Page 59 of Volt
“So, you’re the artist?” I ask.
He nods. “Some of them are mine,” he confirms. “But most of them were done by other artists.”
“Some of the pieces are exquisite,” I say. “Your gallery is filled with amazing work.”
“Thank you,” he says with a slight bow. “I do try to curate a wide variety of work.”
“You do that very well,” I say. “I was especially struck by that ocean series.”
He nods. “It’s striking.”
We start to walk around the gallery again, talking about the different pieces and I’m so caught up in the conversation that it takes me a moment to realize that Blake hasn’t said anything in a while. I turn and find him smiling as he walks behind us, content to blend into the shadows as I do my thing with Danny. And I love him for that.
When we finished the circuit through the gallery and wind up at the entrance again, Danny turns to me and smiles.
“So, Blake tells me that your work is incredible,” he says.
“I don’t know that I’d go that far,” I reply with a nervous laugh. “I think my work is pretty good, but I need it to be great. That’s why I’m eventually going to go back to school and finish out my degree.”
He cocks his head as he looks at me. “And what do you imagine they can teach you at art school that you don’t already know?”
“I don’t know,” I admit slowly. “I just think people might take me more seriously if I have a degree.”
Danny shakes his head. “People don’t care whether you have a degree or not. Most of them will never know one way or the other,” he says. “The only thing they care about is how your art makes them feel. How it impacts their senses.”
I bite my bottom lip and think about what he’s saying. On some levels, it makes sense. On other levels, it doesn’t. There’s a lot I can learn in art school. But I also know he’s right—nobody will know or care if I have a degree or not.
“Art—the kind we think is exquisite and always moves us comes from in here,” Danny says, pointing to my chest. “It comes from the heart. Not from a degree. And Blake tells me you have a studio full of work just like that. Is that true?”
I smile and feel my cheeks flush with warmth. “Maybe not an entire studio’s worth. But yeah, I’ve got some work.”
“Then send me some pictures,” he says. “If I like your work, I’ll give you a show.”
“You’ll what?”
“For twenty-four hours, this gallery will be yours,” he says. “To start. And if that goes well, we’ll revisit that.”
“Are you serious?”
“As the proverbial heart attack.”
“I-I don’t know how to thank you,” I tell him.
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t seen your work and haven’t decided if I like it or not,” he says with a laugh.
“The fact that you’d even consider giving me a show means... everything.”
Danny gives me another smile. “Well, in that case, you’re welcome. Send me those pictures ASAP,” he says then turns to Blake. “This one’s sweet. A total keeper. You tripped over your own dick and fell into roses. Talk about the luck of the Irish.”
He laughs and chucks Blake on the shoulder as he walks off to tend to his other guests. Blake looks at me as I turned around. He pulls me close and strokes my hair, and we remain like that for a long minute.
I can’t believe how perfect things are right now. It’s almost like a fairy tale—except for the cartel villain who’s casting a dark shadow over everything at the moment.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Volt
The night is pitch-black, the cloud cover overhead so thick it’s blotting out the moon. A cool breeze rustles the leaves of the bush I’m sheltering behind. I turn on my night vision and look at the house across the street—one of Zavala’s stash houses. Our target. My watch reads 2:28 AM. It’s just about time.
