Page 62 of Caper Crush
I slip behind the screen in the corner of the room and quickly change bras and pull on my cotton T-shirt and jeans. When I step out from behind the changing screen, William has his back to me still. He’s studying our concert poster. Rex has his hand possessively around me in the group picture.
“In two days, it will be a week since the paintings were stolen,” I say. “And we still don’t know enough.”
“Anything from the police?”
“No. Takashi was right about creating a honeypot. I’ve thought of how to do it now that the article has made it clear that I can’t be in the Vertex Art Exhibit withoutPlaying Around 1:30. If it is personal, I need to pretend that it doesn’t matter. That the loss of that painting didn’t hurt me. I shouldn’t have gone with Edmund to meet that guy.” I shake my head. “It just showed my desperation.”
“Did you find another painting that could work for the Vertex Art Exhibit?”
“No. Tomorrow I’ll see Edmund again at John’s fundraiser. I’m going to tell him I have another show.”
“Are you sure? I’m worried about what he’ll do in response.” He faces me.
“Me too. But if it’s him, he’ll react.”
William pats me. “You can do it.”
“I know. After all, what can they do to me, now thatPlaying Around 1:30and the Kimimoto have already been stolen? Can you come tomorrow?”
“I really should work. Tax deadlines. But if you need me …”
“No, it’s fine. I won’t be there long. I’ll talk to Edmund and leave. We have another gig tomorrow night anyway.”
William nods and gestures to the poster.
“How long did you guys date?”
“A year,” I say. “But we also dated in high school.” He was my first boyfriend. I will always feel a little bit of love for him.
“And when did you break up?”
“About seven months ago. It’s been a while now.” My heels click on the floor. I didn’t bring sneakers to change into because that would have been a lot to carry.
“So not right after Uncle Takashi’s party,” he says.
“It wasn’t his fault that the fan kissed him. But I do get jealous, and dating a rock star is not a good match for me.” I open the door. I need to get out of this tiny room with William. “C’mon, let’s go.” Out in the hallway, I point to a back exit so we don’t have to go through the front crowds.
“But you’re a rock star.”
I laugh. “I’m not a rock star.”
“I’ve seen you sing karaoke, obviously, so I knew you were a good singer. But up there on that stage …” He seems to search for the right words, then goes with, “You were definitely a rock star.”
Did my rock star vibe work?I grin at him. “The magic of the lights.”
“Are you torn between singing and painting?”
“No, not really. They balance each other out. I get my alone time when I’m painting, and then I have the camaraderie of the band that satisfies me socially. And my close friends, of course. I’d like to give up the waitressing, but at least I get fed. And it’s social too. And sometimes when I can’t express myself in my painting, it’s a relief to have words. But Rex writes most of our songs.”
“You guys are good.”
“Yes, but we’re not good enough. There are a lot of good bands out there,” I say. “Maybe I’m not good enough with my art either, but that’s my passion. And I’ve got my whole lifetime to get better.”
I push open the back door, and we exit onto the street. Small circles of friends mill about on the sidewalk, chatting about the concert and discussing where to go next. I pull my baseball hat down farther to cover my face, even though my red hair is a dead giveaway. Rex is there, in the middle of a group of women. I walk swiftly past the crowds to the end of the block, William keeping pace next to me.
“How are you getting home?” he asks when we stop at the corner for the red light.
He’s killing me with his self-control. I’m used to waiting and having to work for it—my art career in a nutshell—but I don’t like it.
