Page 26 of Dirty Money
“I’m sorry, ok? I really am. You’re just such a good artist and you’re so pretty and…”
“Stop,” she said, sternly. “It’s fine. I’m just kind of going through a… breakup? I guess you could call it that. I don’t know. It’s not you or your fault, it’s just that my head and heart are with someone else.”
As she said the words, Aullie realized her heart really was still with Weston. Even though it had only been two dates, even though they were so different, even though she really hardly knew anything about the guy, she was hung up and she was hung up bad.
She looked again at the collection she had picked, how perfectly the bright, happy colors complemented Aullie’s mostly dark and aggressive collection.
‘Could he be doing the same thing for me?’ She wondered despairingly. Had she shut out the man who brought light and inspiration into her otherwise bleak and angst-ridden life?
“I understand,” Gerald said, nodding as though he truly did understand. “I’m sorry for overstepping my bounds, that was seriously uncool and I don’t think I can apologize enough.”
“Seriously,” Aullie said, growing exasperated and irritated with his constant apologies. “It’s fine. If you could help me take these to the show, that would be great. My poor little Accord probably can’t hold all of this.”
“Great,” Gerald finally exhaled, looking relieved that things seemed to have settled at least a little. “Do you want to take it now? We can go set it up now, so that everything’s organized and set up to your liking at the show.”
Aullie looked at her collection again, reflecting on all the hard work she had put into each and every painting. This was her life, her love, her dream. This was the face she was about to put forward to the world, specifically to a group of snooty critics and collectors.
They might not like what they see.
She didn’t care. “Yes,” Aullie said, standing up straight. “Yes, I’m ready. Let’s pack ‘em up and take ‘em in.”
Gerald carefully picked up the two biggest canvases, a beige piece with splashes of black and red and a symbolic water-inspired piece she had done in every possible shade of blue, and carried them to the door. Aullie stacked a few smaller ones in her arms and followed him to the door.
Bruce, eager to get his chance at the outside world, hovered by the door ready to pounce. Gerald looked at her, questioningly.
“He’s fine, he’ll come back in,” she explained.
Gerald nodded and swung the door open wide. Bruce darted out like his tail was on fire. Aullie followed close behind him, but Gerald stopped her before she got outside.
“Aren’t you going to put on shoes?” he asked. “It’s pretty cold out.”
Aullie shrugged. “I don’t want to walk down the stairs in heels with my precious cargo,” she joked.
He smiled and said, “Alright.” Then, led her down the stairs.
The metal of the stairs was freezing against her bare feet, the chilled wind ruffled her vintage skirt. Thankfully the full skirt was long and covered most of her legs so she didn’t flash Gerald.
She followed him around the far corner of her building to the parking lot behind the complex. He leaned her paintings gently against a silver Prius and clicked a key fob to unlock the doors.
“Is it ok if I stack these?” he asked, opening the door to the back seat. “That’s probably going to be the only way they’ll fit. Unfortunately, my car’s not that much bigger than yours.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” she replied. She waited as he carefully tilted both of the bulky canvases against the seat and slid them into the car. “Can you pop the trunk for me, so I can put a few in the trunk?”
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, opening the front door and pulling the trunk release lever. “Let me just move some stuff around real quick, make sure I don’t have anything embarrassing back there.”
Aullie pondered what embarrassing things the teacher’s assistant could be hiding in his trunk and decided she probably didn’t want to know.
“All clear!” Gerald called out. “Bring them over here.”
She walked around the car, handing him the stack of smaller painting’s she had brought. The cold wind chilled her bare arms and legs and she wished she had at least brought a jacket. One by one, she handed him her big, flat treasures and watched as he carefully stacked them in the mostly empty trunk. She appreciated the extra care he took in making sure they were all balanced. After all, her paintings were like her babies.
“I could probably fit another one or two if you’d like,” he offered.
“No, it’s fine. I’m sure I can handle the rest. I really appreciate your help, though,” she said, honestly.
“Yeah, of course. And, again, I am so sorry about the…”
“No,” she cut him off. “Stop. It’s fine. You’re a great guy, it’s not you, it’s me.” As the tacky breakup excuse left her lips, she could see the sadness cloud his chocolate colored eyes behind his glasses.
