Chapter 4 #4
“Damn right,” Gabe said. “I take responsibility for making the whole situation worse.”
Misty looked up at Gabe lovingly. “We’re together, and that’s what matters.”
All the couples squeezed each other’s hands or gave each other a peck on the lips. Noah wanted that, but could he have it with Kizzy? Or anyone, for that matter? How long could the family’s luck hold out?
Gabe tousled his six-month-old son’s hair. “I think Misty might be the best one to hear you out, Noah. She really was as close to ‘normal’ as anyone in this room. I won’t even ask what you two discuss.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Misty, if she’s still willing,” Noah said.
“Of course. I’m finished with dinner, and Tony seems happy. We should talk now.”
Wiping his mouth on a dinner napkin, Noah rose from the table.
“You can use the man cave,” Gabriella offered. “We’ll stay up here until you finish your conversation.”
As he and Misty reached the door to the finished basement, Noah swiveled so he could see everyone still at the table. “Oh, guess what? Dante has a new girl too.” He grinned as he delivered his parting shot and turned everyone’s attention to his buttinsky brother.
* * *
“Thanks for throwing me under the bus like that,” Dante muttered on their way home.
“Hey, one good dick move deserves another.” After a few uncomfortable silent minutes, Noah asked, “Was any harm done?”
Dante remained quiet, then sighed. “No. I had to reveal basic stuff before they’d leave it alone, like Mallory’s name and how we knew each other, but not the weird parts, thank the gods.” Dante didn’t have the energy to elaborate. Instead, he turned the tables. “What did Misty say?”
“Exactly what I thought she’d say. All the stuff about how men and women make assumptions about each other and how so many misunderstandings could be avoided if they’d only communicate openly and honestly.”
Dante snorted. “Yeah, because Gabe is so good at that.”
“That was her point. Gabe isn’t good at that, and apparently, it caused problems. She and Mom call him the ‘strong, silent type.’ Not a good trait, according to modern women.”
Dante laughed. “More like stubborn, silent type. It seems like he’s getting over it though. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
“Yeah. He actually smiles now. Misty says he’s planning to take the lieutenant’s exam soon.”
“Really? Why didn’t we know that?”
“Because he’s Gabe, remember?”
He chuckled. “Oh yeah. Well, he’ll have to communicate if he’s in a leadership position.”
“No shit. It’ll probably be good for him.”
Dante waited a few more minutes, but then curiosity won out. “So what did she tell you to do about Kizzy?”
“She said not to give up. To ask her to the basketball game, and if she says no, ask her if there’s something else she’d rather do. She said persistence in itself can be sexy—just don’t make it stalker-ish and creepy.”
“Ha! And what if she says she’d rather cut her toenails alone on a Saturday night?”
“Then at least I’ll know the truth.”
“So, when are you going to call her? The game is next weekend. She might have to make arrangements for time off if she wants to go.”
“You want me to call her right now, don’t you?”
Dante grinned. “Why not? If she shoots you down again, my being here to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart might help.”
“Forget it. I’ll call her when I get home—and from my own room with the door closed.”
“You can have the whole apartment. I have to go shopping. I think we have only beer and Pringles left.”
* * *
When Mallory answered the phone, a female voice asked, “Ms. Summers?”
“Yes…” Oh no. It’s probably some charity, asking for money when I’m practically a charity case myself.
“Are you the Mallory Summers who worked at the mall taking portrait photos?”
Uh-oh. Now she recognized the voice. It was the mom who had freaked out when Mallory saw her dead husband. What could she want? It was bad enough Mallory had lost her job. Did the woman want to sue her for mental distress or something? “Uh. Yeah, that was me.”
“I’m glad I found you. I want to apologize. I feel so bad that you lost your job.”
“Oh. Well, apology accepted.” I guess…
“Please let me make it up to you. I spoke to your boss, and even though he wasn’t prepared to rehire you, he mentioned you’re an artist. My friend owns a gallery and has agreed to take a look at your artwork and possibly arrange a show—provided she thinks your work will resonate with her patrons.”
“Really?” Was this a sick joke? A gallery show would be her dream come true. Could the woman be messing with her head, or might karma be through fucking with her at last?
“Well, it’s not a done deal. It depends on the quality of your artwork, of course. I understand you went to art school. I figured you must have talent…”
“Well, yeah. I guess so. I hope it’s enough.”
“What’s your medium, or are you only doing photography?”
“No, I also paint.”
“That’s perfect. Her clientele are looking for one-of-a-kind works. A photo can be duplicated hundreds if not millions of times. A painting or sculpture—an original piece commands a higher price, and rightly so. I know it isn’t easy to make a living with fine art, but this might help.”
“So, you think I might make up some lost income that way?”
“I hope so. There are no guarantees. But she has discovered some well-known talents who have gone on to show in New York, LA, and internationally.”
“Oh.” Mallory felt a little stupid. How should she respond to an opportunity like this? Was the woman simply feeling sorry for her? Well, duh. She might as well have come right out and said so. But Mallory wasn’t about to let her pride get in the way. Would her stuff merit a show?
The lady must have read her mind. “Your boss said you went to Mass College of Art. He said you were overqualified for the mall position anyway.”
“He did? I mean, yeah. I went to Mass Art, but he said I was overqualified? Most artists have to do something else to pay the rent. I figured photography was more creative than pouring coffee.”
“Yes, you’re right. And it may be your creative mind that allowed you to speak to my husband.
I really wish I hadn’t been so upset that day.
I thought you were talking to my father-in-law, and we didn’t have a good relationship.
I don’t know why I thought he’d care enough to watch over us.
My husband, however, would have naturally been interested in our well-being.
Despite certain family members thinking of me as a gold digger, it was a genuine love match.
I miss him so much. You may not think of it this way, but you have a gift. ”
Ah. Now I see what’s in it for her. She wants me to play “medium” and channel her dead husband.
“I’m afraid that may have been a one-time thing. I have no control over who comes through or why. It hasn’t happened very often, and that was the first time a spirit spoke to me.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to contact him. I’m just really sorry I ruined your life, and for such an unfair reason.”
She felt like she should protest the statement that she had ruined her life.
That was a bit strong. So what if she couldn’t get a job taking photos of kids?
She could do other things. She could learn to use those espresso and frothing machines and become a barista.
Pouring coffee was a perfectly acceptable way to make an honest living.
If worse came to worst, she could always ask if customers wanted fries with their fast-food orders. She wouldn’t starve.
“So, are you interested in a show of your work?”
“Hell—I mean, heck yeah! What do I need to do?”
“Just bring a few examples to my friend’s gallery. The paintings aren’t too big to transport easily, are they? I’d suggest a portfolio, but she likes to see the actual work when possible.”
“I paint all different sizes, and my boyfriend can probably help me get them there. How many do you think she’ll need to see?”
“Just bring your best two or three. The gallery is on Newbury Street, near Berkley. Do you know the area?”
Did she know it? That was just Boston’s premier address for designers, art galleries, and other expensive stuff. She couldn’t afford to get her hair done there. Holy crap. She had to take a breath in order to play it cool.
“Sure. I’m a native. Just give me her name, the name of the gallery, and if you have it, the phone number. I’ll call her and arrange a good time to bring some things over.”
“Oh good. Don’t put it off. She has a hole in her schedule she’s trying to fill. Some artist flaked on her and made plans to go to Paris a week before his show.”
Mallory silently thanked the absent-minded artist. Or maybe it was an excuse to cover the fact that he wasn’t ready. That would be the only way she’d miss her own gallery opening. Or panic. She always had to be on guard for her own self-sabotaging fear.
Mallory’s self-esteem wasn’t great, but she couldn’t imagine throwing away such an opportunity.
Now the pressure was on to make the most of this lucky break.
She couldn’t let anything get in the way.
Not dead people. Not male distractions, however pleasant.
Nothing. Oh shoot. She had already told Dante she’d go to the Battle of the Badges basketball game.
Well, it might not even be an issue if the woman thought her paintings sucked.
But maybe she’d love them! Showing in a major gallery was her long-term dream. Well, that and traveling to other bigger cities to do the same thing. She’d never thought it would come to fruition early like this. Mallory had to remind herself to breathe.