Page 31 of Shame

It doesn’t capture how I felt as I dressed this morning, my wild sense of self.

I need to be in the shot. I tap on the button to flip the camera. My face flashes onto the screen, red and embarrassed. I stare at myself.

I’m an artist. I know how to do this. How to take broken bits and find something beautiful in them. Taking a deep breath, I raise my arm over my head, leaning back against the cool metal and the slice of mirror in the middle of the panel.

I spread my thighs. The elevator is almost in the garage now.

The timer starts counting down on the screen. Three, two…

My wrist shifts back and forth as I frame the shot. One leg. Bare skin, the top of a stocking. A rucked up skirt and then my jaw, jutting stubbornly into the shot. This is me, this picture says. This is me, and I like to wear stockings.

Victoria Secret models are posed just so, and now so am I.

When the camera clicks, I let the breath that I was holding out.

The photo is hot.

Hotter still once I crop it square and add a filter. I’m tempted to post it to Instagram. I’d get all the love there.You go girlandDamn, honey!But it would be followed byYour husband is damn lucky, and yes, he is, but he doesn’t know it. Doesn’t appreciate it. And I don’t need to hear that bullshit right now.

I just don’t.

I love my fans, but the illusion I’ve built is slowing killing me from the inside.

Instead, I save the photo. It’s just for me.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

Twenty minutes later, when I park in front of the gallery, after looking at the photo for the third time, and realizing I’m still girlishly in love with it, I send it to Luke.

Fuck him.

I’m fucking hot and he lost sight of that.

* * *

Damien Noble,a metalworker and one of the other artists in the show, is already in the gallery space when I arrive.

He’s a beautiful, dangerous looking man who likes to flirt with women in tall boots, and that might be why I’m dressed the way I am today. He’s not actually my type, but I’m hoping he’s in a complimentary mood.

I want another hit of that feel-good adrenaline.

Damien does not disappoint. He whistles as I approach where he’s installing a massive birdcage at the back of the gallery.

There are three of us in this show. Damien works with metal exclusively. I like a bit of that, but I’m more into mixed media. Wax, stone, fabric, glass, plaster, wood. All of it, plus metal sometimes. And the third artist is a painter. Her canvases are already on the wall, ready for the show. Now Damien and I are filling the rest of the space with our installations.

“It’s looking great in here,” I say as I come to a stop in front of him.

He winks. “It sure is. You dressed up today, I like.”

There.Thank you.But that’s as far as my flirting can go. I smile. “I had to go and sweet talk my husband into helping with the promotion.”

“Ah.” He grins. “And?”

“He’s going to make some calls.” I gesture to the birdcage. “This is going to be the hottest piece in the show. You’ll have people fighting for it.”

“They don’t need to fight,” he drawls. “I have five more in progress at my shop.”

“Smart.” I sigh. “I should do that. I have fans who would love a duplicate. I worry about depreciating the value, though.”

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