SoHo Gallery, Manhattan

9:00 PM

Ethan stared at the marquee above the SoHo Gallery, fighting back the urge to laugh. With all the events to choose from in New York City on a Saturday night, what were the odds Bethany and Jason would pick this one?

CALLAHAN PERRIN – THE SOHO COLLECTION

A black-and-white poster of Callie stared back at him, looking all stormy-eyed and starkly beautiful. Maybe it was the alcohol messing with his head, but he could swear her gaze was following him as he crossed the street, arm around Jess.

The ticket holders’ line snaked back a block and disappeared around the corner, but Jason cut right to the front. When the crowd started grumbling, he whipped out four VIP tickets from his wallet and handed them to the bouncer at the door. The linebacker-sized man eyed the tickets, then grunted and cocked his head to grant admission.

“Ladies first.” Jason lifted the velvet rope for Jess and Bethany; once they had passed, he flashed Ethan a smug little grin that said, “Who’s got the big dick now?”

“You’re the man, Jace.” Ethan whacked him on the shoulder, hard enough to hurt.

The crowd hit a bottleneck at the registration desk, where they waited to get their exhibit guides. Each pamphlet had a number on the cover page. When Ethan thanked the gallery worker, she batted mascara-caked eyelashes at him and asked if he wanted to leave a credit card on file for the auction.

“There’s an auction?” He turned to Jess, who shrugged.

“Your priority tickets give you access.” The receptionist pointed to a hallway on her right, which was roped off. “Viewing starts at nine, in Gallery Three. The auction starts at ten sharp. Bidding should be fierce.”

“Sweet investment opportunity.” Jason sidled up to Bethany and Jess as they took their pamphlets. “I heard the artist just OD’d.”

“It was a suicide attempt,” Jess corrected.

Jason snorted. “Even better. If she pulls that shit off next time, her art’ll be worth a fortune. We should bid on something. What do you say, Chase?”

Ethan pretended not to hear him and walked off into the main gallery.

The cavernous, toroid-shaped atrium reminded him of an airplane terminal. A metal lattice with strip lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the crowd in beams of pink and white. Four whitewashed hallways radiated outward from the central gathering area, each dotted with colorful squares of Callie’s artwork. New age music echoed through the space, wind chimes and flutes mingling with the chaotic buzz of conversation.

Ethan massaged his temples, reeling from sensory overload. When he closed his eyes, it felt like he’d just stepped off a spinning ride at an amusement park. Why the hell did I drink so much?

In a daze, he drifted toward a prominently displayed poster of Callie, taken when she was a little girl. She stood in side profile, gazing up at a man with long, wavy blond hair and intense green eyes. Noah Perrin. There was no mistaking the family resemblance, especially around the eyes, nose, and lips. Ethan stared at the image, transfixed by their expressions. If Leonardo da Vinci had painted in their time, he would have drawn inspiration from those smiles.

The caption identified the ornate Doric colonnade behind them as part of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. The photo had been taken when Callie was ten. Ethan saw so much love in her expression. So much hope that it tore at his heart.

“Awesome vibe, right?” Jace clapped him on the back. “No need to thank me for the tickets, bro. That’s just how I roll.”

He had one arm wrapped around Bethany’s waist and rested the other on Jess’s shoulder. “What do you say, ladies? Can you believe all this art was painted by that hot chick from Prodigy? I heard she went all goth and had a psychotic break. Now she’s locked up in a nuthouse.”

“My sister Maddie’s been researching her story,” Jess said. “I think she’s hospitalized in New England somewhere. Hey…” Her gaze cut to Ethan.  “You’re doing psych at Belmont this month. Have you heard anything?”

Ethan stared at Jason’s arm, which was still draped around her shoulder. Why hadn’t she brushed that asshole’s tentacle off already? Was this some fucked up game to make him jealous?

“Well?” Jess pushed, finally extricating herself.

“How the hell would I know?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t bite my head off. I was just asking.”

Jace smirked, enjoying the sudden drama. “No need to fight, kids.” His hand dropped to Bethany’s backside. “Let’s check out some of this chick’s art. Maybe we can find something dark and twisted to bid on. What about you, Jess? You can afford to make an investment.”

Jess crinkled her nose. “Not my taste. I’d rather donate to Planned Parenthood or Doctors Without Borders. Why waste money on some narcissistic influencer crying out for attention she doesn’t deserve?”

Bethany giggled. “Oh my God. Did you ever watch her show? It was, like, ten episodes of ‘Look at me! I’m so hot and talented. Look at me!’” She blew Jason an air kiss, then did a fake selfie pose with duck lips. “Bet you’d be all over her, babe.”

Jason appraised a promo poster for Prodigy, which featured Callie in a white mini-skirt and pink tank top. “I wouldn’t exactly kick that out of bed.” He nudged Ethan. “Am I right?”

Ethan stormed off, cheeks flaming. He’d never been a paranoid drunk, but it was like they were all trying to push his buttons. What the fuck? Even Jess was piling on.

A cluster of guests in tuxedos and elegant dresses had gathered in front of Gallery Three, so he headed in that direction. A spotlit banner above the exhibit hall named the art collection that was up for auction:

FLORA & FAUNA

Intrigued, Ethan drifted into the gallery with the VIP crowd. He glanced over his shoulder to see Bethany, Jason and a pissed off-looking Jess approaching. When she reached him, she crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look.

Shit. The last thing he wanted to do was make a scene in front of Bethany and that tool Jason. Besides, maybe he’d overreacted.

He waited for Bethany and Jason to walk past them before reaching back for Jess’s hand.

“Sorry, baby. I’m not used to drinking like that.”

“Clearly.” She left him hanging for a long moment before accepting his hand, hers limp-wristed. “What got into you back there?”

“I don’t know. I just didn’t like the way you were all making fun of Cal –” He caught himself. “Of that artist. It’s not fair. You don’t even know her.”

“I know her type. Ten percent talent. Ninety percent hot mess. That’s what the crowd’s here to see, Ethan. Everyone loves a train wreck.”

She thinned her lips as they walked in front of the first canvas, which was labeled Tiger Lilies. Orange, black, and green streaks of acrylic paint slashed a white background. Up close, the pattern looked random and abstract, but from a few steps back, the streaks formed an impressionist image of four tiger lilies. Ethan copied a couple of viewers and took another five steps back, marveling at how, when seen from a distance, the lilies formed the sinewy legs of a predator stalking through the jungle.

“It’s sad,” Jess said from behind him. “Assuming she actually painted this, she really is talented. Such a waste. Makes you wonder why.”

“Why what?” Bethany chimed in.

“Why a ditzy, suicidal drug addict would be blessed with this kind of gift.”

Jason cozied up to her after Bethany had wandered off to view the next painting. “Getting pretty heavy there, Sacksie Girl.”

Jess laughed at the lame nickname. So this was her way of getting even with him for snapping earlier. Really mature.

“What’s the plan, Mister Easy Money?” she teased, touching Jace’s arm. “Are you going to make a bid on this one?”

“Why don’t you two split it?” Ethan suggested before walking away.

Damn it. This evening was going off the rails fast, and he had a sickening feeling there was more than alcohol to blame.

“Ooh!” Bethany called out. “Come here, guys! You’ve gotta check this one out. It’s totally twisted.”

Ethan weaved through the crowd to join her at the next painting.

Bethany wasn’t overreacting. When the couple blocking his view moved on, he found himself staring at a whirlpool of color. The image reminded him of Monet’s water lilies, if seen through the lens of a nightmare. Streaks of red and white swirled around the focal point of the canvas, like rose petals caught in a maelstrom.

The vortex drew his eyes to the center, where two large abstract roses – one white and one red – clashed in what looked like a life-and-death struggle. The red rose had the upper hand, its green thorns impaling the white petals to draw fat droplets of blood.

Jason snorted out a laugh, then read the painting’s name out loud. “War of the Roses. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Dark and twisted. This is the one.”

“Gross.” Bethany leaned on her fiancé's shoulder. “What if she painted this with her own blood?”

“It’s possible. We could have it tested once we buy it.”

Bethany shook her head in a way that reminded Ethan of a parakeet. “No way is that nasty thing hanging on my wall.”

“It’s art, babe. Doesn’t matter if it’s nasty. When Prodigy Girl…” He lowered his voice, like he was trying not to give away a big secret. “When she bites it, this painting will triple in value overnight. Doesn’t matter if she opens her veins, blows her brains out or shoots up with a suicide cocktail. However she does it, this nugget will be worth a fortune.”

Ethan looked for Jess, hoping she’d be ready to leave, but she had her back to him. When he called her name, she ignored him, whispering something into Bethany’s ear that prompted a trill of laughter.

Great. Now she’s literally giving me the cold shoulder.

When part of the crowd moved on, Jason slipped into the empty space beside him. “Trouble in paradise, bro?”

“None of your fucking business, bro.”

“Woah.” Jason raised his hands. “Just tryin’ to help.”

“Sure you are. Let’s just shut up and enjoy the art.”

Ethan kept his gaze fixed on Callie’s painting, but he could still sense Jason’s smirk, even after the asshole had walked away.

*

Ethan nursed a seltzer water at the gallery’s wine bar, wishing he could wind back the clock an hour. Jess had been avoiding him since their epic blowup. Fucking alcohol, lowering his inhibitions and clouding everything. Part of him desperately wanted to find her and apologize. The other part wanted to hop on the next train to Boston.

He didn’t have much appetite for Callie’s art either. Each painting triggered some explosive memory or emotion, like depth charges dropping into his psyche. That awful last phone call with Abbie. His Mom, sleeping alone in their big, empty house on the anniversary of her daughter’s death. Callie, crying by her father’s hospital bed and begging Elin to pull the plug. That sickening pit in his stomach as he forged Dad’s signature onto a prescription for Oxy.

Then there was his knee, which throbbed from a day of non-stop walking. He took four ibuprofens, telling himself that would be enough, but the pain refused to budge.

“Is this what we’re going to become?”

Jess. He smelled her Gardenia Passion perfume before she perched on the barstool beside him.

“Tell me,” she said. “Is this a preview of how things are going to be in ten years? Or won’t it even take that long?”

He peered into her wet eyes, heart sinking. I’m such an asshole.

“Because I’m trying to figure out what the hell just happened back there.”

“I’m so sorry, Jess. This is all my fault.” He reached for her, and this time, she grabbed his hand like it was a lifeline.

“Is it Jason?” She sniffed. “I told you. He’s my best friend’s fiancé. I’m just trying to get along with the guy.”

Ethan shook his head. “I know. He’s not making this any easier, but that’s not it.” He sighed. “I’m a mess right now, Jess. Abbie died five years ago, and I’m still tortured by the idea that I could’ve saved her. I mean, that phone call… what if I hadn’t been so self-absorbed? I could’ve stayed on the line with her. Talked her down.”

She blinked away tears, but he noticed how her shoulders had relaxed. I can handle this, her expression said. We’re back on familiar ground. “What happened to your sister was an accident, babe.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do. That’s what you need to tell yourself. There was no suicide note, Ethan.” She took his hand and pressed it into her lap. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe.” Her expression suddenly looked so open. So willing to forgive anything. His heart started to race. A crowded art gallery was just about the worst place to come clean about his addiction, but if not now, then when? “But that’s not the only thing.”

Her jaw tensed. “What else?”

“The way you judged –” He paused, almost slipping with Callie’s name again. “This artist without knowing anything about her. It really upset me. You called her a hot mess. A drug addict. That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I busted my ass off at Harvard undergrad for four years, then worked even harder to get my law degree. I kill myself every day just to stay on partner track, and you…” Her words slurred slightly, reminding Ethan that she’d been drinking too. “Even after your accident, you still finished at the top of your med school class. I'm friends with a couple of artists who are way more talented than this girl. Every day, they work as hard as we do to hone their skills. But who does our culture choose to celebrate?”

She pointed to another Prodigy promo poster, this one showing Callie in a red bikini with her back arched against an easel, paint splotches on her naked skin. “A girl with borderline talent. An exhibitionist who takes off her clothes in front of the camera and posts slutty selfies on social media. Someone who was born into fame and privilege but still found a way to turn her life into a dumpster fire.”

“Speaking of dumpster fires,” Bethany interrupted from behind them. “Jace’s painting is up for auction next. We saved you two seats.”

Ethan looked at Jess, begging her with his eyes to say no. They needed to end this evening, before things got even worse. Maybe, back in her apartment, he could finally find the courage to finish what he’d started here and tell her everything.  

“Well?” Bethany tried to raise her forehead, but it only creased at the edges. Botox, he realized. At age twenty-five. “Are you guys coming?”

“Sure. Why not?” Before he could stop her, Jess hopped up from the barstool to follow her BFF.

***

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