourself," he muttered, smoothing down his shirt. "Mr. Price, Mr. Turner," he said as he stepped into the gallery. "I'm so glad you could make it ."

  The art critics looked him over as he approached them. "We were just discussing this series," the taller of the two said. "It's so typically indicative of a heartbroken artist. Trite, really ."

  Covering the involuntary roll of his eyes by scanning the room, Jay smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. I'm looking forward to your impressions ."

  Working the crowd was exhausting, and Jay hid his shaking hands by tucking them away in his pockets. By the time he made it through half the gallery, he could feel a cold sweat popping out on his forehead. He greeted an older couple, well versed in local art circles, but he couldn't focus on the conversation for more than a minute. Gray spots danced in his vision as he looked around the room for escape, struggling to keep his breathing even .

  Like he always did when he needed strength, he searched out the painting. His painting. The one he'd felt too vulnerable to give a title. The cool blue of the water was like a balm to his fraying nerves, and he managed a slow, deep breath. He could only see a tiny sliver of the sand, the perfect beach gold that had taken him sixteen frenzied days to get just right, the rest of the picture hidden away behind a broad-shouldered alpha standing under the spotlight .

  Jay took another breath, turning back to the couple with a smile. "It was so good to meet you," he said. "I shouldn't keep you. Enjoy the show." He slipped away before th
ey could try to drag him into further conversation .

  The alpha in the rumpled suit was still standing in front of the painting when he made his way around to that side of the gallery. He was taller and younger than most of the people in the gallery, his hair still pure brown without a hint of gray. He kept tilting his head, and Jay's curiosity got the best of him .

  Stepping up beside him, he tilted his head to the same angle. "It looks the same to me," he said thoughtfully. The alpha jumped, fumbling the empty wine glass that had been dangling from his fingers. It pinged off the floor, rolling to a stop under the painting. "Sorry," he said, wincing as conversations stopped all around the gallery. "I didn't mean to startle you ."

  "It's okay," the alpha said, his deep voice carrying through the room. A flush stole up his cheek as he cast a sidelong glance at the crowd. The pink cheeks only emphasized the delicate cast of his features, his nose small and straight over full lips, and high cheekbones catching the shadow of his long lashes .

  Jay's anxiety melted under the need to soothe the sudden tension in that tall form. "What were you thinking about?" he asked, stepping closer .

  A tiny smile spreading across his lips, the alpha gestured at the painting. "Someone once told me that you should always look at art from different angles because the galleries never hang them right side up." His eyes slid over Jay in a mischievous glance as he leaned in .

  Bursting into startled laughter, Jay tried to stifle the sound in his hand as people turned to look again. "Smart friend," he said, shifting slightly as their shoulders brushed together. The alpha was warm, even through the layers of his suit, and it felt good against Jay's chilled skin. "I put labels on most of these, but a couple still ended up on their sides ."

  "You're the artist?" His voice cooled, the intimate tone evaporating as the other man put a bit of space between them. "Your technique is very good." The stilted words were anything but complimentary .

  Unsure of what had changed, Jay pasted on a professional smile. "Thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying the show, even if some of the pictures are upside down ."

  "One could argue that the right side up is whichever side speaks to the viewer." The alpha pressed his lips together in a grimace, shaking his head as though the words had been a mistake. He wandered a few steps away, his eyes sliding over the canvases. Taking the hint, Jay let him go, but after a moment, he turned back. "I like this one better from the left ."

  The painting was titled "Lights of the City on a Cold Winter's Night," and Jay hadn't actually looked at it since the day it was painted. His eyes skittered across the surface, the blur of color smeared angrily into the black field turning his stomach .

  He swallowed the feelings, turning to stare at the blank white wall. "Why do you think it's better that way ?"

  The alpha crossed his arms and frowned. "I'm not an artist," he said with a shake of his head. His eyes caught the spotlight, the flash of green making Jay's heart skip a beat .

  His eyes slid over the painting again, refusing to catch, and a chill crept up his legs. "Didn't your friend tell you?" Jay said, his voice coming from a long way away. "Anyone who tells you what a painting is ‘supposed to’ say is full of shit. All that matters in art is what it says to you." The alpha's teeth were white and straight as he flashed a startled smile, and Jay's nerves settled even more. "There's no wrong answer here ."

  They drifted closer to the painting, and Jay had to really work at not seeing it. It was a large painting, taking up almost the entire wall from floor to ceiling. They were silent for a moment, the gallery flowing around them as they waited .

  "If I look at it standing up, I feel alone," he said after a moment. Each word was bitten off as though he wasn't sure he wanted to say it. "But if I tilt my head to the side, it's more comfortable. It makes me think of Hong Kong and London, lying down at the end of a busy day of sightseeing in a hotel room overlooking the city." He smiled, his eyes distant. "I feel like I can conquer the world. Like I'm just waiting for the sun to come up on another day of adventures ."

  Jay stared at him, his hands itching for a brush or pen to trace the perfect curve of his neck. The light in this man's eyes as he talked about the painting made Jay want to look at it again. Made him want to see the beauty and hope that he talked about. This painting that had been ugly since the day he ground the paint onto the canvas in a fit of rage, too tired of hurting to hold it in another second .

  "You make it sound beautiful," he said, his voice hushed with wonder .

  The alpha blinked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "It is." His eyes raked over Jay's smudged and rumpled clothes, warm and inviting again .

  Jay glanced around and leaned in, rising up on his toes. "Can I tell you a secret?" he whispered, warmth creeping up his spine as the other man's eyes darkened. "I haven't looked at this picture since I painted it ."

  Smiling like he was waiting for the punchline, the alpha didn't seem to know what to do with the realization that Jay was serious. "Why not?" he asked, his eyes drifting to the huge canvas .

  Jay leaned in closer, resting a hand on the soft wool of his suit. He was gratified when those enchanting eyes snapped back to his lips. "Because I hate it," he said so quietly that the words were barely a breath .

  "You what?" Glancing around as his deep voice carried, the stranger frowned. "Why ?"

  Unable to help it, Jay laughed, a dark and bitter sound. "Call it bad memories," he said .

  Pursing his lips, the alpha crossed his arms. "That's too bad. It's a decent painting, but I know how memories can linger ."

  Jay shook his head. "I'm not sure I believe you, but if you like it, I wouldn't be heartbroken if you wanted to take it home ."

  Those green eyes slid his way again, a long glance under lashes so long and thick that he was jealous. For a moment, Jay considered making a move, but then the guy began to smile. Not the sweet, awkward smiles that he'd been giving up until now, but a smile full of mischief and confidence. The kind of smile that Jay never could resist .

  "Whatever you're thinking, no," Jay said, trying to step back .

  "No idea what you're talking about," the other man replied, hooking their arms together and maneuvering Jay dead center in front of the godforsaken canvas. "Just hear me out. Try it my way, and if you still hate it, I'll buy it off you right now. You'll never have to look at it again ."

  Too shocked to protest, Jay stared at him wide-eyed, a corner of his brain already calculating how long he could live off a sale like that. "I could lie," he said, his mouth running along without him .

  "You won't ."

  "You don't even know me," Jay protested, confused and intrigued by the sudden change. The man next to him was almost a completely different person, and even stranger was how safe Jay felt tucked up against him .

  "Just look at the painting," he said with a grin, cupping one big, hot hand under Jay's chin .

  "I'm doing this under duress," Jay muttered, allowing him to turn his head to look at the painting. The chuckle that tickled his ear gave him the strength to really look at it for the first time .

  He couldn't help the tension that crept into his shoulders as he stared at the violent mash of yellow and black, sickly green and angry red speckled across the surface. He could still see the letter, the last contact from his stepfather, the man who had been his only father figure since the age of eight. The pieces were there, somewhere, buried in the mounds of black paint for art historians to excavate centuries from now .

  "Now look at it like this," that rich voice said, warm breath against his cold skin making him shiver. The fingers under his chi
n stroked the pulse of his neck as Jay allowed his head to be tipped to one side .

  The colors shivered, nauseating swirls dancing as the canvas, the biggest he could find, skewed sideways. It was the right size for a corporate lobby, wishful thinking in every overconfident thread. Or a hotel window. His breathing stuttered as his head came to a stop, and the lights of the city lost their hateful glare. The warm pulse of light and life that washed over him was so shocking that he jerked upright .

  "Did you see it ?"

  "How did you do that?" Jay asked, unable to tear his eyes from the canvas. The hand slid away from his chin, and he grabbed for it, missing the warmth already .

  "Sometimes," the alpha said distantly, his lips hot against the sweat at Jay's temple, "you just have to look at things from a different perspective ."

  Stomach knotting, Jay tracked the angry swirls as he tilted his head again. He couldn't pinpoint the change, but after a moment, the light of the painted city settled into a gentle glow. There was no blue or purple in the painting, the colors too calming for what he'd been feeling. At this angle, though, the black mixed with the light of the gallery added the illusion of a coming dawn to the picture, a hopeful note that he hadn't painted and had never seen before .

  "How did you do that?" he asked again, his voice barely there as if the hush of the dark night had stolen it .

  Strong fingers squeezed his briefly before the alpha stepped away. "Magic," he said. “Someone taught me that once, and now I'm teaching you." His eyes stared through the painting at the faraway horizon, and Jay was torn between capturing the slope of his nose and taking in every detail of the altered painting .

  There was a frantic energy to his stare as they stood in silence, a desperation to absorb the changes in case the magic disappeared at midnight like Cinderella's carriage. The alpha drifted away, putting space between them with a deliberate nonchalance that belied the tension in his shoulders. Jay didn't follow .