I hadn’t been to the gallery since Christos’ show last year. It was drastically different during the day time. There were no crowds, and all new art hung on the walls. The doors were open, but the place seemed empty.
Kamiko and I stood in the middle of the main room, looking around.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“I called Brandon this morning and he said he’d be here all afternoon,” Kamiko said uncertainly.
We both turned to see Brandon coasting down the stairs.
Kamiko leaned toward me and whispered, “He’s so hot!”
Halfway down the stairs, Brandon said enthusiastically, “Greetings, you two!” His face beamed as he looked at us. It had been weeks since New Year’s Eve. Kamiko’s crush on Brandon was obvious to all of us. He’d been such a gentleman with her, but was he interested?
“How have you been, Samantha?” he asked, extending his hand.
I offered mine and he kissed it. I pulled my hand free as soon as I could. Luckily, Kamiko hadn’t noticed. She was too busy gushing over Brandon.
“Kamiko,” Brandon said, extending his hand to her, “good to see you.”
Kamiko offered her hand, but Brandon merely shook it.
I winced. Oh boy. This was not good. My only hope was for Kamiko to continue crushing so hard she wouldn’t notice his focus on me.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Brandon asked.
Kamiko blinked. “I called about showing you my samples? For the Contemporary Artists show?” She held up her portfolio.
He didn’t actually take the portfolio from her. “That’s right,” Brandon smiled his snake-charmer smile. “My apologies, things have been intense around here lately.”
I wasn’t fooled. I needed to strategize my way out of this before Brandon broke Kamiko’s heart by throwing himself at me. I wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to see her art, or if he was blowing smoke up Kamiko’s ass. Maybe the best solution was to extract both of us from the situation.
Had Brandon been completely drunk on New Year's Eve with Kamiko or just being polite? Was there even a remote chance he liked her? I had no way to know.
Brandon motioned toward the stairs. “Why don’t we go up to my office and I can look your samples over?”
“Okay,” Kamiko beamed.
The three of us went up the staircase and into his office. The walls were covered with dozens of framed paintings in a variety of artistic styles. I guessed they were from the many artists who had sold art through Charboneau Gallery over the years.
Brandon sat behind his desk while me and Kamiko sat in the leather chairs in front of it.
“Samantha, have you seen much of Christos lately?” Brandon asked. “He must be busy with all the new work I’m sending him.”
Was he insinuating that Christos was too busy for me? Or just stating the obvious? With Brandon, I told myself it was safe to assume he never did the obvious. The solution: lie through my teeth. “Oh,” I said, “I’m not sure. I just know we spend a ton of time together. I sometimes wonder when he even finds time to paint—” Okay, shut up now. Don’t make things worse.
I watched Brandon closely while he took in what I’d said.
“Mmm,” he poker-faced. He wasn’t giving up anything. “So, Kamiko. Your art.”
“Yeah!” Kamiko handed him her portfolio.
He flipped through it casually. Was he looking at the paintings at all, or me? I wasn’t sure, but his eyes were darting at me way too much.
“What do you think?” Kamiko beamed, on the edge of her seat, her eyebrows a mile high.
He smiled pleasantly. “It’s solid work, Kamiko. But it’s very standard.”
Kamiko’s brows fell from the sky and crashed over her eyes in a knitted, garbled line. “Oh,” she sighed.
Brandon sighed, “The Contemporary Artist’s show at Charboneau Gallery is about new ideas, risky ideas. What you have here are some very skillful studies. They are excellent studies. Fine workmanship. But they’re still studies.”
Kamiko seemed to be sinking into her chair like it was made of quicksand. Poor thing.
I didn’t know what to do.
Brandon quickly sensed Kamiko’s change in mood. “I have no doubt you could sell your work to any of a number of different galleries,” he said optimistically. “There is always a demand for beautifully rendered traditional imagery.”
Kamiko slouched over despondently.
“I could give you some names of other galleries,” Brandon said encouragingly. “I could even make some calls myself, put in a good word for you.”
I suddenly realized why Kamiko was shutting down. It wasn’t the fact that Charboneau Gallery wasn’t the right fit for her amazing work. It was that Brandon wasn’t interested in her paintings. Her passion. I was willing to bet he wasn’t very interested in Kamiko, either, but his cursory dismissal of her art was a harsh enough rejection on its own.
I wanted to reach over and console her, but I was afraid if I did, she’d crack and tears would come gushing out.
“Maybe she could paint something else?” I suggested animatedly. “Couldn’t you do something different, Kamiko?” I encouraged.
Kamiko looked at me like she was dying. Painfully.
“I’m sure you could,” I said. “I don’t know, see what some other artists are doing? Try something different?” I was grasping at straws. “Isn’t that right, Brandon?”
His eyes goggled at me like he was helpless.
I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. “Isn’t that right, Brandon?” I insisted.
“Oh,” he swallowed, “yeah. If Kamiko wanted to prepare some new samples, I would be happy to look at them.”
Damn right he would. “Maybe you could give her some ideas about what to paint? Brandon?”
“I don’t know…” he waffled, “I’m no artist…”
“But maybe you could suggest some artists for her to study? Some artists from past shows maybe?” Christos had suggested as much to me a week ago. I was merely parroting his words back to Brandon.
Kamiko’s eyes brightened. “Yeah, I could do that.”
Brandon’s look of guilt faded as he reached into a desk drawer. “I’ve got just the thing.” He pulled out a beautifully printed booklet. “The catalog from last year’s show.” He set it on the desk in front of Kamiko, so it faced her, and opened it up. “This will give you an idea of the work we accepted last year.”
Kamiko leaned over and started flipping through the pages, growing excitement lighting her face. “I could totally do work like this!”
“But,” Brandon cautioned, “it needs to be your own work.”
“I wouldn’t copy anything,” Kamiko said enthusiastically.
“That’s not what I meant,” Brandon said. “You need to develop a style that is uniquely your own. It’s not enough to emulate what you see in this book. You need to originate your own visual language, one that buyers will instantly recognize as distinct from other artists.”
Kamiko looked hopeful, but somewhat lost. “Ahh…”
Brandon leaned forward, elbows on his desk. He seemed suddenly in his element. “Kamiko, this is a chance for you to explore, experiment. Go crazy. Try something different. Show me what Kamiko Nishimura can do that no one else can do.”
Why hadn’t he said that before? He was probably too busy thinking about snake-charming me rather than helping her.
“I guess I can do that,” she said tentatively.
“What about your anime?” I offered. I turned to Brandon. “Can she do something with her cartoons?”
“Yes,” he said. “She can work some of the stylistic motifs of manga and anime art into her work. The trick will be combining it with a fine art sensibility. But it can be done. Many artists today are doing exactly that.”
“You could totally do that,” I encouraged, resting my hand on Kamiko’s forearm.
She nodded.
“Kamiko,” Brandon said confidently, “paint
me some new work. You have plenty of time before the show. Bring me some samples and I will be happy to take a look.”
“Okay,” she said, now sounding only half shell-shocked.
“Well, I hate to make this a short visit, but I have some pressing business to attend,” Brandon said, standing up.
Kamiko shot to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. Charboneau.” She shook his hand firmly.
“My pleasure.” He turned to me, “Samantha?”
I nodded. I wasn’t shaking his hand after how he’d blindsided Kamiko. No matter what he said about her paintings.
“Excuse me you guys,” Kamiko sniffed, “I need to use the bathroom before we go.”
“It’s downstairs,” Brandon offered.
Why did I think Kamiko needed an excuse to weep in private? Groan. This visit was a disaster.
Kamiko walked out of the office.
“I’ll go with you Kamiko,” I said, standing up.
“It’s okay,” Kamiko said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Actually,” Brandon said, “can I speak with you briefly, Samantha?”
Great. I looked to Kamiko, awaiting approval.
“You go ahead, Sam,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She left her portfolio on top of Brandon’s desk.
I would have to take Kamiko out for ice cream after we left the gallery or go back to my place and share a half-gallon with her in front of some Bravest Warriors or Adventure Time.
Fucking Brandon.
I decided to give him a talking-to the second Kamiko was out of earshot. I listened to her feet shushing down the hall toward the staircase.
It suddenly occurred to me that Brandon was Christos’ art dealer. Could I chew Brandon out? Would that create tension between him and Christos? I suddenly felt like I was getting in way over my head. Maybe it would be best if I didn’t say anything to Brandon.
Brandon’s smile glowed. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was very handsome. No wonder Kamiko was falling to pieces over his blunt treatment.
“So good to see you again, Samantha,” he said.
I smiled politely.
Hello! I was here for Kamiko, not him. Didn’t he see that? Maybe he didn’t. Or didn’t care. I barely knew him, so anything was possible. I had to say something.
Still sitting in the chair, I folded my arms across my chest. “Brandon, don’t you think you were a little harsh on Kamiko?”
He slid his hands casually into his pockets. “How so?”
“You crushed her. She’s worked really hard on those paintings.”
He sighed. “Try to understand my position, Samantha. Charboneau has a particular clientele with particular expectations. How would it help me to sell the Charboneau brand if I allowed Kamiko’s current work into the show?”
I wasn’t really sure what he meant by “brand.” This was all new to me.
“Look, there are dozens of galleries in San Diego that carry work like Kamiko’s. She’s already better than half the artists hanging in those galleries right now. I have no doubt she could make an appointment with any one of them and sell everything in her portfolio. I did her a favor.”
“You’re missing the point, Brandon.” I nearly growled when I said it, but tried to keep my voice calm.
“And what point is that?”
Could I tell him that Kamiko had a crush on him? Would that help, or make things worse? Screw it. “She likes you, Brandon.”
Brandon smiled. “I could tell,” he said way too confidently. Jerk.
“So why were you so mean?” I demanded.
“Like I said, I was trying to help her out. Steer her in the right direction.”
“What, away from you?”
“No,” he smirked. “Toward the galleries that will embrace her.”
“But you’re the one she wants embracing her. You, Brandon. Not the gallery. Don’t you get it?” I glared at him. Did he not realize what a jerk he was being? Guys were all the same.
He smiled that irritatingly handsome smile of his. “I do, Samantha. But the problem is, I’m interested in you…” he leaned forward and put his hand on my cheek.
I had been sitting on the edge of my chair, so I slid back into it all the way, trying to escape. Brandon followed. His nose was inches from mine. I couldn’t slide back any further in the chair unless I literally crawled over the back of it.
Brandon continued in a low voice, “…not her—”
Suddenly, Brandon’s smile froze. He straightened up stiffly and slipped his hands in his pockets. “Oh, hey, Kamiko,” he said flatly.
I whipped around, practically falling out of the chair. Shit! How long had she been standing there? Judging from the tears in her eyes and the way she ran down the hall sobbing, I would guess long enough.
From where Kamiko had been standing, I’m sure it looked like Brandon was about to kiss me, but Kamiko wouldn’t have seen the grimace on my face.
“Kamiko!” I shouted. “It’s not what you think!” But she was already pounding down the stairs. She probably hadn’t heard me. If she had, I feared she didn’t believe me. I stood up from the chair, about to run after Kamiko. “You’re such a jerk, Brandon!”
He frowned. “Why, because I’m not interested in her?” he scoffed. “Is that a crime?”
“No! But…” I sighed heavily, “…you’re still a jerk!” I ran after Kamiko, but stopped halfway down the hall. I ran back to grab her portfolio off the top of the desk. I glared at Brandon as I picked it up.
“What?” he asked defensively.
I eyed the show catalog Brandon had taken out for Kamiko. I didn’t know if she was going to care, but I snatched it for her, just in case.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs and the gallery floor, Kamiko was gone. I ran out the front doors and onto the sidewalk. I looked in both directions, but I didn’t see her anywhere.
It was getting dark, and quite a few people walked up and down the sidewalks. There were shops everywhere, and four-way intersections at both ends of the short block. She could be anywhere.
Crap. I walked to where my car was parked. Maybe she’d be waiting there. Nope, there was no sign of her when I reached my VW.
I dialed her on my phone. No answer.
I left a message, “It’s me. It’s not what you think, Kamiko. Brandon was putting the moves on me. He surprised me right before you walked in, I didn’t have time to react. I’m totally not into him…” I almost added that I was with Christos, but I suspected that reminding her I had an awesome boyfriend shortly after stupid Brandsome had thrown her heart in the garbage was a bad idea. “…and I’m really sorry about how Brandon was treating you.” I wasn’t sure if saying that made things worse or better. I ended my call, afraid my message wouldn’t do any good. Sigh.
Over the next hour, I called Kamiko three times while waiting at my car. She never answered.
Maybe she called Romeo for a ride? I called his phone, but he didn’t answer. Moments later, I got a text back from him that said,
in class. call u later.
Kamiko probably hadn’t contacted Romeo. If she had, he would’ve mentioned it in the text. I hoped. Was she taking a bus back to campus? It was five miles back to SDU. For all I knew, she was going to walk.
I felt terrible. I hoped she wasn’t going to stay mad at me. If anyone, she should be mad at Brandon.
I sighed heavily.
How did guys always manage to ruin everything?
I waited another thirty minutes and called Kamiko twice more before leaving.
I went back to campus to her dorm room. Her roommate let me in the suite and told me Kamiko hadn’t been to the room.
Where was she?
I couldn’t wait around. I had to be at the Grab-n-Dash in twenty minutes.
Crap!
SAMANTHA
I made it to Grab-n-Dash with a minute to spare. The lull in customers that greeted me was a stark contrast after my drama over the last two hours.
The fi
rst thing I did was try calling Kamiko again. I felt terrible. I worried she thought I was trying to steal Brandon from her. But that didn’t make sense. She knew I was dating Christos.
No matter how many times I called, Kamiko never answered. I was worried about her.
When the customers started coming in, I did my best to put Kamiko out of my mind and focus on my work.
An hour later, my ongoing exhaustion hit me like a brick. I could barely keep my eyes open during customer lulls, and when it was busy, I felt wired and delicate, like a fragile glass version of myself.
Every night, I still went through job websites unsuccessfully and never got enough sleep. I was starting to wish the math tutoring had panned out, but no luck there either.
I knew Grab-n-Dash wasn’t a long term option. Not only was it physically tiring, but it was emotionally draining as well. There was this depressing quality about it I couldn’t identify. Maybe it was the fact that I knew being a convenience store clerk wasn’t the sort of job my parents would be proud of. They’d probably chuckle and tell me they’d told me so.
Eye roll.
I wondered how long I could keep up my pace with four classes and two jobs. Could I maintain it through the end of the quarter, until Spring Break? And keep my grades up? What about Spring Quarter after that? Would a week’s rest from classes be enough to rejuvenate me?
I feared it would not.
At the moment, the only thing keeping my tired eyes open was the hot-dog odor wafting off my neon-urine uniform shirt. No matter how many times I’d washed it, the smell wouldn’t go away. I’d begged my boss for a new one several times.
His response was always the same, “It’s not in the quarterly budget,” he’d say sarcastically while his prickly eyebrows caterpillared over his glasses.
Silly me. I’d forgotten that Grab-n-Dash was a Fortune 500 company with very tight margins to maintain if it hoped to meet shareholder expectations on a quarterly basis.
So I diligently hand-washed my uniform shirt nightly, air-dried it from the walkway balcony railing outside my front door every night, and stuffed it in a garbage bag when it was dry to trap the smell. Every morning, I prayed I’d wake to discover that someone had stolen my shirt off the railing, but I think the criminals were smarter than that, as were the homeless people who had minimal standards to maintain when it came to personal odor.
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