Chapter 18
ARTISTS ONLY
Micah - Snagged Thread
The phone rang for a second time. Normally Micah never hesitated to pick up – a call meant someone on the other end to talk to, no matter who it was. But Cosmo had known this call was coming, and Micah didn’t think it had anything to do with presque vu.
“Important” could mean any number of things. Cosmo had so many connections to the art world; it could be a potential new commission. His stomach clenched – or maybe it was a therapy appointment.
He couldn’t just let it ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Micah Wildsmith?”
“Yes.”
“Micah, my name is Simone Green, gallerist of Night Gallery. How are you today?”
Oh god. Did something happen? “I’m– I’m good. Is Cosmo okay?”
“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. I hope I didn’t give you a scare. I’m calling because I’ve reviewed your portfolio and love your work. Cosmo showed me additional portraits on your Flashbulb, and they’re fabulous. I’d like to offer you representation. Night Gallery has a loyal…”
A gallery wanted to represent him. Finally! Simone mentioned the particulars of their clientele, commission profits, how his art would be displayed and the exposure and support he could expect, but all Micah could think was that he should have sent Cosmo a hundred-dollar gift certificate instead.
Knowing Cosmo had talked Micah up and influenced Simone’s decision added an extra layer of anxiety to seem impressive, and he’d already creeped out his landscape client today.
“Does that sound like it would be a good fit for you?” Simone asked. “If so, I’d love for you to come down at your earliest convenience and look over the contract.”
“Uh, yes. That sounds great. I can be there today.” He couldn’t remember what cut of the commissions she’d said the gallery would get, but it was likely standard, and galleries marked up artwork much higher than a freelance artist would, so even after fees, the artist often made more than they would on their own. It would all be in the contract anyway.
“In addition, we have an artist reception next week that Cosmo thinks you’d be perfect for. I would love to have you live draw me during the event, and this would be a paid commission of–”
Micah dropped the phone. It hit the desk and tumbled across the carpet.
His heartbeat crashed in his ears. He couldn’t draw live models anymore.
Hadn’t he told Cosmo that? Surely he did.
Why else would Micah be on the phone, begging random people to describe themselves?
It was true that he hadn’t actually tried to draw an in-person model again since the assault, but the very idea made him break out in a cold sweat.
Simone’s voice drifted from the phone. “Micah? Are you still there?”
He picked it up, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m here, yes. Sorry. Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I think drawing you in a public setting is going to be a little out of my comfort zone.”
“Oh…” Her voice sank. “That’s too bad. I don’t want to pressure you at all, but perhaps we can talk about it more when you get here? All of our clientele are lovely and laidback, and I’m sure we could work out something to make it as stress-free as possible.”
Shit. Shit. Cosmo had told Simone that Micah was perfect for this, and now he was making himself look like a bad fit.
He might not lose the offer of rep, but he didn’t want to do anything that would reflect poorly on Cosmo.
He’d only just started there. Micah had never been one to believe in a predetermined destiny, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t how the universe worked.
They shouldn’t have been able to make a parallel universe – a snagged thread.
If that thread was trying to course-correct, and Cosmo wasn’t supposed to be working for Night Gallery, destiny might try to pull him back to working under Royce, no matter how hard he tried to leave.
“Oh, Christ.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Simone said.
“Uh, yes, okay. Let’s talk about it when I come to review the contract.”
“Fantastic! It’s a week away, so plenty of time to prepare.”
Plenty of time. Right. He shook out his numb hands. “See you in a bit. And thank you. I’m very excited.”
She chuckled. “Don’t thank me. Thank Cosmo.”
After checking on Phantom, who seemed content to stay beneath his bed for the time being, Micah drove to Night Gallery in his best suit and a fit of indigestion.
He had to hold it together. If he didn’t go through with this, once Night Gallery’s actual registrar came back, they might let Cosmo go.
Royce would undoubtedly find out, and it wasn’t a leap to picture him pouncing on Cosmo when he was vulnerable, convincing him to come back to Identical Dog.
Micah swallowed, grimaced, and pulled into the gallery parking lot.
Checking his appearance in the rearview mirror was a mistake. His bangs were already mutinying from his coiffe, and he’d taken on a pallid, sweaty sheen. After dabbing his brow with a napkin from the glove box and taking a long pull from a bottle of water, he left the car and walked inside.
A white man a bit older than Micah stood at the reception desk, squinting at a computer monitor.
Micah gave his name and the man introduced himself as Clarence, the gallery’s director.
Micah followed him into an office, and after a moment, they were joined by Simone.
She sat behind a desk and pulled out a folder.
A resin cube sat atop a stack of papers on the corner of the desk.
Inside was a partitioned bird skull bursting with seeds and tiny plant sprouts that were probably actually beads and knotted bits of thread.
The sculpture anchored Micah, and he reminded himself that he could do this.
It was hard to focus on the conversation about their gallery and what sort of collaboration and networking they offered, but it wasn’t dissimilar from the last gallery Micah had been in, so he nodded his head and hoped he looked enthusiastic.
The commission fees and terms were reasonable, so Micah signed the contract. He patted the resin cube on the corner of the desk for a bit of physical reassurance, and said, “You have one of his pieces.”
“Oh, yes. One of his first. He’s so talented.” Simone smiled. “And I can’t get over the portraits you’ve done of him. I hope you can make me look as good.”
Micah turned the resin sculpture, sliding his fingers across the slick surface, but didn’t dare pick it up.
Instead, he studied Simone’s features. She had wide-set eyes with feathery lashes and eyebrows plucked to oblivion, drawn back on in a shade darker than her bister complexion.
Her hair was a high flat top cut at a slant, with a fade around the sides.
Her white suit jacket created hard angles of her hourglass figure.
“You’re a study in contrasts. Geometric hair and pencil-thin brows on a soft, heart-shaped face.
A suit with a dramatic cut struggling to contain generous curves.
Long, chitinous nails on rounded fingers. ”
Clarence frowned. “Did you just comment on her weight and compare her fingernails to beetles?”
“I love him!” Simone stood from behind the desk and grinned. “Such fascinating perspective. You’ll have to tell me what to wear for the portrait.”
“We’re not doing a nude, then, right? Sometimes it’s what people want and many of the portraits in my portfolio are because–”
She laughed. “I do not have that much confidence.”
“You should. All bodies are beautiful.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but getting naked in front of a hundred attendees at the event is more than I’m willing to do.”
“Right.” Because this was going to be in public. Drawing in front of others had never bothered him before, but the risk of freezing up and panicking when it was just Simone was bad enough. If he made a scene in front of an entire crowd, it would be a disaster.
Simone frowned, searching his face. “Are you okay?”
His throat was closing hard enough he was certain he’d choke on his own tongue.
A cold sweat broke out on his brow. Simone stared at him with concern.
He turned his attention to Cosmo’s sculpture on the desk, thinking about the corner exploding and chunks of resin skittering across the floor in Identical Dog.
All he needed to do right now was say yes to this event. Baby steps. Sweat itched at the collar of his shirt. He gave her a smile that felt more like he was merely peeling back his lips, and said, “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed.”
“The atmosphere will be very casual, I promise. But not ‘no clothes’ casual.” She laughed.
“And any accommodations you need, just say the word.” She strode around the desk, then air-kissed both his cheeks.
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Micah.
Clarence can take care of any questions you have and give you details about your exhibit. ”
“Thank you. Will you excuse me for a moment?” He left the room, limbs stiff, and strode quickly for the restrooms. He pushed through the door, slammed open the stall, and vomited into the bowl.
Sweat coated his brow, his hands shaky as he gripped the seat.
The end of his tie floated in the putrid water.
Past-Micah – not the depressed and unwashed man who’d been sleeping on the couch less than a week ago, but Micah from before the assault – would have been overjoyed at this opportunity.
The idea of drawing a gallerist during an event, with so many potential new clients watching, would have sent him into a fit of excitement.
How incredible for his career! He could build up his base of clientele and fans, and would surely meet plenty of new artists.
Past-Micah would call Everett with the news.
Past-Micah would ask someone to record the event so he could share the footage with Mom and Dad.