Chapter 23
THE KILLING MOON
Cosmo - Snagged Thread
People drifted through the gallery halls with their tiny flutes of champagne, remarking on Eddy Marquez’s vision for his peculiar still lifes of bloody cuts of beef.
They mused that he’d surely been going through something traumatic and dark to create such pieces, and hopefully the poor man was getting out of his depressive episode.
The truth was Eddy was a butcher and had merely found it to be convenient subject matter.
Although that in itself probably spoke to his state of mind.
As Night Gallery’s newest artist, Micah’s exhibit was directly up front by the refreshment table, and for once, Cosmo wished he was the art handler. The handler had done a fine job of mounting the portraits, but Cosmo could have been the one framing and displaying Micah’s art with care.
Pulling the pocket square from his jacket, he rubbed a fingerprint from the glass over one of the drawings.
Someone behind him exclaimed, “Oh, I love these. Wait, they’re of you!”
A cluster of people had gathered, their gazes jumping from the portraits to Cosmo.
He put a hand under his chin and batted his lashes.
“Aren’t they fabulous?” The only thing these people loved more than art was gossip, and Cosmo had gotten permission to spill this particular secret.
He leaned forward, teeth pressing into his lip.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but nearly all of these portraits were done over the phone.
Micah talks to random strangers – telemarketers, restaurant hostesses, sex line operators – and gets them to describe themselves for him. ”
A woman gasped, and the people around her murmured. “How strange.”
“Isn’t it, though? He’s very eccentric.”
“Is that how he drew you? If so, he did an amazing job.”
“He saw me very briefly during a chance encounter, and was so enamored with my look that he was compelled to draw me. He’s done my portrait over the phone too, and I must say that it was a thrilling experience.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. What a unique way to draw someone. Their own perceptions of themselves must come out in the drawings. Almost like he’s drawing their inner selves.”
Cosmo grinned. “That’s why they’re all so beautiful.”
The woman plucked a business card from the holder beside the exhibit. “He’d draw me this way, wouldn’t he?”
“Well… It’s supposed to be a secret, but I’m sure if you asked him nicely, he’d love to do this sort of commission for you.”
Other people reached for business cards, and by the time they drifted away to another exhibit, half of the cards were gone. Micah was going to have all the phone calls he could handle.
Cosmo had seen his beau only for a moment before Simone whisked him away to discuss her portrait. Hopefully his initial nerves would wear off as he sank into the routine of drawing.
When Cosmo had been standing in the living room, slowly stripping, Micah’s gaze kept flitting away, roaming over some memory only he could see. His breath had quickened, hand visibly shaking as he wielded his pencil.
He wanted to take that pain away from Micah as much as Micah wanted to take away Cosmo’s. Hopefully Micah would call his brother after the event was over and brag about how well he did.
Checking his watch, Cosmo excused himself from chatting patrons and walked down the halls. After peering into Simone’s empty office, he stopped at the easel set up near the reception area, but Micah wasn’t there either. He was supposed to be on in less than fifteen minutes.
Loud retching came from the bathroom. The soles of Micah’s loafers peeked from beneath a stall door.
Shit. “Oh, honey. Okay.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll tell Simone you can’t do this.”
“No!” Micah’s voice was hoarse and desperate. He coughed. “No, I have to.”
“You don’t, and if Simone knew it was making you so anxious you were puking up the hors d’oeuvres, she would tell you the same.”
The toilet flushed, and the stall door slammed open. Micah’s face was pale and sweaty, his glasses dangling from his hand and tie tossed over one shoulder. He splashed water on his face, gargled, and raked back his hair.
“The first time I came back to your place, I could tell how badly you wanted to be able to let me inside,” Cosmo said.
“But a desire for something isn’t always enough to power through.
You needed time and practice to get me into your apartment.
And now I can stand inside without hurting you.
This is just another hurdle that requires more time. ”
Micah blotted his brow with a paper towel. “Or an alternative? Maybe I could sketch you again instead of Simone, if you were up for it. Clothed, this time.”
It seemed better to call the whole thing off, but if Micah needed to do this for his own sense of accomplishment, then so be it.
After sending a message to Simone, Cosmo tucked Micah’s tie back into his vest, straightened his collar, and kissed his clammy brow.
His phone jingled with a reply, and he read it aloud.
“‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to my portrait, but this night was supposed to be a fun way for Micah to meet potential clients, not cause him stress. If it’s better for him to draw you instead, that’s totally fine.
Did you ever meet Franchesca? She couldn’t paint unless she had 3 cups of decaf coffee, her favorite slippers, and daytime court shows playing in the background.
She did a live painting event and we had to find her a laptop and play Judge Judy before she’d get started. ’”
Cosmo tapped his lips. “I did meet Franchesca. She was lovely.”
“I’m glad she’s accommodating, but I know you can’t be my Emotional Support Lover for everything I do.”
“I’m your muse, remember, so that seems perfectly appropriate.” He tucked his phone away and headed for the door. “I think I saw some seltzer water. I’ll snatch you some quick. Meet you at the easel.”
Slipping through attendees and managing to avoid getting sucked into any conversations, Cosmo stopped at the refreshment table and skimmed past the carpaccio and assortment of cheeses. A few remaining flutes of champagne sat out but probably wouldn’t help Micah’s stomach.
The chatter faded as he headed down exhibit halls to the break room. Much less fancy fare of day-old bagels and a Tupperware tub of brownies Clarence’s wife had made sat on one of the tables. Poking his head into the fridge, he pushed past forgotten condiment packets and coffee creamer.
“I know I saw seltzer somewhere.”
A shadow loomed, and a hand offered Cosmo a bottle of seltzer water over the top of the fridge door.
“Thank you! Where was it?”
“On the counter,” Royce said.
Cosmo straightened so fast that he banged his head on the freezer handle, but he barely felt it. He clutched the bottle to his chest and backed away, blood pounding in his temples. “You have some nerve.”
Royce stared with pursed lips, his expression that of a person who had something to say that they’d rather not.
“If Simone knew I was here, she’d throw me out on my ass.
And I hate that it’s come to that. She and Hina used to be such good friends, and Hina doesn’t even talk about Simone anymore.
The galleries have become rivals, and it’s all your fault. ”
Cosmo’s chest felt like it had been run through with a red-hot poker. “I need to go.” He tried to hurry around Royce, but Royce stepped into his path and held out his arms. His fucking tie was crooked – always crooked – and the sight of it made Cosmo want to sock the man in the face.
“Just a moment. I’d been hoping to smooth things over. I even got you a gift.”
“I don’t want your gifts.” What Cosmo wanted was out of this room, even if he had to dive through Royce’s legs. He couldn’t stand here a second longer.
“I know how dramatic and emotional you can get, and I should have thought about that when you told me in the bar that you needed love. Kissing you then was terrible timing, and being drunk is not an excuse. I’m sorry it upset you so much.”
Royce stepped forward, pinning Cosmo between the counter and the table of bagels. No one was in the back part of the gallery right now. Cosmo hadn’t passed anyone in the halls. They were all too busy sipping their champagne and pocketing Micah’s business cards.
Deep furrows cut into Royce’s brow. “Then you blocked me from your Flashbulb. I made a new profile, and I sent messages to your DMs with pictures of my gift, but instead of replying you deleted your account. That was hurtful and unnecessary. You sex yourself up and pout into the camera in your tiny shorts that showcase every curve of your package, all for the attention of random strangers. But when someone who’s been your friend for years wants to give you the love you deserve, you push him away?
Why are you a slut for everyone but me?”
Realization crashed through Cosmo. It was Royce. The whole time, it had been Royce calling him a slut. He’d made an account with Zedd as his profile pic so it looked like the harassment was coming from him. Royce in his DMs, sending him pictures of… what exactly? Cosmo didn’t want to know.
He balled his fists, nostrils flared. It was easy to feel like the one to blame, the one to lead Royce on, but it wasn’t true.
This wasn’t his fault. He’d trusted Royce, and the director had kept going even after Cosmo told him to stop.
“I know how beautiful I am. But I dress the way I do for myself. My clothes aren’t an invitation for you to put your hands on me. ”
“And you dislike the attention so much that you reply to every comment with kisses and hearts? You can pretend to be demure for your new boyfriend, but you and I both know who you really are.”