I jerked up my head, staring at him with a mix of confusion and hatred.
“Bastian, it’s been five years since she died. In the last few days, you’ve made more progress toward moving on than you have in all those years combined. Maybe your mind doesn’t need her right now. I’m sure she’s close by. But dude, you’re going to have to give yourself a chance to live without her.”
His intention wasn’t cruelty; it was reality. While no one else could have gotten away with those words, Nate had kept me alive after Sylvie had died. He’d made multiple attempts to get me into counseling, but when that didn’t happen, he just showed up. Every day. Every. Single. Day. Everyone else had given up on me around the one-year mark, including my parents. But not Nate.
I couldn’t respond, but I held his stare, hoping he’d understand that I’d heard what he said, even if I weren’t in a place to accept it yet.
He gripped my shoulder with one hand and a gentle squeeze. “Allow yourself to breathe. It’s okay to feel something other than pain. Sylvie would’ve wanted happiness for you.” He walked out of the room, although I was certain he would be waiting on the couch when I got my shit together.
My head hung, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to function without her, to feel somewhat normal again. Not having an answer to that question or any other when it came to Sylvie, I stood and then made the walk of shame to find my best friend.
“Sorry, man.” I apologized for yet another breakdown Nate had saved me from.
And again, he waved me off. “So, tell me about this shit you’re dragging me to as your date.”
My death stare did nothing to calm his roar of laughter.
About a year after Sylvie had died, the papers reported that I was homosexual. Every time I’d left my house, I had been seen with Nate. But it wasn’t because we were sleeping together. Nate dragged my ass out, kicking and screaming. Although no one ever reported how miserable I looked at his side. Bastards. Nate had thought it was funny then and referred to it constantly now as though it were a running joke.
“Sera has a gallery opening. She asked me to come.”
He fell into fits of giggles again. “Does Sera know you’re bringing a date?”
“Aww, fuck. Do you really think she thinks I’m bringing a date? Jesus, if she does, and I show up with you, she’s liable to believe the shit the papers had to say. And you’ll encourage that crap.”
Nate couldn’t catch his breath and bent over, clutching his stomach.
“It’s not funny, Nate. Dammit. What the hell should I do? I can’t go alone. I can’t face that crowd by myself. But I can’t take a man.”
Between bouts of laughter, he pointed out, “You sure can’t take another woman, asshole.”
I resigned myself to having Nate as my plus one. If I flew without my co-pilot, I’d crash and burn. I could explain his presence to Sera later. I’d rather justify him than another woman.
“Fuck you. Pick me up at six-thirty. We can go grab a bite and then go to the gallery. The showing starts at seven, but we don’t need to be there until after that. Oh, and don’t dress like a damn slob, either—slacks and a decent shirt.”
His laughter started to grate on my nerves. “For someone who doesn’t want to date me, you sure as hell just planned one. I’ll pick you up, wearing my Sunday best. Will I get laid for buying you dinner and taking you to a lame-ass gallery exhibit?”
“Nah, but at least you’ll be seen with the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” I tossed a shit-eating grin in his direction.
“I’m heading out, Bastian. You gonna be okay? Or should we have a sleepover so I can take care of you?”
“I’m good.” Right before he reached the door, I called out, “Hey, Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.” My voice cracked.
Nate didn’t need praise, and he knew I wasn’t referring to the gallery opening. Without another word, he nodded and left.
5
Chapter Five
Every night, Ferry returned. His crew scurried around to set up. Ferry then captured what he came for, the team broke everything down, and they left. The entire production was like watching the sugarplum fairies in the Nutcracker. Although nothing about it smelled like sugarplums or held their vibrancy. The colors had started to fade, and it stunk—a visual and sensual metaphor of my life.
“Hey, Ferry.” I grabbed his attention before he left. “I won’t be here tomorrow. I’m going to a gallery opening downtown. Do you want to come earlier, or do you want me to give you a key?”
He appeared a bit stunned, but the grimace quickly passed. “No worries. A key is fine. I want to continue to shoot at the same time each night.” Ferry gathered the remainder of his things as he talked. “I’m surprised, Bastian. I haven’t seen you out and about in quite some time.” He raised his eyebrow in question.
I shrugged, unsure of how to respond. “I doubt I’ll stay long but figured I’d make an appearance.”
“Enjoy it. People will be glad to see you.”
I couldn’t put a name to what I heard in his voice or the look that flashed across his face before he had cloaked it with indifference. Ferry and I weren’t close enough to question it, so I let it go and gave him a key.
“See you Friday, Bastian.”
I tilted my head in acknowledgment, and he left.
Reliving high school and all the awkward shame I’d felt for four years did not appeal to me, yet that was precisely what I did. I was the gangly dork whom the prom queen had agreed to give a pity date; therefore, I’d changed clothes multiple times and spent more time on my hair—which essentially looked just like it had when I had gotten out of the shower—than I cared to admit. The man in the mirror was unrecognizable. No matter what I did to find some semblance of who I used to be, I just looked…haggard. Or maybe, what I saw was old age. Fuck, I didn’t know anything other than I didn’t like it.
The familiar pounding signaled Nate’s arrival. And when I opened the door, I found him standing there in slacks and a button-up shirt, offering me a bouquet. I could have slapped the smirk off his smug face.
“You’re a douche, Nate,” I sneered and took the flowers.
“They aren’t for you, asshole. I figured you wouldn’t have thought to bring her flowers, so I got them for you.”
His ignorance never ceased to amaze me. “You don’t take flowers to a gallery opening.”
“Why not? She’s a girl, and it’s a big day. Why wouldn’t you give her flowers to congratulate her?” Confusion clouded his eyes.
“Where’s she going to put them? In the pocket of her dress? Buying one of her pieces is how I say congratulations, not flowers. Especially not cheap shit with a Publix supermarket sticker on them.” I smacked him upside the head. It was a gentle swipe, but he got the point.
“Can you afford to buy anything?” He already knew the answer.
“No, but I will.” I didn’t have the financial means to purchase anything, but not buying something would ensure no “real” date in the future.
“Have you thought about telling her the truth?”
“Nope. Women don’t want to hear that you’ve spent every nickel you had since your wife died because you’ve been too depressed to work. Suicidal tendencies aren’t a huge turn-on, and neither are poor-ass bastards.”
“She’s going to find out, Bastian. You can’t hide the last five years. She could Google your name and find out everything you’re trying to cover up.”
I didn’t have a response; I was winging this shit as it was. I didn’t have a clue about how to date. I had sucked at it when I was a teenager, and I appeared to be even worse now. At some point, I’d have to be upfront with Sera, but hopefully, that moment would come later rather than sooner. “You ready?”
He opened the front door and ushered me out with a sweep of his arm. Taking a deep breath, I exited, locked the door behind me, and headed toward my future.
We arrived at the overflow
ing gallery around eight. Sera’s work had appeared to be quite good in the pictures online, but I had no idea she was this popular. Nate and I had wandered around, looking at each display, yet I kept coming back to an angel with an uncanny resemblance to Sera herself.
The statue stood about two and a half feet tall atop a large black block, shrouded in glass and illuminated from underneath. The delicate glow cast shadows at all of the appropriate angles, bringing a wave of sorrow to her bowed head. Every detail from the woman’s long, flowing locks that trailed down her back and covered her shoulders and bits of her arms, to the tattered hem of her dress, had been carefully crafted in clay. But it was her wings that held my attention. With a span of at least fifteen or sixteen outstretched inches, she might ascend into heaven at any minute. I was transfixed. While she had the ability to take flight, her solemn pose indicated a lack of energy or will to move. My heart ached for the depression and pain that showed in the lines of her face, and her eyes tried to hide a sadness that haunted her stone soul. If only I could rescue the tortured creature, maybe then I could save myself.
“That’s the one, huh?” Nate tilted his head from side to side, although I could tell he didn’t see what I did.
I nodded, continuing to peruse each delicate line and elaborate detail Sera had captured in this fallen woman.
“It’s kind of feminine, don’t you think?” His rhetorical question didn’t warrant an answer, and he hadn’t expected one.
Squatting down to get a better view, I noticed Nate wander off from the corner of my eye. I might have been there for twenty minutes, or it could’ve been an hour. Only when the gallery owner came by to place a sold ticket on the edge of the case did I return to the present.
She smiled gracefully. “Bastian! Wow. It’s great to see you! How have you been?”
Tara Winford. Gallery owner. Art connoisseur with a brilliant knack for discovering talent. At one time, her eyes had been on my pieces. Now, that was a distant memory.
“Hey, Tara. Nice to see you.” I took her hand and gently pressed a kiss to the top.
She really was a phenomenal woman. Sylvie and I had become quite close to her over the years, although I hadn’t seen her since the funeral.
The indecision shined in her eyes—a not-knowing-how-to-proceed look—so I saved her from herself. “Intriguing piece. Someone will be quite lucky to have it in their home.”
“What? Oh, yes, The Seraphim. It’s exquisite. The high-ticket exhibit tonight. I think Sera priced it, hoping it wouldn’t sell.” She winked at me.
“She obviously didn’t price it high enough or wasn’t aware of what someone would be willing to pay to have it.”
“Yes. She underestimates her worth. Most artists do. I haven’t been able to catch her to tell her how well things are going. There are only one or two remaining in the collection that haven’t sold.”
“I haven’t seen her, either, but when I find her, I’ll make sure to tell her you’d like to talk to her.”
“Thanks, Bastian. I’ll tell her you’re on the prowl if I see her first.” The awkward silence filled the space between us, and Tara made an escape. “Well, hey, it’s great seeing you. I hear you’re working with Ferry on a project. I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of the opening when you’re ready.”
“Certainly. Thank you.”
She leaned in and pecked me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re back, Bastian. We’ve all missed you.” With that, she turned on her stilettos and mingled her way through the crowd.
I stood, saddened, knowing The Seraphim had gone to someone else, but I couldn’t have afforded it regardless. I could only hope that whoever had purchased it appreciated the mesmerizing beauty the angel offered, and I bid farewell to the stone figure.
I was overwhelmed by the number of people I recognized—some beelined toward me to reconnect, and others cowered, unsure of whether to acknowledge me. I welcomed those with the courage to talk and gave a pass to those who were afraid. Suddenly, I was in my comfort zone, discussing mediums, hearing about newcomers in the community, exhibits opening, pieces that had sold. My old friend, art, welcomed me back to the living with a warm smile and a firm handshake. But then a chilled hand landed on my forearm, and I turned away from the group. My sight fell first on the fingers resting close to my wrist—long, thin, delicate fingers. Traveling their length, I found the nails of an artist whom—despite how hard she had scrubbed—was unable to reduce the appearance of clay.
My eyes cast up from the hand to a beautiful face, green eyes twinkling from the lights above. Fuck, she was gorgeous. My heart constricted with the sting of Sylvie staring back at me and the warmth of Sera calling my name.
“Bastian.” My name on her lips was the sound of a song as it rolled off her tongue.
I took her hand in mine and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Sera.”
She returned the gesture as though we were old friends. And even though I stepped back, I hadn’t let go of her while I took her in. From her black heels up, her lean body sheathed in black silk that hugged her curves in all the right places, she was stunning.
I couldn’t stop the wide grin that emerged. “This is simply amazing. I had no idea you were this talented. Oh, and before I forget, Tara is looking for you. She has news for you.”
“I just spoke with her. I had to come to find you.” Her voice trailed off as her eyes filled with tears.
I couldn’t handle a woman crying. “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”
“I just can’t believe Bastian Thames bought one of my pieces. I’m overjoyed.”
I had no clue what she was talking about. As much as I had wanted to buy something, I had missed out on the piece I had hoped for and never would’ve been able to afford. “There must be a mistake. While I love your work, I wasn’t—”
“Sera, I’m Nate, Bastian’s date for the evening.” Nate extended his hand to Sera, who appeared perplexed but accepted his greeting with a graceful smile despite his barbaric entrance.
“She raised her eyebrow at me. Your date?”
“Excuse Nate. He’s a jackass with no decorum. Nate, this is Sera. Sera, this is Nate. Nate’s been my best friend since I was an embryo.”
She giggled a beautiful sound, melodious. It wasn’t quite like Sylvie’s, but I could tell, even from that brief hint, that it could light up my world.
“Well, Nate. It’s nice to meet you.” She curtsied, which I found endearing as hell. “I can’t talk long.” Sera glanced over her shoulder at the people behind us, acknowledging she had to mingle. “I’m just blown away, Bastian. I’ll have to thank you over coffee sometime. Give me a call, and let’s get together soon, yeah?” She waited with eager eyes for my response.
“Yeah, definitely. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thanks again for coming, Bastian. I think more people showed up for the chance to see you than my work.” She winked as she walked away.
Sera glided through the crowd, and I enjoyed the view until I couldn’t see her anymore.
“She thinks I bought one of her sculptures,” absentmindedly, I spoke to Nate as I stared at the last place I’d seen her. But when I turned back to him, mischief was written all over his expression. “Fuck. What the hell did you do?”
The Seraphim arrived the following week, and Nate had yet to tell me what he’d paid for it. Based on Tara’s comment about Sera pricing it not to sell, I’d guess it was steep. I loved the sculpture, but I really had no idea what to do with it and left it in my living room. I didn’t really have a house designed for grand art, but it fit in with the bohemian décor.
Every time I walked through the room, I’d stop to stare at it, admire it, which was exactly what I was doing when Ferry showed up.
Not only did he spot The Seraphim, but he recognized it. “Sera Martin’s piece?” He walked by the angel without so much as a sideways glance.
“Yeah, are you a fan of her work?” This was a relatively small town in comparison to metropolises like Atla
nta and New York; therefore, the art community was rather close-knit. I hated to admit that I wouldn’t have recognized her because I’d been out of touch for so long.
“She’s young, but I see the potential. Unfortunately, her social life may keep her from ever realizing success. It’s a shame.” He shrugged off his comment as flippantly as he’d talk about the weather, although I was certain he didn’t know the effect Sera had had on my life recently.
“What do you mean?” My attempt at nonchalance failed. My voice came out far louder than intended and a tad offended.
“Word around town is her work—and I guess her life, for that matter—are dictated by her latest guy craze. Unless she matures and outgrows that, it’ll kill her career. At least around here.”
I didn’t need further clarification, at least not regarding his implication. The details would be interesting, especially those that pertained to Sera, but prying would give me away. The South was a fickle place to live. If an artist lived by the rules and creatively colored inside the lines, that person would be welcomed, possibly even well-received and successful. However, if an artist didn’t conform to what the Bible Belt deemed acceptable, at least putting up the appearances, a career could be snuffed out like a cigar. Based on what little Ferry had mentioned about her social life, I imagined he was referring to the number of men that crossed her path rather than the way she walked the trail.
That conversation left me raw. Like somehow, I had exposed Sera by having her angel out in the open for anyone to see, so I moved her to my bedroom to keep her safe. For hours on end, I’d stare at the sculpture in awe of the detail, the broken spirit of her expression, the exquisite wings. I wondered what place Sera had to go to mentally to create her. Sera seemed so full of life, so vibrant, but to bring The Seraphim to fruition, she would’ve had to touch a dark place inside herself—and that scared the hell out of most artists. It was also what made them great. But there was a connection to the name of the piece and Sera herself.
Reality's Illusion Page 5
