She stopped to get her bearings, and propped the paintings against a streetlamp. Craning her head to look at the street signs, Kelly jumped when something sharp jabbed at her ribs. A hot stench filled her nostrils as the man holding a knife to her side pressed his groin against her ass.
"Gimme your purse, pretty lady." His breath reeked of old booze and rotten teeth, and the rest of him smelled of stale piss. Adrenaline shot into her bloodstream as she tried to remain calm. Slowly, and without a word, she held out her purse, which was snatched away.
"What's in the bag?"
"A change of clothes." Her voice wavered slightly but she was surprised by how calm she sounded, like getting mugged by a homeless man was an everyday occurrence.
"Give it!" She just as carefully held out the bag. He grabbed it and stayed pressed up against her for a moment, then was gone.
She spun around but only caught sight of his shabby ass running down an alley. She moved to chase the guy down but caught herself. What are you thinking, Kelly?!
What was she thinking, she wondered as she started trembling uncontrollably. What was she thinking walking in this bad neighborhood? What was she thinking coming to New York alone? What was she thinking getting on a stranger's motorcycle? What exactly was she thinking?
Sobs wracked her body as she slumped against her paintings and slid into a ball on the ground. Cigarette butts, a broken booze bottle and a hypodermic needle littered the gutter next to her, smelling exactly as her mugger had. Shaking and crying and covering her head, Kelly rocked herself back and forth.
No doubt the people clustering around her thought she was insane. If she didn't stop soon, they'd call the cops, who would probably take her to a mental ward or jail. At least I'd have someplace to sleep. She barked with dreadful laughter at the thought, throwing her head back. The crowd moved back in unison.
She stared wild-eyed at the crowd. "What am I supposed to do now?" she screamed at them. None of them would meet her eye, yet they didn't want to move on from the train wreck of a girl having a meltdown on the street. She tucked her head between her knees again in resignation and resumed rocking.
"Kelly?" A voice filtered through the sound of her own sobs. "Kelly Saunders, is that you?" The voice was familiar but she couldn't place it. She looked up in time to see a familiar face pushing through the crowd.
"Brutus!" She launched herself into her friend's arms, not believing he was there. She clutched and grasped at his back, making sure he was real, that this wasn't a dream. "Omigod, are you really here?"
Brutus grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back, but she kept hold of his arms, afraid he would disappear. "Kell, what are you doing here? Are you okay? What happened?"
She fell into his arms again, crying even more loudly. She babbled into his shoulder everything that had happened over the past ten days, from hating her job to meeting Rick to the Pinyon Art Collective to Beth to the snafu at the Soto Gallery to getting mugged.
"You just got mugged?" Brutus' face was full of concern. "We need to call the cops right now."
"But my phone was in my purse," she sniffed, wiping at her eyes.
"It's okay, my darling, I have a phone, too." He smiled benevolently at her stupid comment, and dialed 911.
Chapter Seventeen
An hour later, after giving a vague description of her attacker — "He was average height and smelled really bad" — to the police, Kelly and Brutus were on their way to his nearby flat. The cops had asked her if she had someplace to go, and when terror flashed across her face, Brutus stepped up and said she could stay with him. Kelly had never felt more relieved in her life.
"I can't believe you just found me on the street like that." They were carrying her paintings between them, sharing the load.
"Yeah, you're one lucky bitch." He bumped the package into her, giving her a wink and a smile.
"Seriously, the odds must be astronomical that you'd just stumble across me in a city of eight million people."
“I guess, but Alphabet City's not so big, and most folks never leave their neighborhood. When there's a commotion on the street..."
"Like a woman having a mental breakdown?" she interrupted.
He laughed. "Yeah, like that. When something's going on, word spreads pretty fast. I happened to be on my way home from work."
"Work? Which gallery?"
Brute laughed again, but this time with a hint of bitterness. "I wish. No, I work at cafe around the corner."
Kelly quietly took this in. "You're a...waiter?"
He shrugged.
"But what about your show at Galerie du Luminaire? I thought..." She trailed off, not knowing what she thought.
"Oh, the show went great! I sold a few paintings and snagged a great review in The Villager."
"Then what?"
"Then nothing. The show was over, the gallery took half, and I was left with a few bucks to put down on an apartment."
"Oh, wow! You own an apartment? Must have been a helluva show!"
Brutus chuffed at her comment. "Of course I don't own, Kell. I used the money for first and last on a shared place."
"Oh." She kept saying that, and knew it must sound like she was disappointed in him. And if she was to be totally honest, she was. He'd left her behind, understandably, to make it big in New York City, and here he was working as a waiter and living in a shared apartment.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," he continued, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "They're all artists, so there's this very hip vibe going on. Some are better than others, but with what they charge in rent here, you really can't survive without roommates."
"Yeah, no, I get it," was her hurried reply. "If there's anyone who understands having to have roommates, it's me." She smiled at him weakly.
"Well, we're home," he said, coming to a stop in front of a shabby six-story building. They climbed the stairs to the fifth floor where Brutus used five different keys to unlock the door.
Kelly was dumbstruck when they walked in. The place was half the size of her apartment back home, and he had more than one roommate?
"Um, it's cute," she finally said.
"Bullshit, it's a dump." He hugged her to him and set the paintings down. "But it's home."
"How many roommates do you have?"
"Five."
"Six of you live here?! How...where...?"
Brutus shrugged. "There are partitions, and we alternate who gets which 'room' when. That way we all have some semblance of privacy at least a couple times a week. The rest of the time, we sleep in those bunk beds against the wall or the couch. Occasionally another artist friend will crash on the floor. It gets pretty wild from time to time."
Kelly eyed her friend. "Wild as in orgy wild?"
"Ha! Not this crowd. At least, I'm not interested, though I suspect a couple might be game, if you're up for it."
Laughter was a sweet release for Kelly. She beamed at Brutus as he moved around the tiny kitchen, pulling out ingredients for an undoubtedly gourmet meal.
He poured her a big glass of white wine and nodded at it. "Doctor's orders." Warmth spread through her as she sipped the cheap wine, relaxing into its embrace.
"I've missed you," she said to Brutus' back as he rummaged in the fridge. His shoulders dropped in defeat at her words. Closing the door, he crossed to her.
"Kell, I was an ass for deserting you like that. Can you ever forgive me?"
Kelly blinked in surprise. "Forgive you? For following your dreams? I hope you know me better than that, Brute."
A relieved smile spread across his sweet face. "Omigod, you don't know how happy that makes me! I thought you hated me, so I was scared to call, and then too long had passed and..." He took a breath. "I'm so sorry I didn't send for you."
"I'm not! I would have been mugged much sooner, I'm sure!" They laughed together and any tension that had been between them dissipated. Brutus got back to work chopping veggies.
"So where are yo
ur seventeen other roommates tonight?" Kelly glanced around the cramped space, noting duffle bags overflowing with clothes, and banana boxes crammed with shoes, towels and art supplies. The place had a mild sour smell, like too many bodies in a confined space.
"Most are working, a couple are probably at the studio."
"Studio?"
"Yeah, it's a great co-op space for artists to create, kinda like that co-op you belonged to back home. It's cheap and close by. We're all members."
At his mention of a creative space, Kelly bolted upright. "Greta!"
"Huh?"
"Of course! Greta could probably track down Beth and find out what happened."
"You mean the Beth that sent you on a wild goose chase all the way across the country? Girl, you're delusional if you think this wasn't planned."
Anger welled up inside her. "What are you talking about? Beth's my friend. She was the only person who cared about me back there."
"Really. The only person. What about this Greta? And you better not try to make me believe this Rick character didn't give a shit." He held up his 'don't go there' hand.
"You're right, Greta was great to me, but Beth called in favors to get me this show.”
Brutus knocked on her forehead like she was a dunce. "Earth to Kelly! What show? There is no show. This Beth bitch set you up."
"Why? What possible motivation would she have to do that, Brutus?"
He shrugged in response.
"You don't know her. She was my only friend in Vegas. Yes, Greta was wonderful, but she's more of a mentor. Rick...well, Rick was absent, gone, AWOL. Beth knew how much I wanted a show and she made it happen for me."
Brutus kept chopping, head down.
"Damn it, Brutus, stop that!"
He laid the knife down and leveled his best no-nonsense look at her. "Kell, hon, how else do you explain all this?"
"I can't, but she'll get everything sorted when I get in touch with her."
He laid his hand on hers gently. "And how's that going?"
Kelly blinked and drew her hand away. She was confused and her stomach was twisted in knots. She'd just been mugged and now he was implying that her friend — her only friend, as far as she could tell — had betrayed her.
She was so keyed up, she could barely manage a whisper. "Stop it, Brute."
He held his hands up and went back to preparing their meal. Kelly sipped her wine in silence, pushing questions out of her head, certain that she didn't want to know the answers.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of five locks being turned over in the door. A frail young woman dressed in black slunk into the kitchen and crossed to the fridge. The ends of her platinum blond bob were tinted pink. Kelly would have considered her goth but she thought they shunned color of any kind.
Brutus gave her a wink as he said loudly, "Hey, Candy. I'd like you to meet my friend Kelly."
A hand popped out of the fridge in greeting.
"Candy's goth."
"Fuck, Brutus, how many times do I have to tell you," Candy said, slamming the fridge door. "I'm pink goth." She rolled her eyes at him and slunk back out of the kitchen.
Grinning, Brute leaned in close and whispered, "She hates that, but it's so much fun!"
~ * ~ * ~
Two more of Brutus' roommates, lean young men dressed in shabby chic secondhand clothes, came home in time for dinner. The first was named Alex, the other something unpronounceable and very hip-sounding. They were friendlier than Candy, asking Kelly about her art.
"There are three pieces right over there, if you want to have a look." She motioned to the package by the door.
Alex squealed with delight as everyone set their plates on the floor — there was no table, so they were sitting where they could — and moved toward her paintings. After carefully removing the packaging, they set them up in order and eyed them critically.
"These are good, Kelly," said the emo with the funny name.
"Good? They're fantastic! These are way better than your 'Daddy Doesn't Love Me' series." Kelly punched Brutus in the arm but grinned just the same.
"Did you show them to that snobby Soto while you were there?"
A humiliated flush reddened her cheeks. "Um, no. He was too busy catching me as I fainted."
Three curious faces turned to her as Brutus waved them off. "Doesn't matter. These are too good for him anyway."
"Why do you say that?"
Brutus shrugged. "He's an ass."
"Yeah, and he never takes on unknown artists," noted Alex.
They stared at Kelly's paintings in silence, contemplating the difficulties of their chosen career.
"So you guys haven't had any solo shows either, huh?"
"Oh, no, we all have. Some of us," bumping his hip into a surly Candy, "more than once."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Assholes wouldn't know good art if it jumped up and tore their throat out. Still have to work at Burger King."
Kelly laughed, but stopped when she saw no one else joining in. "Oh, you're not kidding."
"No, but thanks." Candy stomped off behind a partition. Brutus grabbed Kelly's arm as she moved to go after the young woman to apologize and shook his head.
She looked at the others. "So have all the roommates had shows?"
"Yup," the emo confirmed. "Candy and Stefan are pretty hot right now, actually."
"But you all have jobs at restaurants?"
"Not all of us. Stefan works in an office. What's he do again, Brute?"
Brutus looked down at his shoes, toeing an invisible speck on the carpet like a schoolboy who's been caught doing something naughty. He looked up at Kelly from under his lashes before answering quietly, "Data entry."
Kelly's eyes dilated as she gave him a questioning look. That had been her life, the life Brutus had left her in to go seek his fortune in the Big Apple. And now she was hearing that a successful New York artist, one who'd had multiple solo shows, still had to work a data entry job. How was that possible?
"Let's go for a walk, Kell." Brutus pulled her arm toward the door. "Back in a few, guys. Your turn to do the dishes, Alcazar."
The air between them was thick with tension as they threaded their way through throngs of young people in crazy clothes and wilder hairstyles. Piercings studded every visible body part, and probably many of the ones that weren't visible. The atmosphere was darkly festive, energetic with an undercurrent of righteous indignation. Kelly caught whiffs of body odor mingled with pot and the unmistakable scent of desperation.
"I don't get it, Brute. I thought...I dunno, I guess I thought when you left, that you'd made it. You got your big show. What happened?"
"Don't be naive, Kelly." His sharp, condescending tone cut into her like a knife. "Most 'successful' artists have to have shit jobs that pay the bills…even in New York. The odds of earning enough from your art to make a living are about as good as becoming a pro basketball player, probably worse, now that I think about it. Just the way it is."
Kelly tried to process his words, but was finding it difficult to tear down her old belief system. She'd seen so many of her friends become successful — moving to New York or L.A. — while she stayed behind.
"Listen, I had the same fantasy as you," he continued, this time more gently. "It seems crazy now, but I thought I was going to be wined and dined by art collectors and gallerists from around the world. I was going to hit the scene running and never stop. But after my show, there were no calls, no wine, and definitely no dine."
Brute's hands were shoved deep in his pockets, head hanging as he remembered the past several months. "I remember the postcard I sent you. I was in the middle of my show, high on the attention, the accolades. When they disappeared like a puff of smoke, I was terrified and humiliated. I guess humbled is really the right word. Embarrassed is another one."
He cast her a sideways look. "I didn't want to admit to you that I'd failed. That I was no better off — worse off, really — than when I left home. I've tried to m
ake the best of it, and I have to admit that being part of a fanatically artistic community is thrilling in a way I can't explain, but..."
Pain and shame cast a shadow over his face. Kelly reached into his pocket and grasped his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.
"But what, Brute?"
A half-sigh, half-sob burst from him. "I want out. I hate it here. I hate almost everyone. They're all so fucking entitled. This place, this moment, is the center of the universe to these people, and nothing else going on in the world could possibly be as important. But the worst part is that I feel myself being sucked into their insanity. It's insidious, and I can see it, but I feel powerless to stop it."
"They say you become the people you associate with." She squeezed his hand again. "That's why I loved having you as my friend. I wanted to be like you more than anything. Caring, talented, funny, and the best damn cook in the world."
He graced her with a weak smile and squeezed her hand back. "Feel like a cuppa?"
The walls of the crowded coffee shop were painted dark purple and candle-like lights flickered on the walls. Hand-drawn posters pimping arts shows, plays and poetry readings covered one entire wall, while a group of underfed musicians plinked out some strange, atonal tunes in a corner.
Kelly and Brutus managed to snag a small table just as two emos were vacating it, leaving their garbage behind. Brute just shook his head and cleared while Kelly perched herself on a wobbly stool.
"So tell me more about this Rick character," Brute said as he sat on an equally unstable chair across from her. "He sounds positively melt-in-your-mouth good."
He set his chin in his hands like a kid at a candy counter waiting for all the gory details.
Kelly laughed. "He is that." Her smile faltered. "But he lied so that's that."
"He lied? Sweetie, all men lie. So what?"
"Brute, he was married and didn't tell me."
"Oh. Okay, I get that. Wait…’was’? Since when are you uptight about dating divorced guys?"
"He was married when we met, when he invited me to go to Las Vegas, and the whole time in Vegas. He says he didn't mean to not tell me but..."
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