Free Inky by JB Hartnett Page B

you have a death wish or something?” I knew he was letting his fear and relief pour out but, whoa.
    “Abe…” I had started to giggle. “I’m okay. I just had this conversation with Aimes on the way here, but with less ‘fuck’ words. And did you see her face? Do you really want me to make you cry?” I smiled. He pulled back and kept his hands on my shoulders.
    “Well, no.” he chuckled “But please, don’t ever fucking do that again! You call me. Day or night, I don’t give a flying!”
    “Oh, I don’t plan on making it a habit or anything. Now, what did you want to talk to me about or was that just an excuse to get me in here and yell at me?”
    “Actually, the former. You know the Gillies Exhibition? Very prestigious, blah, blah, blah?”
    “Yes, of course. Oh my God, Abe! Did you enter? Did some of your work get chosen?” If that was the case, Abe wouldn’t be running this little gallery much longer. Actually, our gallery was owned by some guy I’d never met that had nothing better to do with his money than buy small businesses. Art galleries had become his wife’s new hobby about four years ago. I shouldn’t complain; I’d never met either one of them and I was definitely reaping the benefits. Abe explained that once a week they would come in when the gallery was closed and look over the work on display. Even if I loathed the idea of the elitist- upper class deciding whether or not something qualified as ‘art,’ the Missus had a good eye for talent. She was also on the board of directors for the Gillies Exhibition and Foundation.
    “Actually, I didn’t enter this year. I lied to you, Ink but I wanted to tell you in private first.” He lied to me?
    “You didn’t really sell my painting, did you?” Oh God, why would he say he did if he didn’t?
    “Oh no, I sold it but the reason he can’t pick it up is because Mrs. Emerson saw it first and insisted it be displayed at the Gillies Exhibition. You and I have a date a week from Saturday. You better use some of your new found money, buy a dress and get dolled up so we can schmooze with the upper crust and try to get into the society pages. It’s black tie.”
    Whoa
    “Abe, I kind of want to kiss you right now, tongue and all.”
    “Ah, well, I’m flattered but you know that’s not how I roll.”
    “I’m kidding, Abe!” I laughed but then started to let the enormity of this sink in.
    “Abe?”
    “Yes, Inky?” He was gathering his briefcase and putting papers inside to leave.
    “Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for showing my piece. Even if nothing ever comes of it…to see it hung in a gallery like that, well, I don’t have the words, just…thank you.”
    “You’re talented, Inky. That painting is beautiful and sad and soul- wrenching all at the same time. It appears like a simple landscape at first but the more you look, the more you see, the more it…”
    “Hurts?”
    “Yes, I suppose so. But the difference between this and your other work, this one is hopeful. I guess being engaged has affected your art. I’ve been asked by Mrs. Emerson to answer questions about it. You won’t need to talk to anyone. I explained that crowds aren’t really your thing.”
    “Thank Christ.” The irony. This painting was inspired by the song Cole sang to me in the bar to bring me out of a panic attack and had absolutely nothing to do with Evan. Now my creation was going to be on display and so was I. It was one thing to sign my name in a little corner. It was quite another to be out there myself, vulnerable to comments and criticisms.
    “Well, I have a date missy. I have to go. I’m glad you’re okay, Inky. And I’m glad you’re not pissed.”
    “No, I’m the opposite of that emotion.”
    ***
    Aimes put the keys in the ignition and I buckled myself in. Then she took the keys out. “Get out.”
    “What?”
    “We’re gonna have a drink at the beautiful wine bar we always say we want to go to but can’t afford. You’re