Page 30 of Dirty Shots

“If you run an exhibition where no one can buy, it could go one of two ways. People will be so desperate to see the work no one is allowed to own, it will be all over the media, and you’ll be offered disgustingly large sums of money just to see if you do have a price.” He exhaled. “Or else people will think you’ve lost the plot again, and come to see the pictures anyway.”

“I didn’t lose the plot,” Eric muttered, the turn of phrase jarring him.

“Sorry. But either way, the media will probably be involved. People will talk about the subject matter, and about you and your mental health. You understand, don’t you?”

“I want people to talk, Logan. Isn’t that part of the fun of creating art, to make people talk, to think about the pieces, to shock and inspire?”

“Well, you’re certainly going to do that.”

“So will you exhibit them for me?”

“An exhibition where there’s no profit margin?”

“Come on, Logan, you don’t need the money. If the media are going to be as involved as you think, you’ll make the money in infamy.”

He folded his arms across his chest and laughed. “True.”

“Plus, you can always sell tickets. I don’t want or need a cut.”

Logan shrugged. “Works well for me.”

“So when do you have an opening?”

He reached across the desk and turned on his computer. With a couple of clicks on the mouse, he pulled up a calendar. “I have a spot in ten days. It would be one night only. Can you be ready by then?”

Eric rubbed a hand across his mouth. The date was far sooner than he’d anticipated. “Got anything further in the future?”

“Sure. A lot further. If you don’t take that spot, the next opening is ...” He scrolled the calendar forward. “Five months from now.”

“Five months? Seriously?”

“What can I say? The gallery is busy.”

“Ten days,” he mused. “Will anyone be able to attend at such short notice?”

“They will when they know it’s you. If you want, I can get out the press releases on your behalf. I’ll make sure people are here.”

He felt like a snowball that had just been given a hefty shove off the top of a mountain. This thing was gathering momentum, a momentum he hadn’t quite been prepared for, and now he’d gotten things started, he wasn’t quite sure he could stop.

The words were out of his mouth before he allowed himself time to change his mind and go back on this whole thing.

“Okay, let’s do it. Nothing like a challenge to keep life interesting.”

“And I hope I’ll get to meet the lovely Anya at the opening.” He spoke with a twinkle in his eye.

“Of course, she’ll want to be there.”

But in the pit of his stomach, nerves roiled. He’d only mentioned to Anya that he would be showing her photographs to his friend, not that they’d be displayed for the world and media to see. She’d said she didn’t mind, and that he didn’t have to ask her permission—which he supposed he didn’t—yet something sat uneasy with him.

What would Anya’s reaction be when he told her.

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