by Jay Bell
At least today he had an appointment. Mr. Wyman had sounded nice enough on the phone. A little gruff, maybe, but he didn’t sigh in irritation like the last few gallery owners, or hang up the phone after uttering those two dreaded words: Not interested.
Kelly adjusted the portfolio folder under his arm and opened the front door. The gallery consisted of at least three rooms. In addition to the main space he stood in now, two wings branched off, one to each side. A desk sat farther back in the room, currently unoccupied. Kelly approached it slowly while glancing around. Only paintings hung on the wall. There wasn’t a photo in sight. Had he told Mr. Wyman which medium he worked in? He sure hoped so, or all this might be a waste of time. He passed a sculpture of an old man, arms so long the knuckles touched the floor, and tried to take this as a positive sign that the Eric Conroy Gallery was open to many forms of art.
Kelly set his portfolio on the desk, noticing the door to a back room just as someone came through it. The guy was handsome. Dark skin, darker hair, and eyes like ice. The man stopped in his tracks, half a sandwich hanging out of his mouth, and stared back. They knew each other, didn’t they? Kelly had travelled endlessly and met a lot of people over the last few years. His mind raced through a catalog of faces and places, trying to find a match. Maybe he wasn’t looking far enough back. Maybe this was from before he left Austin.
Oh.
Tim, Jason Grant’s imaginary boyfriend. This was... awkward? Or perhaps it was a good opportunity. Kelly couldn’t decide if it hurt his chances or not, so he put on his best poker face and pretended they were strangers. Tim seemed to adopt a similar strategy, or maybe he didn’t remember Kelly at all. Either way, he walked to the desk and set the remaining sandwich on a piece of junk mail.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I have an appointment with a Mr. Wyman.”
“Kelly,” Tim said, but not as a question. His expression betrayed him momentarily, as he either made the connection or chastised himself for not having done so sooner. He extended a hand. “I’m Tim.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kelly said as they shook.
They stared at each other another moment. Then Tim gestured with his head.
“That your portfolio?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Great. Pull up a chair and let’s take a look.”
Before Kelly sat, he opened the large folder and took out a few stacks. “They’re organized by theme,” he explained. “Landscapes, architecture, portraits, and abstract. I don’t do a lot of that last category, and you might be wondering why architecture isn’t grouped with landscapes, which to me refers more to nature, even though I put the animal photos in with portraits. Of course sometimes people are in the landscapes, complicating matters. I tried to go by percentages of what makes up each composition.”
Tim glanced up at him. “Don’t forget to breathe. You might as well kick back and get comfortable. Art speaks for itself.”
Kelly sat and tried to appear casual, even though his muscles were tense. Every photo Tim flipped through made Kelly want to launch into another barrage of explanations. But Tim was right. If his photos were good enough, they would tell their own story.
“I like this one,” Tim said, holding up an image of a gritty old farmer standing next to his tractor, one hand resting on the bonnet like it was his faithful steed. “Ohio?”
“Kansas,” Kelly said. “Same as that one.”
To capture the next image, Kelly had climbed halfway up a utility pole. The only things in-frame were waves and waves of wheat, ready to be harvested.
Tim grunted and continued flipping through the photos, occasionally setting one aside. Kelly hoped that was a good sign. He seemed more interested in architecture than landscapes, singling out more of those photos, especially a series Kelly had taken of abandoned buildings and homes in Detroit that were slowly deteriorating. Then came efforts of a more personal nature.
That smoky photo of Jared, or the one of William staring off into the distance that always made his heart melt. A transsexual couple he had befriended in New York, each heading in opposite directions in regard to their genders. A photo of Royal on the beach in Florida, eyebrows raised over his sunglasses, a group of girls farther down the sand mirrored in the lenses. That had been a good catch. Tim flipped through more familiar faces, pausing when he got to one of Kelly. It was the only selfportrait he had included, one he hoped was humble since in it he was about to trip over a dog, a look of sheer joy on his face as he ran for the first time in years. Not that his artificial leg could be seen, because Nathaniel was in the foreground, blocking it from view. His limbs were slightly blurred, arms and legs in almost the exact same position as Kelly’s, as if they were in synch. Kelly’s imminent fall suggested otherwise. In more than one way.
Tim stared long and hard at this photo. Then he set it down. “You a runner?”
“Yes,” Kelly said. He allowed himself a mischievous smile. “Confused?”
Tim considered him. “You remember me.”
Kelly nodded. “Of course. Last time we met, I didn’t have this swanky peg leg.” He stood and walked around the desk, lifting up one leg of his slacks until he got to the knee.
“You can run on that thing?” Tim asked with interest.
“That and anything else I want. They upgraded me to an X3 recently. Now I’m waterproof. Showers, swimming pools, random assaults by water balloons—whatever happens, I’m good.”
“Maybe we can go for a jog together sometime,” Tim said. “I’d love to see you in action.”
“Sure,” Kelly said. “Just try to keep up.” He returned to his seat and rolled down his pant leg. “I actually have your boss to thank for this. I used to model for Marcello years ago, and he’s been paying for any expenses ever since. Believe me when I say prosthetic limbs aren’t cheap. Not when they’re this state-of-the-art.”
“Big guy, big heart,” Tim said, “although he isn’t my boss. Marcello is my...” He appeared puzzled. “The thought is kind of disturbing, but I guess you could say Marcello is my best friend. Speaking of which, I didn’t know you were close to this guy.” He tapped on the photo. “That’s Nathaniel, right?”
“Yeah,” Kelly said, his voice a little hoarse. “Listen, it’s cool that we both know the same people, and as much as I really want this gig, I don’t want it for the wrong reasons. Judge my photos by their own merits, if they have any at all.”
“They definitely do,” Tim said. “You have some themes going here that will really resonate with the public. I’d like to single out a few, and assuming this is just a sample, maybe bulk up some of those themes for the exhibition. I’d also recommend a small selection that tells your story in images. Sort of a visual biography. We can work together on that and 5}
“Wait,” Kelly said, trying not to grin. “Is this all hypothetical? Or are we really going to do this?”
“Oh, it’s going to happen!” Tim said. “The world needs to see what real photography looks like again. Enough with the selfies! The only question is when. Your contact information has you living in New York. Is that current?”
Kelly nodded. “I’m down here visiting my family.”
“How long?”
“Just a week, but I could always come back later in the year, if need be.”
Tim cleared his desk enough to check a large planner. “Or, if you can extend your stay by another week, yours could replace an exhibition that was canceled because the artist burned all his paintings in protest.”
“What was he protesting against?”
“Success, I guess, because you can’t sell a pile of ashes. We’d have to start advertising and get invitations sent out right away. Sound good?” Kelly chuckled madly. “Let’s do it!”
“Cool,” Tim said. “Now comes the boring part.”
First they went over a basic contract. The gallery was non-profit, so if by some miracle Kelly sold anything, he would keep all the profits. He had to agree not to hold the
gallery liable for anything that went wrong, but aside from that, it was all straightforward. Then he assembled a list of people he wanted to invite. Kelly doubted anyone he knew would travel across the country to join him, so he starting scrolling through his cell phone for old friends who still lived in the area.
“Should I invite Jason?” Kelly asked.
Tim grimaced. “Lately, anything that reminds him of William makes him start moping around. A month ago we were watching TV together when a Coast Guard recruitment commercial came on. Jason got up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a bottle of rum and a bad attitude.”
“Really? So they’re no longer...”
Tim shook his head. “I don’t think so. And I planned on using some of your photos of William. I suppose we could leave them out.”
“That’s okay,” Kelly said. “I’ll catch up with him some other time.”
“Marcello will want to be there,” Tim said, jotting down his name. “And I’m assuming you’ll want Nathaniel there as well.”
Kelly opened his mouth to correct him, but not a sound came out. Tim’s attention was on the list, his messy handwriting already spelling out the most precious name from his past. One Kelly still found on his lips occasionally, and even though he managed to avoid speaking it, the name was forever scribbled across his heart.
Not all of Kelly’s modeling jobs had been memorable, but there was one he was unlikely to ever forget. He’d been flown to Belgium, where a high-end client wanted to advertise a new line of winter scarves. What better way to do draw attention to such an item of clothing than make sure it was all the model wore? Kelly had been stripped bare, given a ridiculously long scarf, and had been asked to stride back and forth through knee-deep snow. Luckily the snow was fake, as was the winter backdrop, but he was still uncomfortable. Creative use of tape ensured the scarf just happened to be covering his business. Most of the time. When it came unstuck under the hot studio lights, the photographers would pause until this could be corrected. But Kelly had still checked every single image to make sure his integrity hadn’t been compromised.
As exposed as he’d felt back then, that was nothing compared to how he felt now. His exhibition was in full swing, every wall covered in his photos. Strangers were pouring in from the street, grabbing free drinks and scrutinizing his art. They had no reason to be kind, or to hold back in their opinions. Part of Kelly felt like hiding, but the rest had him patrolling the room, ready to defend himself if need be. So far everything seemed to be going well. Occasionally he took breaks from his nervous marching to greet old friends.
“Allison Cross plus one.”
Kelly spun around, beaming at her and offering a hand. “It’s been a long time!” he said.
Allison smiled back. “In my occupation, that’s a good thing. I’d be a lot more worried if you were still on my couch every other week.”
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I return,” Kelly joked. He turned his attention to her companion, a short and slender guy with brownish-blond hair. “And you must be Mr. Allison.”
The man opened his mouth to protest, but Allison got there first. “This is Ben, my gay husband. He fills in when my real husband is busy. He has his own opening tonight.”
“Artist?” Kelly asked.
“Theater. He doesn’t perform, but occasionally he writes. And this one here,” she put an arm around Ben and squeezed, “usually sings in his plays, but he insisted on a break because he’s sad about his man-baby moving out of the house.”
“Man-baby?” Kelly asked.
Again Ben opened his mouth, but Allison was quicker. “The kid is twenty-three years old, but Ben here acts like he’s dropping his child off at kindergarten for the first time. Ain’t that right?”
Ben waited, making sure he wasn’t going to be interrupted again. Then he replied. “Your gay husband wants a gay divorce.”
“Denied,” Allison said, raising her eyebrows and glancing around the room. “We’re going to check out your pretty photos now, Kelly. I don’t know how long you’re planning to be in Austin, but you’re always welcome on my couch. And by that I mean the one in my home. Come hang out sometime.”
“I will,” Kelly said. “Thanks.”
He watched her lead Ben away. Then he turned and ran headlong into someone else. Luckily he was one of the most cushioned people anyone could bump into.
“Do try to control yourself,” Marcello said. “I know it’s been a dreadfully long time since we’ve seen each other, but dry humping hardly seems appropriate.”
“If you hadn’t been creeping up behind me...” Kelly said.
Marcello smiled. “I did consider wrapping you up in a net, but only so I could drag you away for some location shooting. Why must you break my heart and refuse all my job offers?”
Kelly gestured to the nearest wall. “I feel more comfortable behind the lens these days.”
“The art world is a richer place for it,” Marcello said, “but my clients are made poorer by your absence. I don’t just mean that metaphorically. I’m not sure you understand how lucrative your campaigns were.”
“If this doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll come crawling back to you.”
“I doubt that very much,” Marcello said. “From what I understand, there have already been three sales.”
“Really?” Then Kelly rolled his eyes because he saw his mother smiling at him from across the room. “I’m guessing my parents bought all three.”
“Two,” Marcello said. “I purchased one to give as a gift. Regardless, sales are sales, and I have a feeling success will continue to hound you. Speaking of which. I have something to help you along. A present.”
“I really don’t need anything,” Kelly said, looking away.
“Oh? Not even a Canon EOS 1-D?”
“No. Thank you.” Kelly did a double take. “Wait, what? Those cameras are crazy expensive!”
“Indeed. I merely wanted to examine the latest model and had one of my assistants place an order. The silly fool ordered two. Returning the superfluous camera would be a hassle. Clearly I can only trust myself with such matters, and my time is much too precious. I thought you might be interested instead.”
Kelly took a deep breath. “I couldn’t.”
“You might as well. I’ll write it off as a business expense.”
“But you’ve given me so much already. Speaking of which, thank you for the X3. The first day I got it, I spent nearly an hour in the shower, just standing there.”
Marcello’s expression remained neutral. “X3? Is that some sort of fancy new vibrator?”
Kelly snorted. “No. It’s the newest prosthetic leg. You flew me back to Germany earlier this year to have it fitted.”
“Ah,” Marcello said. “I’m afraid you misunderstand. While you were still in my employ, I made the necessary calls to get you into their field testing program. Aside from the limo drive to the airport that day, I never paid a dime to support this enterprise.”
“Nice try. I was worried about the bill and asked the technician about it. The field test program isn’t free. Not for me, but she said the bill had been taken care of.”
“I’m sure it was. Just not by me.”
Kelly’s grin faded. “Then who paid for it?”
Marcello examined his fingernails. “I was sworn to secrecy long ago. Life is more fun with a bit of mystery thrown in, isn’t it? Anyway, do come by my office tonight and at least look at the camera. I’d value your opinion. There are other issues I’d like to discuss as well. I’ll be working late. In fact, I’ll make sure a car is waiting for you when the gallery closes, yes? Wonderful!”
Marcello patted him on the arm and waddled away. Kelly spun around, searching the guests. He spotted his father pointing enthusiastically at one of the framed photos, chatting with a visitor who had wandered in. Kelly supposed his parents could have paid for his leg, but he didn’t see why they would keep it a secret. And they would have had Royal accompany him on
his most recent trip to Germany. His mother had worried about Kelly going alone.
In his gut, he already knew. Kelly walked from the main room to one of the wings, as if sensing him there. Sure enough, at the far wall with his back turned, a broad-shouldered figure in a tuxedo studied a photo. Kelly didn’t need him to turn around, since his body remained completely familiar. The direction his short hair moved in before swirling at the crown. The shape of his ears and the lobes Kelly used to playfully nibble. Even the two freckles on his neck, toward the right-hand side and just below his hairline. More than once Kelly had stared at all these things as they lay in bed together. Those tiny details and more came rushing back from the past and caused his heart to pound. They say time heals all wounds, but not when time itself is the cause of them. Kelly felt pained that so many years had passed—so many empty days they could have filled with each other.
Nathaniel moved away from the photo, walking toward the main hall but using the far entrance. Kelly watched him go, and could swear he turned to look just before disappearing from sight. His curiosity getting the better of him, Kelly hurried to the main room. He went to the center, looking in every direction, but saw no sign of Nathaniel. The other wing then?
“Excuse me? I’m told you’re the artist here.”
Kelly glanced over at an older man. He had a camera around his neck, and as it turned out, he was from a local paper. He wanted to take some photos, which Kelly agreed to, and then he wanted to talk shop. The journalist was nice enough, but Kelly remained distracted during their conversation. He kept glancing around, when he saw another familiar face.
William. Kelly wasn’t completely shocked by this, since they had recently talked on the phone. His heart didn’t suffer palpitations either, not like when he’d seen Nathaniel. Sure, memories came rushing back, and as they walked toward each other, some distant part of him felt like they should kiss before holding each other tight. But they wouldn’t. He noticed Jason and Emma then. Their presence was unexpected, but he didn’t mind.