Chapter 15 #3
They walked inside, enveloped in a soft citrus scent.
He squinted his left eye against the harsh fluorescents.
A wall of fused glass sculptures greeted them, but he didn’t have time to register anything beyond that, because Cosmo strode for the back of the building, his heels clicking on the linoleum.
Colorful exhibits passed by in Micah’s peripheral vision.
He scanned each partition and room they walked by, but there was no sign of Royce.
Cosmo weaved through an installation featuring life-like nude people positioned at various points in the room. They stood upright, but their hair and features pulled toward the ceiling as though gravity had been reversed.
“Wait here.” Cosmo opened a back door and disappeared inside.
Though Micah had submitted his portfolio to most of the reputable galleries in the city, he couldn’t remember if he’d sent it to Night Gallery specifically.
If he had, they hadn’t rejected him yet.
Thank god he didn’t have anything in Identical Dog.
Prestigious or not, he didn’t want anything to do with this place anymore.
Something clattered from within the back room. Cosmo pushed out a cart, and supplies rattled in the boxes on the bottom. He headed down the hall, and they stopped at a corner partition with resin cubes mounted on pedestals.
Sliced and accordioned animal skulls floated within the resin.
In the gaps between the slices were other mediums – dried flowers, fungi, leaves.
In the largest cube was a human skull, divided in half.
Objects spilled from the brain cavity: loose change, a condom, pills, a house key, a ring with a solitaire stone.
How bizarre. The clashing materials unsettled him, and he couldn’t stop staring.
Cosmo hefted the cube with the human skull. “It’s not real. A museum replica. You can buy real ones on the internet for less than seven hundred dollars, but I find it unsavory. And I don’t have that kind of money to be throwing at my art.”
“These are yours?” Micah inspected a small skull – possibly a rabbit – and realized the dried flowers and leaves bursting from within the slices were actually candy wrappers. The mushrooms sprouting from a canine were really halved rubber balls, scraps of lace, and tumbled stones.
He bent to another. “This is incredible. I forget what this sort of optical illusion is called, using one medium to represent another.”
Cosmo picked up the cube and set it on the cart.
“Trompe-l’?il. These are older pieces, when I was still fairly new to working with resin.
I didn’t pre-seal some of the porous materials properly, and ended up with off-gassing.
” He pointed to the lace in the faux mushrooms. “You can see the air bubbles.”
“Hardly. I wouldn’t have noticed had you not pointed it out.”
“You’re just being nice.”
“No, I’m not. I have trouble focusing on fine details with my left eye, especially when the lights are bright.”
The cube sagged in Cosmo’s arms. “Oh, how sad. I’m sorry for being dismissive.” His gaze darted away and he let out an unsteady chuckle. “I wanted my pieces to impress you, but now I’m only thinking about all the flaws you can see.”
Micah stopped before Cosmo and resisted the urge to brush the curls from his eyes. “I only see, like, three flaws. Maybe four. Which isn’t an automatic deal-breaker, but if you poke me in my good eye your odds with me will be better.”
“Lies.” Cosmo chuckled. “You don’t need vision to know that I’m the hottest creature in existence.”
“Got me there.” Micah took the cube and set it on the cart.
“I am impressed with these, even more so after realizing the trompe-l’?il aspect.
They’re part science diagram, part pop art.
The combination of fragile bone carefully divided, with the almost violent addition of random assemblage is jarring and makes me uncomfortable. I love them.”
Cosmo flushed. “Thank you.”
“This is a shame.” A voice cut between them like rough-grit sandpaper. Cosmo flinched, then snatched one of the remaining skull cubes from its pedestal and put it on the cart.
A tall white man with a cruel line of a mouth stared at Cosmo as though Micah wasn’t there at all, his blue gaze icy. He started to walk around the cart, and Micah moved into his path. Royce attempted to side-step, and Micah mirrored him.
Royce’s thin lips pressed together until they disappeared, and he let out an exasperated sigh.
“There’s no need for these theatrics. We both had too much to drink last night, and going behind my back – behind Hina’s back – to work for a rival gallery simply because you feel awkward now is childish.
You don’t need this” – Royce finally glanced at Micah – “person to play bodyguard. I know how badly you want to be registrar, and how lonely you are. I’m sure that in the moment, coming on to me felt like it would solve both of those problems. I won’t hold it against you. ”
Angry heat flooded Micah’s face, his chest clenching in a tight knot. “You absolute bastard. How dare you twist this into Cosmo’s fault?”
Cosmo slammed a resin cube into the cart.
He reached for the final sculpture, but it slipped from his hands and struck the floor.
The corner exploded, and chunks of resin skittered away.
He abandoned it, gripping the cart handle and pushing it forward so quickly that Royce had to leap out of the way.
Micah picked up the damaged sculpture. No matter what Cosmo said, he was sure the rumors about Royce were true, and it wouldn’t be surprising if Royce had been withholding promotion from Cosmo until he slept with him.
Micah cradled the sculpture to his chest and jabbed a finger at Royce.
“I know all about you. I know exactly what you do, and you’re mad that it didn’t work this time.
Don’t think for one second that I won’t tell every artist I know. ”
The whites of Royce’s eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Go prey on someone your equal. Like a cockroach.” He turned, but Royce snatched his arm. Micah shoved him into the wall. “You keep your hands off me, old man.”
Royce raised his fist, teeth bared in a feral snarl.
Cosmo shoved between him and Micah. He stared at Royce, chest heaving, then slapped him hard across the face.
Royce let out a clipped exclamation, and Cosmo slapped him again.
Royce squeezed his eyes shut, but didn’t put up his hands in defense. His cheek flared a vibrant crimson.
Hands pressed against the wall and a vein jumping in his jaw, Royce cracked open his eyes and said, “Cosmo–”
He smacked Royce again, and the sound reverberated off the walls.
Turning away, Cosmo shoved the cart down the hall, and Micah hurried to catch up.
Supplies and sculptures clattered as the cart weaved drunkenly past the gravity-reversed figures in the installation room.
They reached the gallery entrance, and Cosmo rammed the cart through the front doors.
Stopping at his car, he threw open the trunk and packed in the resin cubes.
Micah set the boxes of supplies inside, but when Cosmo tried to shut the lid of the trunk, it popped back open.
He slammed the lid down, eyes blazing, and it popped open again.
The cardboard box dented and crumpled as he tried a third time.
He slammed the trunk down over and over, until the box was smashed and the contents surely broken.
He collapsed against Micah and sobbed, balling Micah’s sweatshirt in his fists. He pressed his face into his shoulder, his hoarse cries muffled as shudders wracked his body. Micah held him tight and stroked his hair.
Micah had been there. That frustration and anger, the self-blame and feelings of being violated had been his constant companions – his only companions – until he’d destroyed enough art and shed enough tears for depression to take over instead. He couldn’t let Cosmo get to that point.
Of course Royce would turn this on Cosmo. I know how badly you want to be registrar, and how lonely you are. He knew, and he pounced upon it.
Gasping for breath, Cosmo pulled away, his eyes red and puffy.
Streaks of mascara ran down his cheeks. He sniffled hard and wiped his nose, then shook a cigarette from his pack.
The lighter trembled in his hands. Micah gently took it from him then held it to his cigarette.
Cosmo took a long drag; smoke curled from his nostrils, tears still clinging to his lashes.
“Well. That was cathartic. And I’m grateful your adorable sweatshirts are as soft as they look. ”
Micah pulled it over his head and offered it to Cosmo.
Cosmo tugged it on, then pressed his nose to the collar and inhaled.
He stared at Micah, then turned the smashed art supply box on its side.
After shutting the trunk, he said, “It’s mostly sculpting tools, some silicone molds, dust masks.
I rather wish there’d been something fragile inside. ”
“I punched a hole through a stretched canvas and flipped over my drafting table after what happened to me.”
“And destroyed a balcony railing.”
“‘Destroyed’ is a strong word. I’m not the Hulk.”
Cosmo squeezed Micah’s bicep. Micah flexed, and Cosmo smiled weakly, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. “Don’t suppose you’ll come back to my place, will you? I can show you the sculpture I’m working on.”
He couldn’t let Cosmo be alone right now. “I’d love to.” He climbed into his car and followed Cosmo as he pulled through the parking lot.
In Micah’s rearview mirror, Royce walked out of the gallery and stopped at the abandoned cart. He gripped the handle, watching Micah drive away.