Page 5 of Damaged

I guess thenot tonightline was a little spicy. I didn’t mean it that way. We were just having a moment, and I don’t want him to think it’s only because I’m a sleazy saleswoman looking for a commission.

“So, you’re a professional, then.” He nods at the painting. “What does your art background see in this one?”

“I told you, it’s crap.”

“Who do you think buys this kind of thing?”

“Usually oil tycoons. Sometimes trust funders or a famous director soon to be canceled. In my experience at least.”

“No one of substance?”

“Definitely not. This kind of piece is almost always bought by people who want something as expensive as possible on their wall. It attracts the wannabes.”

“It was purchased tonight.” The man points at the placard. The stenciled price tag has been replaced with our cursive sign that readspurchased.

“Wow.” I step forward for a closer look. “Somebody made a hell of a commission.”

“Sure did. And some schmuck got taken for a buck.”

I would normally never speak about business this way, but there’s something about our privacy and conversation that has been conspiratorial. I let loose as much as I can. “You could say that,” I say and smirk.

“Well… I’ll try and see if I can have it hung in my bathroom, at least.”

I smile like this is another joke, but then my grin fades. My stomach drops to the floor. It’s still falling when I speak. “You… You bought it?”

“Yeah. The price tag”—he points—“told me it was a masterpiece.”

My cheeks are calderas. The Yellowstone volcano has erupted. I burn worse than a dry martini does going down on an empty stomach. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

He grins ever so slightly, and I think it’s from thesir. By the grace of God, his phone suddenly rings, and he looks at the screen. “I better get home before I’m snowed in. It was nice chatting with you.” His tone is genuine, like he doesn’t hold my opinions against me.

I’m too aghast to act like a normal human being. My embarrassment is still busy erupting. “You, too,” I eke out as his footfalls echo down the gallery floor and he vanishes from sight.

I sit on the black bench and then lie down face first so the cool leather is against my cheek. I picture the red lessening.

I don’t even care if anyone finds me sprawled out and looking this ridiculous.

I’m having alie on my facekind of day.

Sophia

I decide to leave once my cheeks have cooled. This night was a bust from the beginning, and I just insulted the most handsome man I’ve seen, let alone talked to, in ages.

Whatever. If a man that good-looking isn’t taken, he probably has some baggage I don’t want to deal with anyway.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

I congratulate Richard on the big sale. He’s always the one selling the pieces that would cover my rent for a year. Of course, it’s structured that way.

I can only sell inventory worth less than one-hundred grand until I’ve been here one more year. Then my ceiling is a quarter million. Not many galleries operate this way. There’s a reason there was a job opening here—Richard is a little tyrant and my boss.

“Did you sell anything tonight?” he asks.

“I struck out.”

“Well, you can’t leave. There are still potential customers.” Richard smells like a distillery. He always gets roaring drunk at these things.

I want to explain that if I tried to sell anything, my zombie-like enthusiasm would just scare people away from the gallery. But I bite my tongue.

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