Page 27 of Chasing Me

I leapt to my feet.“I don’t need your threats, or your fucking expo, or your school.”

“Very well, then.Good luck.”

I slammed the door, cursing nonstop, feeling the wild rage pour out of me in choppy waves, ready to drown me alive.My whole body shook, and I headed out into the streets, walking and trying to clear my mind.

It was over.

There’d be no show.Who gives a shit?I thought.I didn’t need the Brush Institute.I’d enlist somewhere else, or find a mentor, or study by myself.It had been working before.I’d heard of these hard luck stories of artists getting discovered and making it big, of never quitting and finally achieving success.

But where?the inner voice taunted.Joe’s Cafe, smelling of sweat and coffee?The corner of Millennium Park, painting passersby?The art department in some office building?

I’d find a way.I had Quinn and a strong mind, and I was capable.I just needed to sit down and think of my options, then make a new plan.

My phone shrieked.I grabbed it, assuming it was Quinn, and spoke into the receiver.“I’m on my way to the clinic to see you.”

“James?Where are you?What are you talking about?”

I stopped mid-flight, squeezing my eyes shut.Well, wasn’t this shit day getting worse.My mother’s voice held a tinge of worry, but I knew already it wasn’t for my welfare.Oh, no, she’d heard the gossip, and called personally to make sure her only son didn’t humiliate the family name.

“Mom.Sorry, I thought you were someone else.What do you want?”

“You never returned my last two phone calls.Your father was angry, but I explained you were probably quite busy and planned to get back to us soon.Are you very busy?”

Her barbed intent hit home.Funny, I didn’t remember many soft times between us, the way a mother and son were supposed to be.At least from what I saw in the movies or witnessed with other guys.She never fussed over me or babied me.The nannies raised me, gave little comfort, and I spent most of my time trying to catch my father’s attention.My mother had already checked out, making sure I was bathed and dressed and polite at all functions.Making sure I fit the ideal image of what she wanted me to be, but she rarely delved deep enough to seek out who I was.I mourned, rebelled, and did all the normal things, but then I just detached.She made it kind of easy.She was never mean, or cruel, just distant.After a while, it seemed like I was fighting for...nothing.

“Yes, I’m busy.”

“Serving coffee for our friends’ children in Chicago?”

Displeasure rattled her voice.“I’m putting myself through art school.I told you last year, Mother, I intend to make it on my own.I’m not touching my trust fund.I left Key West, sold the yacht, my bike, and all my other stuff.Isn’t that what you always wanted for me?To be independent and honorable?”

I made sure to sweeten my voice, forcing her to play her hand.“Honorable, yes.But not at this expense.James, we gave you that trust fund for your future.We expected you to use it to find a career and make a man out of yourself, not to make a mockery of your family.Do you realize the position you put us in?All of your father’s friends called to find out why you’re working at a coffee shop.He was humiliated and forced to make up a story.Why would you do this to us, James?”

I should’ve have been upset or disappointed.Not after the past.I knew better.But damned if every time I spoke with my mother or father I didn’t pray something would change.I realized then, for the final time, nothing ever would.I could become a hot-shit artist, well known around the world, and still my parents wouldn’t approve or be satisfied.Maybe if I’d gone into business, or done medicine or law.Maybe.But even then, they wouldn’t have cared if I were happy.

I stood in the middle of the busy street, in the cold, with the phone pressed to my ear.A flood of raw emotion made my whole body shake, but there was nothing to do but stand up for myself.

No one else would.

I took a deep breath.Normally, I’d bitch and rage at my parents in a frustrated attempt to get them to listen.But today, I spoke calmly.“Mother, I’m sorry you don’t approve.But I’m not taking that money, at least, not any longer.The work sucks, but it’s honest, and it helps pay the rent.Just tell Dad’s friends I’m experimenting with being a starving artist.”

There was a long pause.I felt her thinking of how to fix the situation to make it palatable.Finally, she spoke.“Come home, James.We’ll start over.Find you something you’ll be happy with, maybe find a girl you can settle down with.It’s not too late.”

My heart twanged.Come home.How many times did I wish and pray for them to want me to come home?But this was for their own benefit, so they could control me.My throat tightened.“No, Mother, I can’t.I’m already in love with someone.Her name is Quinn, and that’s why I’m in Chicago.She’s amazing.”

“Another so-called artist?”my mother asked snobbily.

I let out a breath.“No, a social worker.She’s way too good for us.”

My mother’s sharp gasp made me smile.“We can’t let this happen, James.Please don’t force us to interfere.If you must pursue art, at least use your money to set up a gallery or something respectable.”

God, it would be so damn easy.Open up my own business, display my art, get investors.But my success wouldn’t be valid, and I needed to finally do something on my own.Something important.

My voice hardened.“I’d advise you to keep doing what you’ve always done, Mother.Ignore me.Let me live my life on my own.We’ve been perfecting it for over twenty years now, right?”

“James Hunt!You will listen to me, or you’ll be talking with your father.”

“Thanks for checking on me.Goodbye.”I clicked off as gently as possible, already knowing the shit had hit the fan.Dad would be next, but I’d screen.Eventually, the gossip would die down, and they’d get distracted with something else until I faded from their minds again.

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