Page 30 of Make Me Scream

“Bullshit. Why was it in a fucking waterproof bag?”

Our desserts arrive, interrupting us once more. The cake looks delicious but I stay focused on Lane.

“It was an Alistair Rat exhibit,” he says. “You never know what can go down at one. And I figured that since I’ve been such a vocal critic, I might bear the brunt of any sort of… surprise.”

That’s possible, I suppose. Normally he’d sound pretty paranoid, but sure enough there was an incident that night…

“Are you saying Alistair set off the sprinkler?”

Would he really do that? Was I part of a piece by Alistair Rat and not know it? It can’t be — how was it art? Because he destroyed a bunch of his past works? That doesn’t sound like him, especially since he’s been accused of being a mere prankster and this would certainly reinforce that idea.

“I don’t know,” Lane says, cutting into his slice of pie. “It could have just been a malfunction.” He eats a forkful, then looks away.

What are the odds it was really a malfunction? It just happened to go off in the middle of an Alistair Rat exhibition? No way. Lane is smart enough to know better.

“I saw your video,” he says. “Bloody Bride.”

And now he’s changing the subject. Very smart. I’ve wanted to ask him what he thought all night, which he probably figured.

Whatever.

I’ll let the Askew Gallery go — for now.

“Be honest. What did you think?”

“Your intent was obvious, but you accomplished what you set out to do, so it wasn’t bad for a first effort.”

“Thanks,” I say, though it wasn’t a full endorsement.

“Alistair’s influence was clear,” Lane adds. “Though he liked to surprise people, you know? He showed up in ways his subjects didn’t expect. You stood out in plain sight, waiting for the world to come to you. I’m not saying you need to mimic Alistair, but catching people off-guard was a part of his method that really worked for him.”

True.

“I think you can do better next time, Gwen.”

“You’re assuming there will be a next time.”

He smiles.

“There will be. And I’ll make you a promise: if your next piece is good, I’ll do a write-up. You’ll get real attention from serious art critics — the kind of people you want to impress. But it has to be high-quality, because I’m not putting my name on hype.”

I taste a delicious sliver of my chocolate cake and consider the offer. Is he being pompous, like he’s doing me a favor, or is this truly generous? I don’t know. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. If I’m serious about becoming the next Alistair Rat, good press could be exactly what I need. And Lane’s not asking me to do anything I wasn’t planning on already.

“Okay,” I say. “It’s a deal.”

Chapter 7

Even with nothing but time to think about my next project, coming up with one takes a week. Between working at the cafe and posing for Joel’s paintings, I try to imagine how to do what I did with “Bloody Bride” — I still haven’t given the piece a real name, but that’s what stuck on the Internet — and develop it further.

I conceptualized “Bloody Bride” for ages before ever dreaming of doing it for real. The idea of creating another one within a few days, weeks or even months and having it be even better… it’s impossible to imagine. Yet, it has to be better, or it won’t impress Lane.

“You can’t force inspiration,” I tell Joel while he paints me.

I’m sitting up in bed, gazing out the window, a knee raised modestly.

“No, but you can seek it out,” Joel says. “Revisit your favorite Alistair pieces. Remind yourself of why they inspired you in the first place.”

“Maybe. I’m worried if I do that I’ll end up copying something.”

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