Page 41 of Brushed and Buried
My stomach drops.
“No, it’s not complicated. It’s just…he’s perfect for what I need.”
Subject matter. The words hit like a physical blow.
“Matheo, listen to me. After this wedding is over, after this other gig I’m doing, I’ll be back in L.A. by next week. I can have the gallery pieces ready for review by the end of six to eight weeks, tops. This is exactly what we’ve been waiting for, right? So, can you please lay off the almost daily phone calls and texts?”
The conversation continues, but I can’t hear it anymore over the roaring in my ears. I stumble backward from the balcony door, Adrian’s words echoing in my head.
Back to L.A., like nothing happened, like these past few days meant nothing. Like I’m just a convenient tool who happens to be where he’s working.
My hands shake as I push them into my pockets, trying to clench and unclench the pressure in my chest away. Everything Holly said this morning takes on a different meaning now. Adrian’s creative block, his sudden burst of inspiration, the constant sketching.
I’m just a means to an end, a way for him to create his art. Now the incident at the hotel with the football scout makes a little more sense.
The meeting with Trevor’s family is supposed to be a distraction, but I might as well be furniture for all the talking I do. They’re warm, loud in that easy Australian way, trading stories about Trevor’s childhood and laughing at inside jokes I’ll never catch. Every so often, someone tosses a question my way about football, but it’s clear they’re humoring me. They’re a rugby crowd, through and through, and my sport feels like the distant cousin they only acknowledge out of politeness.
But I can’t focus on any of it. Every laugh feels forced, every response automatic and hollow.
When we finish around seven, I find Holly at the resort bar where she’s been having drinks with some of Becca’sbridesmaids and cousins. She’s relaxed and laughing, but her expression sobers when she sees me approach.
“Vince? Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
I pull her aside to a quieter corner of the bar. “How long has Adrian been looking for a muse?”
The question catches her off guard. “What?”
“You said he lost his inspiration years ago. How has he been trying to find it again?”
Holly sets down her drink, suddenly more alert. “Why are you asking?”
“Just answer me, Holly. Please.”
She studies my face for a long moment. “There were a few people over the years. He’d get excited about someone, think maybe they’d light a spark in his work, but it never held. It wasn’t about love, not really; it’s more like reaching for a shadow of something he’d already lost. Ever since he lost his true muse, nothing else has given him the same fire. The inspiration was there, sometimes, but it was never enough to carry him the way it once did.”
She may have said a dozen things, but my mind latches onto only one. “A few people.” My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears.
“Vince, what’s this about?”
“He told his manager he found his muse, that he’s perfect for what he needs.” The words taste bitter. “That he’ll be back in L.A. next week because he’ll have the material he needs.”
Holly’s face goes pale. “You heard him talking to Matheo like that?”
“So you knew.” It’s not a question.
“I knew he’s been getting calls from his manager, yes. But Vince, you don’t understand…”
“I understand perfectly.” I turn to leave, but she grabs my arm.
“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, Vince.” She shifts off her seat, turning toward me, her tone careful like she wants to make sure I don’t twist her words. “Adrian had sketches of you in art school. I see your sketches around the apartment once in a while. Parts of you, half your face, nothing really resembling the totality of you. He’s like a lost soul trying to hold on to something, to capture its entirety, not just the body, but…his muse."
The final piece clicks into place, and it’s worse than I imagined. “So this whole time, at school, when we were friends…I was just a muse, and he needed to get close to me.”
“That’s not how it was.”
“It sounds like I’ve been his inspiration project since we were eighteen.”
“Vince, you need to talk to Adrian…”
