Page 1 of Love Is an Art
Chapter one
Tessa
Ieatmycubeof cheddar cheese off its toothpick, even though my black shirt hardly allows my arm to bend at the elbow because the dried paint there has hardened. But although the lime-green paint blob audibly cracked, no flecks dot the worn, wood floor of this gallery. My best friend, Miranda, in her typical, emotionally exuberant fashion, went a bit overboard with this costume. Last night’s idea to dress up as an artist to be the bait to catch a scammer conning artists seems a lot less brilliant now.
Miranda and I huddle in the very back corner of this white-walled space, now converted into a hip art gallery on the Lower East Side. Bright-neon abstract paintings dot the walls, while metal sculptures command the floor space. The one closest to us looks like a robot made out of a car door, with metal tubes for legs and arms. His head is a paint bucket. It’s not bad, but it would be cooler if it were an actual robot—preferably one that did housecleaning and delivered trays full of cups of coffee, the rocket fuel that sustains me through my crazy, New York City lawyer workload.
“Tessa, why are you dressed as an artist who hasn’t washed her clothes in days?” William Matsumura, Miranda’s boyfriend, asks as he joins us. He laces his fingers through Miranda’s, pulling her closer to him.
“That scammer guy is supposed to be here—the one who ripped off Yvette, that emerging artist I just met,” Miranda says.
“I’m supposed to be a struggling artist, and we’re hoping I will look like a good target and he’ll try to scam me,” I say. I'd suggested I be the bait last night when Miranda had been pacing about our living room, outraged about how this guy, Jurgen, had made all these false promises to Yvette and tricked her into paying him so much money.
Scammers who prey on vulnerable women arethe worst. Or maybe the ones who prey on old people or children are the worst. But they’re all bad. And foiling them gives me great pleasure.
“Yvette said he’d picked her up at an opening here,” Miranda says. “If he tries to scam Tessa, then we can build a case against him.”
“Isn’t it unlikely this scammer is going to pick up Tessa?” William asks.
“It’s still a chance. Doesn’t she look like a passionate artist who is on the verge of being discovered?” Miranda asks.
“She looks like she’s given up hope and was unable to even dress up for this show,” William says, earning an elbow in his ribs from Miranda.
“I should look like I’m here to fill up on the free food.” I gesture with my fork to my paper plate, filled with cheese cubes and bread.
On the west side of the room is a long bar manned by three bartenders, a crowd clustered around it. I haven’t even attempted to try to battle to get a drink.
“Do you see him?” I ask.
“No.” Miranda shakes her head. “Wait. Yes. There he is. He just walked in.”
At the entrance stands a tall guy in a green, velvet jacket with wavy, brown hair in a ponytail. He’s channeling a romantic poet aesthetic.
“He’s good-looking, objectively speaking,” I say.
“Undoubtedly helps his scam.” Miranda frowns. “Yvette said he has this whole ‘I wasn’t good enough to make it, but you’ve got what it takes. I can teach you’ spiel. He’s despicable. What kind of person would take advantage of all that hope and vulnerability and promise them connections and art shows—the whole inside scoop? She paid him thousands of dollars.”
“You have to know who to trust,” I say.
Miranda’s glance meets mine in silent acknowledgment of that truth.
“Ready, set, action,” Miranda says.
Miranda and William walk over to the metal sculpture near Scammer Guy. Like a besotted puppy, I eagerly tail after my supposed artist idol, Miranda.
“I’ve followed your career from the beginning.” I say my well-rehearsed lines as we maneuver in earshot of Scammer Guy. “You’re such an inspiration to me, especially because you didn’t succeed at first and kept trying.”
“Thank you so much,” Miranda says. “That means the world to me. It’s hard. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it either. You have to believe in yourself and know what you want.”
“Do you have any tips for an aspiring artist like me?” I ask.
Miranda gives her standard advice and a pat on my shoulder. And then she gently disentangles herself from me, saying she and William are going to get some food. Given my still-full plate, I can’t really follow them. I’m left standing alone by Mr. Alleged Scammer.
Perfect.
I let my shoulders droop and eat some more cheese. Like a tentative mouse.
But he doesn’t take the bait.
