Page 57 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

All of this information is most relevant to what happened next. Namely, why I chose to associate with a snake in the grass who also happened to be my ex-boyfriend. Brian Schrauth.

Brian owned a gallery, thanks to a random twist of fate, and getting my work displayed there was a real coup. And yet, I hated to associate with him again. Just being around him not only made me feel bad, it made me question things like Mason’s feelings for me.

But as an artist, I couldn’t pass up a chance to further my professional career. The more eyeballs on your work the better, and a gallery is still the way that the ‘big money’ players tend to find their gravy trains—that is, the artists they choose to patronize.

I stood in my apartment, every wall and surface boasting one of my works. I was trying to figure out which ones I could exhibit. I had a booth ten feet across, five feet deep, and with a rear wall ten feet high. That meant I could exhibit about twelve paintings if I also brought along a folding steel table.

I could have wedged in more paintings than that, of course, by playing Tetris with the space allotted, but if you make the setting too busy nobody will be able to pick individual works out. Sort of like not being able to see the forest for the trees.

So I had to pick out a dozen paintings, and one of them was pre-selected. Even though I had no intention of selling it, ever. The portrait of the man standing in front of a Shelby Cobra. My grandfather had painted most of it, and I had finished it.

Having that portrait hanging over my exhibition was the closest thing to having my grandfather there with me I was going to get.

Eleven paintings to go. Choices, choices. Should I go with the black and white portrait of James Dean fromRebel Without a Cause?How could I not? I had painted that one specifically to make money. It was garishly commercial and not done in my usual style, but on the other hand it was almost guaranteed to sell.

It’s always important to have a landscape, and I had a pretty good one of a decaying water mill in a dense summer forest. Again, not my usual style, but something that would look good on the exhibition wall, and also likely to sell.

I mixed things up with a surrealist portrayal of Medusa with Perseus’ head, instead of the other way around. It was a tad gory but stylized enough in a 60s pop art way that I thought people would forgive it.

It took the better part of three hours, but I finally selected my dirty dozen. I loaded three times that much works into Junebug’s mom’s van, though.

Why? For one thing, just because I only had room to properly display a dozen works didn’t mean I couldn’t have stacks of them for people to peruse. For another, sometimes galleries get picky about what you can put up and what you can’t. I didn’t think Brian would give me shit about it, but just in case I wanted to be prepared.

Junebug drove me out to the gallery on Staten Island. It wasn’t a huge place—occupying a former clothier’s space—but Brian had decorated it well. Or more likely, he’d hired someone to do it for him. Minimalist architecture normally wasn’t my thing, but I wasn’t about to turn down a free gallery exhibition.

Thankfully, Brian wasn’t around so I didn’t have to talk to my ex. Junebug helped me set up my booth. I made sure to hang the portrait my grandfather had done in a prominent place.

“Well, this is it,” Bug said, putting his hands on his hips and nodding. “Your first big break.”

“Not my first, and not even the biggest, but hopefully this one will stick.”

Junebug frowned. “I still don’t trust Brian. We all know he’s a snake in the grass.”

“Yeah, I know, but I couldn’t turn this opportunity down, now could I? What would you have done in my place?”

“I’d have told him hell yes, just like you did.” Junebug’s eyes narrowed. “Remember that time he stole his kid brother Greg’s PlayStation and pawned it for beer money?”

“Yeah, I drove him to the pawnshop. He told me it was his game system.”

“Well, remember how we all chipped in to buy the thing back for Greg?”

“Yeah, it was the least I could do since I was partly to blame.”

Junebug shook his head. “Not true. It wasn’t your fault at all. Well, a couple months ago I bumped into Brian on the street and he told me ‘thanks for making me look bad.’ The fucking nerve.”

“Im not going to fuck him again, Junebug. As soon as this exhibition is over, I don’t intend to even think about him.”

“Good,” Junebug said, sighing in relief. “A bunch of us were worried.”

“You were? Why?”

“Because that guy Mason is so awesome, and he obviously likes you a lot. We didn’t want you to fuck up a good thing chasing after ghosts.”

My heart warmed at the thought of my friends looking out for me. “I appreciate the concern, Junebug, but if you think I would trade Mason for Brian, you are out of your goddamn mind! I lo—I like Mason. A lot.”

He gave me a funny look, but let the matter drop. I carefully steered my mind away from even considering the fact I’d nearly uttered the other L-word.

And I didn’t mean lollipop.

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