CHAPTER 9
Nash
I arrived at the venue a little early, shooting off a quick text to Bee.
Me: Are you here yet?
Bee: Look left. ??
Doing as I was told, I looked up to see her several feet away. She was in a massive line that stretched well around the block. With her arm raised, she beckoned me in her direction. Parting the mingling crowd, I made my way toward her.
She dressed similarly to me, in charcoal colors, with her dark hair down and loose. She had her nails painted black, not the usual hot pink. I figured it was for the occasion.
The crowd I pushed through was unprecedented. The timing of this pop-up was an unplanned coincidence that quickly created a media storm in the art world. I couldn’t have wished for a better turn out.
Several groups I passed were discussing the stolen Blue. It had created a sensation and was achieving the desired effect. Perhaps soon, PERL would finally show their face.
I reached Bee just as a vendor passed, offering freshly baked cookies. Savvy local businesses, food trucks and vendors were taking advantage of this moment. It was smart. I would have done the same.
I gave the vendor a declining gesture as they hurried on to the group behind us.
Gazing down at my phone, I was already scanning the tagged images of the event on social media.
“So,” keeping my eyes on the screen. “Anything yet?”
Bee laughed. “In this crowd? We have our work cut out for us. Half of New York is here. I saw Henry Barns with his group of followers earlier, eating up the publicity over his stolen piece.”
I smirked. “Told you so.”
I could practically hear her eyes rolling. “He’s dressed to be seen, that’s for sure. He has that hideously eccentric Manet suit on again.”
“The naked lady one?” I ventured.
She snorted. “Yeah, the naked lady one with the nipple, front and center. The one that has to be censored in news articles when he wears it.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Only Henry.”
I locked my screen and dropped my phone into my trench pocket, craning my neck to see ahead of us. We were about five storefronts away from the front area. Black poured out onto the street, showing where the location started.
I’d seen posts all day where the crew, clad in black coveralls, black scarves that covered the lower half of their faces, and low-slung black ball caps, had set up the front-facing facade of the show.
They’d rolled out black matte paint across the otherwise worn but washed NY sidewalk, and up the front of what was once a large deli.
The black-light sign that read PERL hung on the new black brick above the windows as media sources gathered. They’d all eagerly trained their cameras to get a look as the windows were uncovered, only to find them covered with black vinyl on the backside.
The purple glow of the black-light sign now highlighted the white shirts and hats of some patrons nearest the front.
Street musicians set up every twenty feet or so, and their music created a cacophony of background noise.
The buzz surrounding this entire block was infectious.
Not a single passerby was oblivious to what was happening, each stopping to take a picture for their social media feed.
At nine, the crowd moved, spilling forward onto the large front patio space, which someone had roped off. Bouncers halted the line one group ahead of us, reaching capacity. It was another 45 minutes before they let another group through; us included.
Once we reached it, I was quick to catalogue the patio. Around a hundred people mingled in the outdoor space, enjoying the vibe and chatting with either a bourbon or champagne flute in hand.
Near the patio exit on the opposite end, people poured out, filling the restaurants and sidewalks nearby.
People were talking animatedly, hands gesturing and snippets of descriptors floating through the air like “Sharp, poignant, deeply disturbing.”
Bee and I made our way toward the door. An obvious line formed, creeping along.
I caught the boisterous laugh of Henry then, seeing him emerge from the line that was filtering out of the space.
“Absolutely stunning, a great addition,” he remarked, cheeks a brilliant red and sweat dotting his brow and bald head.
He was a stout man, colorful and famously single-and-ready-to-mingle.
As Bee had warned, the famous Manet nipple was front and center on his left coat pocket.
The rest of the famous artwork titled Olympia splashed across and wrapped around his back.
He had a black velvet bow tied around his neck—bold and flirty, just like the courtesan whose nipple graced his chest.
He saw us then. “Nash! Just the man I wanted to see. What. A. Coincidence!” he sang, sidling up to me.
I held my ground, familiar with his bold advances. He loved to flirt. “Henry, glad to see you enjoying all this, despite the circumstances. I was sorry to hear about your loss.”
Henry tapped my chest with his fingers in a playful beat.
“My dear, dark, handsome boy, life has never been better! Not a moment spent in mourning,” he assured, which I knew had not been the case until my father talked him into seeing it from a better angle.
“I just secured the purchase of this piece, so I’m feeling well, thank you.
” Leaning in, he added, “I’m riding that horse till she bucks me! Just soaking it up!”
My eyebrows rose. “So you bought it?”
I was both surprised and not. I’d expected him to buy the PERL I was about to auction, but perhaps he’d buy both. His pockets were certainly deep enough.
“Well,” I paused and leaned into him conspiratorially, now adding to the secret bubble we found ourselves in. “It just so happens that I know about an upcoming PERL auction you might also be interested in.”
Henry jumped back, gasping with exuberance. “Really!?” He began fanning himself. “Which one? OH! Can you imagine owning two at once, or even three if they ever find Blue!”
I smiled. He was hooked. “Red.”
“Red!” Henry feigned a heart attack. “The first one ever!?”
I nodded. “The very one.”
Winking at him, I gestured that the line was moving and our moment together was ending. It also served as a great opportunity to leave him hanging.
Henry stood straight, hand resting on his neck bow, mouth agape in a dramatic pose as we stepped away.
“You keep me updated, Nash!” he yelled after us.
I nodded in affirmation and turned back to Bee. Triumph was written all over my face, I was sure of it.
“Oh, you bad, sinful man,” Bee murmured, slapping my chest. “Taking advantage of him like that!”
I chuckled. “Just teasing the drama, my dear sister. It’s my job. The more he wants the PERL the more he’ll pay.”
She was shaking her head.
The frame of the double doors passed over us, which were propped open. Cool fall air rushed at my back, pushing out the hot air that was accumulating in the mid-sized space.
Having been a deli, the room was large enough for another hundred patrons, who were mingling inside.
This part of the deli once held shelving for bread and condiments and was quite spacious for New York.
I remembered it from when I was a kid. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into a bodega after this.
To the back and left, an L-shaped deli counter remained. The artist had painted it black and filled the glass displays with electric flickering candles. It was the only light in the space besides the light that hung above the painting, which was nestled to the right in a nook of the wall.
My height allowed me to tower over most, my eyes fixed on the piece as we neared. Each patron spent anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes inspecting the art.
Coming upon it, the color struck me first. The painting was deep warm tones except for one large slit of light turquoise and bright neon red through the center.
My eyebrows rose at that.
The colors, not for the first time, but in rarity, complemented each other well. This piece felt cohesive and pigmentary in a way Blue hadn’t, but that was the beauty of the artist’s story.
I read the brief statement on the wall to the right of the piece that discussed the ocular condition that only allowed them to see things in shades of gray.
It was the same short and sweet paragraph they always displayed beside the piece.
Above that was the name placard adorned with Henry’s red dot, indicating its sale.
“Doubt,” it read.
Eyes moving back to the art, I noted the deep groove in the turquoise paint. It made sense to me. I could see the doubt in the slash, but what the artist didn’t see was the doubt in the color, too.
I reached for my phone, snapped a pic and opened it in my photos app. Finding the edit feature, I turned down the saturation of the image until I was seeing it in black and white.
It was beautiful.
The once turquoise slash was now only a single shade different from the neon red that sat beside it. Darkness surrounded the two center shades as though doubt was the light that cut through the darkness.
Suddenly, doubt didn’t seem like such a negative emotion, instead bringing hope to an otherwise bleak canvas. Looking back at the piece in full color, the bland background transformed into warm swirls of color.
It was brilliant, and it was frustrating.
“Wow,” Bee began, looking at my screen and seeing what I was. “That’s amazing.”
My heart thudded in my chest, delicious adrenaline pushing into my veins. This was life, this moment I struggled to cling to—that brief second of realizing the human condition on display. It was here and gone—and I wanted more.
The group behind us was pressing us to move forward.
I grasped Bee’s arm and hooked it with mine to guide her away.
I nodded in the opposite direction, indicating my intended exit.
She nodded in agreement before we stepped away toward the back part of the deli counter.
Looking up, my gaze landed on a set of very familiar blue eyes.