Page 54 of Portrait of A Lost Artist
There’s a unique pain in realizing the people you thought you understood are changing. I feel happiness...seeing my best friend reach his wildest dreams of stardom, but this whole scene echoes what Nathan seemed desperate to escape. These are individuals who will not hesitate to exploit Zeke for their own financial gain, even if it means betraying him.
That name reverberates in my head. Nathan. I can only imagine how his beginnings were; with people investing in his art, crafting him to perfection, only to tear him down when there was a jewel that shined brighter than he did. At least, momentarily.
They lure celebrities with alcohol and the joint that has been glued to Zeke’s lips for the past hour, which he now passes to Emilia, who takes it with evident delight. They promise a kind of success that seems unattainable without sacrificing one’s integrity.
Zeke would do that.
Now, I know that.
“You’ll be big, son.” The man with the wig, whom I learned is called Calvin, places a hand on Zeke’s shoulder and smiles at him. “If you ever get tired of this one,” He juts his chin toward Emilia. “My daughter’s free and around your age.”
That’s enough; the desire to escape takes over. I get to my feet as the clock signals three seventeen in the morning. There hasn’t been a real exchange with Ezequiel, no opportunity to catch up. My movement doesn’t draw any attention, least of all from my friend, and it’s only when I clear my throat and speak that I manage to catch his eye for a moment.
“I’m leaving. A pleasure sharing dinner with you, gentlemen.”
“What?” Ezequiel trails after me, but I don’t even take a second to offer more than a quick goodbye. I have my purse tucked awkwardly under my armpit, and I don’t dare glance back at him. “The night’s just starting. Come on, I was planning on buying some old tobacco from Havana to celebrate and all—”
“Ezequiel!” Each word he speaks fuels my exasperation until I spin around, a gesture of pure frustration. I slam my hands onto my face, a deep, shuddering sigh escaping me, as if trying to breathe out the very pain I feel in my chest. “Who the fuck are you and what did you do to my best friend?”
His brown eyes settle on my features for a second longer than intended. “I’m right here.”
“No, you aren’t. The Ezequiel Pacheco I know wouldn’t have torn Havana to shreds just to fit with two assholes who only know how to put women down.” I scold, jotting a finger towards him. “I came here for you and you haven’t even given me the time of the day.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe Alessia was right about you.”
The name seems to throw a bucket of ice on his anatomy, for his back straightens, shoulders leaned back, mouth falling to perch in a frown. “Alessia?” The name sounds foreign on his tongue, as if he hadn’t heard it in forever. “What did she say about me?”
“You’re missing the point.”
“Alright, alright! I’m an asshole. I got the point across.” He grabs my hands in between his, crouching down until we are face to face. “How about this? There is supposed to be a special art display shown in one of the most famous museums in the country tomorrow. Emilia wanted to go with me, but I can cancel on her and go with you instead.”
The idea doesn’t sound half bad. I have never gotten to go to a proper art display because they are not rather common in Havana, so the thought settles in my brain and becomes irresistible the more I think about it.
“One more chance, Zeke, and after that, you have no more.”
“I’ll make the best out of my only chance. We’ll have fun.” He lets go of my hands, smiling at me with all the glee in the world. “I’ll text you to tell you when I’ll pick you up. Or, okay, I should actually call a taxi for you right now—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“But—”
“There’s a taxi line outside waiting for potential clients and I happen to know your full name, so I can make you pay for it. Just for being a jackass.” I shrug, turning my back while a wry smile plays out internally. However, a new understanding dawns on me: Ezequiel truly doesn’t give a damn about the money anymore.
How the tables have turned.
