Free Inky by JB Hartnett Page A

man came in, young, hot but not in an arrogant don’t-I-know-it way, looked around and asked about this piece. I didn’t even haggle on a price. He said it didn’t matter... he had to have it. I swear to God, I think he had tears in his eyes.”
    “I hate to ask, Abe, but how much?” I was scared to ask.
    “You mean after my commission?” He laughed.
    “Of course.”
    “Ten-five.”
    “Excuse me?” I gasped.
    “Ten thous…”
    “No, I heard you but I don’t believe you.”
    “Darling, you realize that in the art world, that’s not really very much, right? I mean, that Andy Warhol piece of crap Marilyn sold for eighty mill back in the day. And you know how I feel about him.”
    “Yes, I know…” I patted him soothingly.
    “The point is, I just threw a number at him and he said ‘fine, whatever’ and just kept staring at it.”
    “Holy shit, Inky, you’re gonna be famous.” Aimes was crying again but these were happy tears.
    “It’s exciting isn’t it? I get to tell people I discovered you,” Abe gushed. “Now, I asked him if I could keep it for another week to display it but I have another proposition to discuss with you.” Something about the way Abe spoke felt ominous. The fact alone that a painting of mine sold was already overwhelming.
    “Can we take a photo of it?” I asked, “You know, before it’s gone?”
    “How about I take a photo of you with it?”
    I knew my face still had a sizeable bruise even though it was mostly covered by my hair. Abe saw me touch the side of my head. “Oh, come on, you’re an artist! We’ll get you on an angle; no one will be able to tell.”
    “Okay, you talked me into it. Do you know the buyer?”
    “Now that I can’t answer.”
    “Why?”
    “He didn’t leave his name. The sale is through a business. I can check for you though. But he’ll be here on Saturday morning at 10am to pick it up. Well, he said he would like to see it being transported, he wanted to supervise basically.”
    “I’ll be here.”
    “You won’t be disappointed. He’s all kinds of eye candy.” Abe’s mood changed to a serious one. I dreaded that he was about to ask me about the attack, “Mind if we talk in the back for a second, Aimes? I won’t keep her long, I promise.”
    “Not at all, Abe. Don’t upset her.”
    “I wouldn’t dare. Come on, honey-bunny.”

Chapter 8
    I didn’t know what to expect when Abe ushered me into his office but I prepared myself to answer questions about Joe. Aimes was left in the gallery to hold down the fort. I could feel how proud she was of me and she knew how much I wanted this. It wasn’t about leaving my mark on the art world, I didn’t care about that or money or fame…I mean, I wasn’t an idiot; making a living as an artist was no easy feat. I just wanted to make enough money to do what I loved. If I had to tend bar for the rest of my life, I didn’t care. All I needed or wanted at this point was a place to sleep, food to eat, and a way to let the sea of emotions in my head transform into art.
    Sea.
    I needed to talk to Aimes about this. I needed her feedback. I was going to come clean about Cole, the guy who talked me through my panic attack. I almost said something in the car but I wasn’t sure if I should. She wouldn’t judge me. That was the great thing about our friendship; I knew no matter what, she had my back and in return, I had hers. No doubt, she was looking at the large painting hanging prominently in the other room. It was so different from my usual style of bold, dark colors and depressing imagery. I entered a piece in a local show last year and someone commented that it looked like an Emo Goth kid’s high school art project – yeah, that one stung a bit.
    When the office door closed, Abe grabbed me into his arms. What was with everybody today?
    “God fucking damn it, Ink? Are you fucking crazy? How could you walk home at three in the morning in that neighborhood? What the fuck is wrong with you? Do