Chimera

by Stephie Walls

  Ferry opens the door and stops in the frame. “So we need to leave Tuesday morning. Get there that night and go to the gallery Wednesday morning with the work. Set-up is Wednesday and Thursday, elite opening Friday, public Saturday and Sunday. Come home Monday. I’ve got a place lined up for us to stay so we don’t have to worry about hotels.”

  “Sounds good. We can figure out the details later. Call Aaron back and let him know we’ll be there, and get an email address for rough shots and dimensions.”

  With a huge smile on his face, he slaps his hand on the doorframe. “This is amazing, Bastian.” He waves as he leaves. It is amazing, and quite frankly, I’m not sure if the enormity of it has sunk in.

  I remember where I just came from, and where I’m supposed to be Monday morning. I text Zane to let him know. He responds with congratulations, but he still wants to meet Monday to plan a strategy. He’s not happy when I tell him it’s not a possibility. The exhibit is the highlight of my career. If I’m leaving Tuesday morning that essentially gives me two-and-a-half days to make sure I’m ready. That’s the blink of an eye, nowhere near enough time, but it also doesn’t allow for second-guessing or obsessing over tiny details. It is what it is. I might be able to finish the piece I’m working on now, but boxing up paintings for transport is no small task, and I’m sure Ferry will want to load the car Monday.

  This is the biggest thing to have ever happened in either of our careers. Don’t get me wrong, Ferry’s internationally known, but he hasn’t been featured at a place the caliber of Le Musee. It also says a lot about what the community’s looking for when we’re being booked as a duo. It doesn’t bother me, I’m used to sharing galleries with other artists, but I’m not so sure how well Ferry is handling being paired with a painter who, until recently, was lost in the shadows.

  Needing to share the news, I call Nate. I’ve seen him drive by each day and slow down enough to see me moving inside. The one day I wasn’t in the living room and visible from the street, he came to the door. He knocked, and when I opened he turned and walked away. He’s still not answering, meaning he’s still not talking to me, but when he comes by tonight, I’ll make sure he can’t do a drive by, and thus, has to make a face to face appearance. I don’t leave a message because I want his attention, and this has all become one big game. It’s the only way I can bear his silence. I need Nate like I need air, so this isn’t working well for me.

  On to my next call: Sera. She’s ecstatic about the news. Le Musee isn’t as big a deal for her as it is for a painter, but she still knows this is, thus far, the pinnacle of my career.

  “When are you leaving?” Her voice is giddy with excitement.

  “Early Tuesday morning, but I’m sure Ferry will want to pack up on Monday. Would you mind coming over to help me box up some paintings and pick the pieces I take? I need to send rough shots to Aaron at Le Musee. You know I have such a hard time deciphering which pieces represent my current work.”

  There’s a subtle change in her tone, one I almost missed. “Oh”—she pauses as if to say something, but changes her mind—“sure, that would be great. Do you want me to come now?”

  “How about tonight around six? We can go get some dinner and come back to my house afterward to work.” Feeling the need to explain why I don’t have her race right on over, I say, “I’m hoping to talk to Nate tonight when he comes by. Try to smooth things over.” I feel like a jerk admitting my best friend isn’t talking to me. I haven’t told Sera much, just that things have been strained.

  “You still don’t want to talk about it? I might be able to help.”

  “I appreciate the offer, truly. Nate has been all I’ve had for so long it’s an adjustment bringing new people into my life.”

  “Is he jealous?” Not even a hint of judgment, more like complete understanding, fills her voice.

  “He says no but maybe a little.”

  “I’m sure he wants you to be happy, Bastian, but I’d be willing to bet somewhere along the way, Nate became as dependent on you needing him as you actually needed him. If that makes sense. You know some part of Nate knew your life depended on his faithfulness. That gave him purpose and value, a kind of value most people never experience. I’m sure he’s thrilled you’re living again, but learning how to live without your need for him, well, I’m sure that’s difficult, too.”

  She’s absolutely right. I know she is. I also know I haven’t been fair to Nate. I haven’t given him the thanks or the praise for saving me against my will, for being who he’s been regardless of how much I wanted to check out. He’s been a faithful friend. I don’t take into account my time with him or need for him isn’t what it was a few short months ago. I just assumed it would be a welcome reprieve for him; maybe it’s not. But I wouldn’t know because the jackass won’t fucking talk to me.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” I can’t bring myself to open this up for discussion. I would never want her to know the things Nate has said about her or Ferry in the heat of the moment. He doesn’t talk badly about people. That’s not his nature. I would never want her to make a judgment call about him over his hurt, or whatever is going on in his head. I hope at some point Sera and Nate are close friends. He loved Sylvie like a sister. They were thick as thieves. These two would love each other as well if I could get them to spend any length of time together, but one of them always bails.

  “Try to mend the fence,” she says with sincerity.

  “So, around six tonight?”

  “Definitely, and you’re buying dinner.” I hear the wink in her voice. I love her playful banter, the way the pitch goes up a third in her already singsong voice. She’s never paid for a thing with me around, and she never will as long as I have two pennies to rub together. It seemed to bother her a tad when we met. The first two or three times we went out, whether it was dinner or coffee, she was almost offended by the notion I wanted to pick up the tab. Quickly figuring out I wasn’t going to relent, she gave up. It causes me to further question the asshat she’s dating or in a relationship with who does nothing for her. She should be treated like royalty, and at the very least, cherished beyond measure.

  24

  Sometimes I’m amazed with how much time I’m able to waste second-guessing myself. I have seventeen finished paintings and three unfinished I might be able to complete before leaving, but other than two choices, I keep waffling on the rest. I think I have my mind made up, but then the light in the room changes, and so does my perception…and therefore my opinion and decision.

  None of the paintings have names. There is no theme or semblance of a collection. The only common connection is I painted them and they’re all pieces of women. My favorite of the group is one I spent weeks on. It’s made up of thousands of tiny shapes turned in different directions with patterns in each one, cityscapes in others. The flowers in minutia are collectively pieced together to create a woman who stands in a long red dress as she looks over her shoulder with a black clutch in her hand. Each of the scenes inside the shapes creates the shadows in the fabric, the lines of her limbs, and her image on the ground from the streetlight above her. It’s like nothing I’ve ever done. It’s enormous, coming in around six feet tall and forty inches wide. No one has seen it. I’ve worked on it in spurts between other pieces, as the mini-scapes are tedious. From a distance, it appears as though there is nothing but fluid strokes, but up close, each shape begins to separate into scenes upon scenes, overlapping one another. It’s the most intricate piece I’ve ever undertaken. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out. Any time I take on a new endeavor, especially one pushing my creativity or the confines of my artistic box, I always do so secretly so my failure isn’t public. I’m anxious to see Sera’s reaction to her, the lady in the red dress.

  There’s a knock on the door but I don’t answer. My car is in the driveway so Nate knows I’m home, but by not giving him any verbal confirmation, he will be forced to come in looking for me if he really wants to do a life check. I stay quiet in th
e guest room, waiting for him to pass by on his way to the master before doubling back, peeking his head in each door. I watch him wander by, calling my name, a note of panic in his voice at his inability to find me, but once he glances in the empty bedroom, his tone changes to irritation. Before he can pass by, I jump out in front of him, blocking the hallway, essentially preventing his escape.

  “Move, Bastian.” Refusing to make eye contact, his voice is stern, pissed off.

  “Come on, Nate.” I jump back and forth from one foot to another, dancing like a boxer warming up for a fight. Smiling, I jab at his stomach, not hard, but playfully, trying to get him to engage.

  He’s stone cold with eyes that never waver. “I’ll hurt you if you don’t get the fuck out of my way.”

  “I guess you’re going to have to do what you deem necessary, but try not to injure the hands.” I hold them up and display how delicate they are.

  “What do you want, Bastian?”

  “You to talk to me, forgive me for being a douche. An insensitive ass.”

  He groans but doesn’t move. I’ll call that progress.

  “Nate, give me a break. I’m just coming back to the land of the living after a five-year hiatus. Cut me a little slack or fucking educate me in the ways of the civilized world. But don’t cut me out.”

  He makes direct eye contact. I’m still bobbing and weaving from foot to foot with my hands in fighting stance when his irises darken. Within seconds he leans into a weight-bearing punch, effectively knocking the wind out of me. As soon as I regain my breath, and the pain subsides, I recognize I deserved it. The second one he deals out is questionable, but I take it, gritting my teeth. I don’t attempt retaliation. With my luck, we’d end up on the floor beating the shit out of each other, and while I might be close to Nate in height, he’s got a solid fifty pounds on me and is built like a brick shit house. Seemingly satisfied with himself, he smiles and relaxes his posture.

  “So what big news do you have, numb nuts?”

  “Who says I have news?”

  “Really, jackass? Just spill the shit and cut the crap.”

  “Le Musee next week.” I can’t help the widening grin spreading across my face. It takes everything in me not to clap my hands and jump up and down like a prepubescent girl, but my man card takes enough hits between being an artist and always having Nate by my side.

  “As in Manhattan, Le Musee? Are you kidding?” Even my best friend knows how big this is, my friend the art idiot.

  “Yeah. I leave Tuesday morning. Come in and look at the piece I want to showcase. I haven’t shown it to anyone.” In that moment, I’m glad Sera hasn’t seen it. Nate knows what it means when I’ve hidden a piece. To share it with him reconfirms his place in my life and solidifies who he is to me.

  From the doorway, she’s the only thing leaning against the wall, spotlighted in the room as all the other pieces have been moved aside so I could study her in the light from the window.

  “Wow,” he murmurs.

  “Move closer. Allow your eyes to adjust.”

  Doing as he’s told, he moves slowly in on his target, stopping a few feet from her. I watch, taking in the way his expressions change as it dawns on him there are hundreds, thousands of little shapes. When his eyes adjust to the image in the shapes, he moves closer, allowing himself to see the vignettes captured in each little frame.

  “Holy fuck, B. When did you do this? It’s incredible.”

  This is the part where I get shy. I’ve never learned how to accept compliments or praise in all these years. My cheeks get hot, reddening like an alcoholic’s. “I’ve been working on it for a while. I’m pretty stoked about it.”

  “You should be. Your work has really evolved. It’s impressive. Why are you unsure about it?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “The more I paint these days, the further I get away from my roots. I’m known known for nudes, but nothing I’m producing has even the slightest hint of that to it. I still see the female form as my primary subject, but I feel the need to protect my subjects from prying eyes. Stupid, huh? Like they’re real people.”

  “It’s only dumb to keep doing what you’ve always done when you should be doing something else. Don’t most artists go through periods or phases?”

  “I guess so. It’s all pretty foreign to me, so I’m unsure. I think she’s beautiful, but what if the public doesn’t agree?”

  “When did you start painting for the consumer, Bastian?”

  Moments like these are the reason Nate’s so important to me. He knew me when painting boobs was a phase everyone thought I would outgrow with maturity. He knew me when the phase evolved into real art, he knew me as people started to recognize my love of the female body, and through all of it, Nate has never wavered. He’s always been my biggest fan—sometimes I think even more so than Sylvie. Maybe it just seems more significant because it goes against the bro-code to brag about your best friend. It doesn’t violate the wife bond. Even in high school, when Nate was the über popular jock, he bragged about my art accomplishments and never shied away from public support. In a time when it wasn’t cool to hang out with an imaginative guy, Nate never faltered.

  “Are you driving to New York alone?”

  I hope this doesn’t start another battle. “No. Ferry actually got the call from Dubois asking if we could both come for a joint venture.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “No, but I’m not going to argue it. Another artist was supposed to be featured, but for whatever reason, he’s not coming and neither is his work. There are people coming to the event expecting him, so it’s either going to go really good or really bad. My personal opinion, although no one said it, the curator is hoping to appease his guests with two pretty hot commodities since whoever was booked bailed. Kind of a make-up for the loss of the other artist. But that’s just me speculating.”

  “But of all the people they could have asked, for you and Ferry to be the ones…that’s pretty cool, right?” Thank God he’s being supportive of this. I don’t think I could handle negativity with the pressure of putting together a show this quickly.

  “I don’t care what their motivation is quite honestly. It’s a huge opportunity.” I hesitate to ask him, “Any way you can fly in for the Saturday night showing?”

  “Really?” Now Nate’s bouncing from one foot to another, like an excited little kid. “I’d love to. Do you want me to get Sera to come out, too?” Pausing for a minute, he continues before I answer, “I figure it must be hard being in an unfamiliar city exposing yourself to strangers, thought having a couple friendly faces might ease that anxiety a little.” He shrugs making his offer seem insignificant.

  “That would be great.” This is a huge step for Nate. He’s making an attempt to spend time with them, to close the gap in order to make life easier for me.

  “I’ll call her after I look at flights and hotels.”

  “She’s supposed to be here in a few minutes if you want to ask her then?” I offer.

  “I need to get going. Plus, I’d rather have some details when I talk to her.”

  “You don’t have to run off, Nate.”

  “I have a date.” He makes some goofy ass slapping motion, wagging his hips like he’s riding some bitch doggy style. I can’t help but laugh at him, some days he’s still super high school. Ironically, he’s not a womanizer in the slightest; he never takes advantage of them. In fact, it’s usually the other way around. Someday, he’ll find one who isn’t afraid to let him in or have his enormous children.

  “Get the fuck out of here, man!”

  Before we go eat, I take Sera back to the bedroom to show her the choices for the show. I want her to see them in the daylight so she can think about each piece before deciding, and the light will suck by the time we get back. Her reaction to the lady in the red dress is similar to Nate’s. Sucking her breath in, hand to her chest, her eyes widen.

  “She’s…wow, Bastian.” She looks back at me as if to ask permission t
o move closer. Giving her confirmation, she proceeds to the painting. Kneeling on the floor next to the canvas, she leans into the lady standing so gracefully against the wall. Sera’s long, delicate fingers, brush against the texture of the paint. I watch her as she scans large portions of the canvas before narrowing in on a section, then searching again. There’s so much to see you can’t do it in one glance. There truly are thousands of images embedded in the shapes creating the entire portrait.

  “You realize most people use computers to generate these types of images? Was painting a normal portraiture not challenging enough for you anymore?” I see the shine on her face when she turns toward me, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  “I had no idea how it would turn out, or if it would. I’ve been working on it for weeks, but it would get so tedious I had to walk away from it. Focusing on something else revitalized me, enabling me to go back for another couple hours. It’s certainly not a technique I would want to use often, at least not of this magnitude.”

  “I hear ya. Those little elephants seemed like a great idea when I started, but they’ve become a pain in my tail. I can only work on them for limited amounts of time before having to break it up with another project.”

  “How are you coming with that?”

  “Ugh. They’re beautiful, I love each and every one, but there are times I’ve wanted to just say, okay, I have enough of you little guys. I’m done. Then the next day, I feel guilty for not doing justice to the project and start working on them again.”

  We chat idly about her ongoing elephants as she moves through my makeshift studio rooms in my house. I love watching her work, well, help me. I’ve picked up on her methods. On her first pass, she looks at every piece on a broad spectrum. On the second, she pulls out the pieces that garnered her attention the first time around. Pulling those aside, she says she’s hungry and will continue this when we get back.

  “I don’t think I can handle the cafe for dinner. I need something with some substance,” I announce.

  “Substance, huh? Is that your way of saying meat and potatoes?”