Chapter 5 #2
“Till now,” Alana said, flipping around her phone to show the first several official posts from Lucia Colombo, who was officially calling herself CAT online now, claiming what she, apparently, always was. “A lot of people are brutalizing her in the comments. They’re calling her a fraud.”
“Is it really just because of that video?” Greta asked, furrowing her brow. She was ever conscious of internet cancellations due to the brief yet horrifying events back in 1997, when Bernard was accused of crimes he didn’t commit and sent to prison.
“There are other details people find alarming,” Alana said.
“Read me some of them,” Julia said. “I can’t bring myself to look at my phone anymore. It’s making me sick.” She’d already thrown up three times that evening, due to stress.
“Mostly, they’re fixated on how arrogant she seemed on stage tonight,” Alana said, her nostrils flaring. “It doesn’t seem to align with CAT’s murals.”
“I agree with that,” Ella said under her breath.
Julia gave her a pained look, and Ella shrugged. “I’m sorry. But don’t you want the truth to rise to the surface?”
“We don’t want Julia’s publishing house to go under,” Alana said.
“But you’re right. I don’t want to be a liar either.” Julia hung her head. Charlie rubbed her shoulders and kissed her neck.
“We’re going to get through this,” Charlie said.
“There have been loads of people thought to be CAT over the years,” Alana went on.
“I looked at all those lists,” Julia said.
“Monica Sia,” Alana read. “Teresa Accata. A guy called Frank Abinale.”
“They’re not all from Positano,” Julia said meekly.
Alana gave her a look that made her feel very small.
“Maybe you should call those people and ask them who they think CAT really is?” Ella asked, trying to perk up. “Maybe the art community has a better understanding?”
“Did you know that CAT hasn’t done a mural since 2022?” Alana asked then.
This sent the family into stunned silence. Julia blinked and nodded. “Yes. But it isn’t the first time CAT has taken a break.”
“It’s the longest break she’s ever done,” Alana said.
“But she came to me with this ‘mural’ last year,” Julia reminded her, using air quotes. “So it had only been two years. I assumed it meant she’d had a change of heart, or she felt too tired to keep the game going.”
“That makes sense,” Greta said. “Artists are allowed to change their destinies.”
The family was quiet, listening to the patter of the rain across the sand and Nantucket Sound. Julia filled her mouth with wine. She hadn’t eaten enough and was bound to have a bad headache.
“I can’t thank you all enough for your support,” she began, pressing her palms against the wooden porch floor to bring herself up. “I think my bed’s calling me. If I can sleep.”
“You should get some rest, honey,” Bernard said gently. “It’s all you can do. Tomorrow, you can face this head-on.”
Greta smiled in a way that told Julia: everything will be okay. We’ve been through worse, as a family. Which was true, of course. But Julia couldn’t help but think that she had to bear this on her own.
That was when Alana gasped and said, “Julia! Look at this!”
Julia’s heart leaped into her throat. Terrified, she got up and hurried over to Alana’s phone to see a photograph of a mural in Paris. But just as quickly, Julia’s excitement dimmed.
“That’s from 2016,” Julia said, shaking her head. “It was CAT’s third mural and her first outside of Italy. Some argue it’s the one that made her truly famous.” She turned to head back to Charlie, eager to get back home.
But Alana wasn’t done. “No! You’re wrong! Look at it closer!”
Julia flared her nostrils and turned around. She wanted to tell Alana that she was wrong, that over the past year, Julia had scoured through the history of CAT and her murals and knew everything there was.
“It was taken fifty minutes ago,” Alana shot, standing to her feet to show the mural again. “And it’s different from the Paris one from 2016. Sure, it’s similar, but it’s like it’s an echo.”
Like Ella, Julia didn’t like to admit when Alana was right, since Alana could be such a know-it-all sometimes.
But Alana had actually lived in Paris and had probably walked past the original CAT mural many times.
She was right about this fresh version of the CAT mural.
For one, it was in a different place than the original.
For another, it was marginally different but made in the same style. The timing was crazy, as well.
The first post read—in translated English: paint still wet! Long live CAT! The Nantucket CAT is a fraud!
Julia’s heart nearly exploded.
“It means that the real CAT saw what happened here tonight,” Alana whispered, “and wanted to claim her title.”
“She wanted to make it clear that Lucia isn’t the real thing!” Ella cried, having found the mural on her phone.
Julia’s ears rang. She thought she was going to collapse.
“If this is the real CAT,” Julia whispered, “then who is Lucia Colombo? And why is she pretending to be CAT?”
“Money. Fame,” Alana recited. “Because she’s bored?”
Julia put her head in her hands. Tomorrow would be a real doozy, facing a terrible slew of canceled preorders and backlash against the publishing house.
But if this muralist meant Lucia wasn’t the real deal, maybe that meant Julia and the publishing house had rights.
Maybe it meant they could sue Lucia Colombo and get at least some of that money back.