My neck starts to tingle and I stay turned to the wall so Adam can’t see me grin. Yep. He likes me. “The art gallery? That would be cool. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“I was there Saturday night for the Amphibs album release, and Gavin Brown—” He pauses. “Gavin Brown?” he repeats, and I realize I’m supposed to be impressed.
I shrug, embarrassed I’m so clueless. “Sorry, who is he?”
Adam grins and shakes his head. “I forget that you’re new to the art world. Gavin owns galleries on four continents, and 365 is just one of them. I ran into him by the bar and we started talking about the chromatic saturation of the music. Five hours later we’re throwing back soju in Koreatown and he tells me he wants to see my studio.”
“He wants to see your work! That’s amazing. What if he offers to represent you?”
“I’ll say yes, of course. And once he sells out my first show, I’ll tell him about a young painter I know who shows enormous promise.”
Our eyes meet and I blush. He squeezes my arm and gets back to cleaning up the studio.
The art world is all about connections, and being tight with Adam and this Gavin Brown? I picture a gallery, big white walls hung with my paintings.
I stick Krell’s brushes back in the jars, careful to match how he’s grouped them by size and shape. Then I kneel down to wipe a spot off the floor, and catch Adam rearranging them. “Is something the matter?” I ask.
He smiles like it’s nothing. “Krell can be a bit anal about his brushes, that’s all.”
Adam gathers up my used paper towels and stuffs them in a trash bag. I take it from him and grab the box of pigment.
I’m not nervous when Adam carries my panel downstairs, because I’m still so pumped from the work I’ve done. We slide it into the storage locker along with the box of supplies, and Adam works the lock.
Watching him, it hits me that this is how I’ve wanted to feel all semester—that I’m energized and learning, and I won’t let Krell make me feel bad anymore.
“Why so happy?” he says. “You’re beaming.”
“I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
He squeezes my arm again, and what I see in his eyes makes my stomach swoop. “You’re fighting back,” he says. “That’s great. I knew you wouldn’t let Krell kill your spirit.”
I look away, blushing but happy. Adam gets me in a way no one else at CALINVA does. He could be the reason I survive Collin Krell. The reason I hold on to the Zoich.
By the time Adam and I get outside, night classes are letting out. We linger, saying good night, but the moment’s not what I’d call romantic; Adam’s hands are wrapped around the trash bag we need to dump.
“You working on Sunday?” I say, hoping he’ll suggest we hang out.
He tosses the garbage into a dumpster and smiles at me, his teeth white in the shadows. “Yeah, I’ve got a gig, hauling equipment for a wedding photographer.”
“Maybe some other time,” I say, careful to keep it light.
“I’d like that.”
The way he says it makes my heart skip. He comes in close and leans over me until his face is just inches from mine. Adam smiles and my lips part. Yes, yes.
He reaches up and sets his hand on my neck. I lean into it as he draws his thumb over my cheek. “I like you,” he says, gazing into my eyes. “I didn’t expect to.”
My jaw actually drops. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” he says. “That came out wrong.” He frowns, collecting his thoughts, his hand still resting on my neck. “The first time we spoke, I wasn’t looking to get involved—”
I hold my breath as he chooses his words.
“Things aren’t quite resolved with my ex. I wouldn’t want to start something with you and then—”
I smile so he’ll stop talking. “It’s late.”
He takes his hand away. “Yeah, I should get going, too.”
He’s looking everywhere but at me, so I ask, “What’s on your mind?”
“I don’t have to tell you we need to keep this a secret?”
“No, I get that if this got out it wouldn’t look good for either of us.”
He takes a step back. “Monday night? Same time?”
I hate walking to my car alone this late. There’s hardly any traffic on the street after dark and late night is the only time a cop isn’t parked outside the shelter. “You mind walking me to my car?”
Adam glances over his shoulder at the lot, which is lit like a football field. “You’re not parked over there?”
“Nope. I couldn’t afford a pass this semester. I’m up on Raymond.”
He glances at his phone like he’s checking the time, and then smiles. “Sure. No problem. I’m headed to the Metro stop anyway.”
I step toward the lit walkway, but Adam waves me into the alley on the other side of the building. “This way’s shorter,” he says. We chat quietly as we exit onto Raymond and head up the street. Adam’s keeping up the pace, and I realize he’s probably eager to make the next train.
We’re almost across from the shuttered florist shop that my car’s parked behind when I say, “Thanks for walking me, but I can handle it from here.”
“You sure?” he says, but I feel how much he wants to go.
“Yeah, my car’s right over there and you’ve got a train to catch.”
“Monday?” he says.
“Monday,” I answer, and step into the street. I dash across, still feeling his touch on my cheek, and I know I shouldn’t, not when there’s an ex who’s not totally out of the picture, but I imagine myself at his side at his first solo show at 365 Mission surrounded by everyone who’s anyone in the LA art world.
I step onto the curb in front of the flower shop and a voice calls out, “Artist girl!” and I jump about a foot.
“Jesus!” I exclaim, and spin around looking for who’s there.
A small voice comes from the doorway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I peer into the shadows by the shop’s front door. Julie, the homeless woman, sits on a flattened cardboard box, a thin blanket over her knees. Sweetie is nestled on her chest.
“Julie, hi. Why are you out here and not in the shelter?”
“It’s too nice to be inside tonight. Besides, I’m safer out here.”
I shiver, because I know exactly what Julie means. I tried one night at a teen shelter in Hollywood, but felt more exposed in there than I did in my car.
“I saw you out walking the other night,” she says. “You was lost.”
It takes a moment before I realize she must have spotted me the night I saw her eating ice cream. “I wasn’t lost. I live around there.”
“Lost inside, not outside. Lost in here,” she says, tapping her chest.
It rattles me how right she is about that, and I fumble in my messenger bag for the bottle of water I haven’t opened. “Are you thirsty?” I say, showing her the bottle.
“Oh yes, I am. Thank you.”
I set the bottle in Julie’s grimy hand, and she pours some into a small plastic bowl for Sweetie before she takes a swig. I wonder what her story is. I’d like to ask her about herself, but she’s not here to satisfy my curiosity. “Julie, I’m really tired. I need to go home. Stay safe, okay?”