Page 55 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“One of my secrets for one of yours. That’s the game, isn’t it? How do you know so much about art?”
“Oh,” Ben chuckles again. “Right. Well, I studied it. I did my undergrad in Art History and Economics.”
That would explain why he’s so much more knowledgeable than most other VIP clients at the museum.
“What made you choose art as your major?”
Ben’s hand slides up my back a little. “Family tradition, I guess. I do love it, though. Art is easy to love. And the economics part was to make sense of all the things that aren’t art.”
“I see. So your parents work in the art field too?”
“Sort of. Actually, I’m not sure what they’re up to,” he says, his voice sounding more guarded than it usually does. “They used to. We haven’t spoken in a while.”
Family seems to be a bit of a sore topic for him. I wonder what happened.
We turn a corner and check out another stall.
“What’s in Laos?” he asks, holding up a whip that would go great with my current outfit.
“The question isn’t so much what’s in Laos as what isn’t…”
My grandpa’s face flashes before my eyes. I used to see his paintings, now all I see is his pain.
“Hm, right,” Ben murmurs, giving me a sidelong glance.
This stall doesn’t have what we’re after either.
“What do we do if we can’t find what we’re looking for?”
“Don’t worry, Panda. I’ve got a Plan B. I’ll get you the things you need.” His hand returns to the small of my back, steady and sure. And somehow, I believe him. He sounds confident in what he’s saying. Of course, that’s his whole job: confidence; making you believe whatever he says.
“Right now, I believe what we need most is nourishment.” He checks the time. “Wow, we’ve been at this for a solid seven hours now already. Time really flies. We need a break, some food, and water. And then we should do something fun.” Ben slings an arm over my shoulder and walks us to the food stalls.
“Fun?” I repeat. “I mean, sure. As long as your idea of fun includes finding the materials we need for the crime we’re planning.”
Ben laughs, probably to drown out that last sentence as a police officer passes by. “Well, you do look like you’re one more disappointment away from flipping a poor vendor’s table. So come on, how do you feel about a nice Banh Mi? I know it’s technically Vietnamese, but that’s probably as close as we can get to Lao cuisine around here.”
Ben greets the elderly woman behind the counter in what I assume must be fluent Vietnamese and orders us our late lunch. Then we sit down at a nearby table to eat.
“How come you speak Vietnamese?” I ask, taking another bite of my sandwich.
“I don’t,” Ben admits—or maybe lies. “I only know enough to order food, insult someone, or tell them I love them.”
“How come?”
“I traveled a lot with my parents growing up. Picked up a thing or two here and there. Food, insults, and love; those seem to be the universal things that tend to stick.” He leans back andtakes a bite. Then gives me a look. “Anyway, my turn. I really do need to know what happened to you?—”
“Alright, I’ll admit it,” I say, despite my full mouth to keep him from poking into what happened to my face again. “This was a good call. Delicious food. I do feel better now.”
Ben grins and takes an exaggerated victory bite of his own sandwich. “Why does it seem like it physically pains you to admit that?”
I just shrug my shoulders and discard my sandwich wrapper in a trash can nearby.
It’s because that’s how you open up to people, and I have learned that it’s safer not to do that, to not let people in. It’s safer to just be on your own. The only reason I’m allowing this… whatever this is between us to continue, is because I need him. I need him to get myself out of this mess. There’s no other way. I touch my eye instinctively. It still aches a little.
A few minutes later, we’re back on the hunt for our non-haunted canvas. We pass some street performers singing and dancing, Ben’s arm occasionally brushing against mine. Which is probably accidental. He’s just like that. With everyone. Touchy. And it is still very crowded, so…
After another unsuccessful painting inspection, we head back towards the exit when Ben stops abruptly.
