Page 19 of Refraction

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“Kiddo, comelook at these and tell me which goes where?”

Tucker rolled his eyes and headed toward the sound of Marge’s voice. He loved galleries, the way they had more walls than any other building ever. More walls, more places to hide, more corners to look around.

He should know; he’d built one in his house, just to inspire him.

“The demons all go together, the red ones in order of lightness. I want the big one the farthest back. The little greens all go on one wall, and hang the big mirror across from them.”

“Yes, good. I see what you’re going after. Um….” She waved over one of the gallery assistants and set him to work on the red ones and another to figure out the mirror.

“This is going to be a big one, hon. Are you ready? Look.” She handed him a clipboard with several pages of RSVPs. Several more pages than he’d been expecting.

“Huh. Cool. I’ll wear black.” No, blue. Calvin said he would look good in blue.

“I don’t guess you brought something other than Levi’s?”

“Wranglers, honey, and no. Why would I?” They were good enough for Texas; they were good enough for him.

“Mmm. I was afraid you’d say that.” She shook her head. “All right, then. I want you to approve the pricing. Come on.” She led him over to a podium and handed him a chart to look over. “You look good, kiddo. Catching up on your sleep?”

“Works for me.” He handed it back without looking. That was her job. He didn’t know what he was supposed to charge for his personal demons. “Yes, ma’am. Been out meeting folks.”

“Oh, that’s good. All that snow yesterday… I was afraid you’d have been hiding in your hotel room.” She took the chart back and set it on the podium again without questioning him, like she’d already known he wouldn’t be interested. “Good to get to know some people. You need to work the crowd a little tonight. Can you do that? I’m hoping the show extends. I have a plan for you.”

“Yeah? I like plans. I want to rent a space here—just for a few weeks. A studio space with windows so I can see everything.”

Marge pulled out her phone. “What kind of view? Times Square? Central Park? Hudson River?” She dialed and put the phone to her ear.

“Uh. Street? I need to watch the people walk.”

“Oh, you don’t mean aview, you mean—Hey, Max, love. Hang on a second—I gotcha, kiddo.” She looked at him while she spoke on the phone. “Max, I have a client from out of town. He needs a street-level art studio. Storefront, busy street, maybe Midtown? Short-term rental. What have you got? Uh-huh. Thanks, baby.” She hung up. “Should have something tomorrow. What else do you need?”

“A hug and for you to tell me exactly what working the crowd means here?”

She smiled at him, and all the New York crazy evaporated. “I’m sorry I’ve been all business brain. Come here, hon.” She waited for him to step closer, and put her arms around him. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, lady. I’ve missed your face.” Lord, hugging her made him miss his granny so bad. She’d passed two years ago from a stroke. Just boom—one day she was there telling stories, and the next day she was gone.

Marge gave him an extra little squeeze, and as she let him go, she reached up and pulled his face down to kiss him on the cheek. “Come to dinner tomorrow night. I’ll make you something you’ll like and we’ll look at a couple of my photo albums.” She grinned at him as she let him go.

“Oh. It’s a date.” He could listen to her tell stories on his granny for years. On Granny, on her life, on the city—Marge was a bullshitter extraordinaire.

“Good. Okay.” She took a step back and looked him over. “So. If you insist on wearing jeans, maybe do the hat thing? And keep the whiskers. Think image.”

She took a few steps away and peered around one of the display walls. “They’re doing fine. So. Working the crowd, right?”

“You mean don’t call the snobs fuckers, don’t you?”

She laughed, the sound loud and joyful. “Oh, I know just where you got that.” She gave him a pat on his chest. “Yes, that’s a good start. But think a little more proactively. It will be much easier to maintain your lifestyle if these people actually buy something, hmm? Listen, jump in on a conversation if you can, offer some insight. Answer questions. Be available. You follow me?”

“I’ll try. You know me. This is real hard. Me pretending that I know what the hell is all in my brain. It’s okay if I have a date, right?”

“A date?” She looked at him a little slyly. “You mean a guest? Or you mean a man?”

“I mean a date, as in someone that I have ulterior motives about, who is, absolutely, a man-type guest person.”

Marge clapped her hands together. “Oh, wonderful! Yes. Yes, have a man-type guest. I can’t wait to meet him. Oh, how lovely.”

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