Page 70 of Small Town Surrogate

Gertrude’s quivery face went pink and she laughed good-naturedly. “You’re too much. Take care now, sir. Noon tomorrow, I’ll have the frames.” She frowned. “The cost. Are you sure you want to do it all at once?”

“The cost is not an issue.”

“Alright then. Have a good night— Mind, don’t catch a cold in this weather.”

The thermometer on the Rowanville Bank, which was next door to Ross’s building, read seventy-nine degrees Fahrenheit.

“One more thing,” Ross said, remembering. “Can you order a dress? Size two. A blue one.”

“Mmm. For the auction? I’ll see what Howl’s Boutique can do, but it’s short notice,” Gertrude said, jotting it at the bottom of her list.

“Thank you for tolerating me, Gerts.”

“Ha! Yes, Ross, tolerate is the right word.” She laughed; Ross had put her grandson through college, and she loved the young arrogant McCall with all her heart. “I’ll get to it right away.”

With Gertrude on her mission,Ross resumed his own. He stopped by the florist on the way home, then drove to a strip mall, a place as foreign to him as the surface of Neptune.

He entered Hobby Lobby with a shopping cart, thinking to himself what Quinton would say at the sight of him. After grilling a sheepfaced employee about paintbrushes and thinners and mediums, he filled the cart with acrylic paint in every color. Next he saw about the brushes, which required rustling up another employee since the first one had fled.

“Which ones would you recommend?”

“Er— this is our high end, for oils, sir.”

“Thanks.” Ross picked out every brush from the section. Some of them cost thirty dollars. For one brush. Ross never looked too closely at the price of things, but he made a note to remove the stickers before giving them to Angel. He didn’t want her reading into it. It gave Ross a sexual thrill to spoil women, but sometimes an exact dollar amount stirred up the wrong feelings. People were strange that way about money.

As he waited in line he worked the soft bristles of an angle brush over the pad of his thumb. Ross himself was no artist— just a collector. His lifeless art that “didn’t move”, according to Angel. He smiled to himself.

Brushes, paints…Ross looked around with a critical eye. Hobby Lobby…didn’t he know the owner? A Christmas Gala, maybe…

His mind wandered. This was a generic hobby store, nothing of premium caliber. Angel deserved the best. He’d replace these supplies with better ones, but expediency was the key. For now she ought to have some real materials. The girl was a genius and with the right environment she might become a sensation. Ross was excited for her; he sensed in Angel a genuine spirit, a strong character that drew his heart like a magnet to its opposite, a force that could not be denied.

At the laststoplight before Crown Vista, his cell rang. Ross answered it and held it against the wheel. “Manny?”

“Ross…I have a situation.”

“What situation? The one where you come to America and get your ass whupped?”

“No, Ross. This is serious.” Ross heard distress in Mangjeol’s always-sober voice as he said, “The Kazakura found out about Angel.”

“Oh, shit.”

“They kidnapped my wife. They tell me if I don’t give Sook-Jae’s daughter back, they will kill her,” Manny panted. “Ross…I’m asking for your help.”

“Fuck, Manny!”

“I didn’t think they would go this far, I thought the girl was safe. You’ll have to send her back to Korea. Men are on their way to pick her up.”

“Wait a minute.Send her back?”

“They have my wife! Do you know what they will do to her?”

Someone blew their horn at Ross. Cursing under his breath he passed the light and turned into the gas station. In his rearview he saw the pile of stuff he’d bought for Angel. Flowers, groceries, paints.

And in his ear, Mangjeol all but breaking down.

“Manny, you have one hell of a nerve,” he said. “You are one bold motherfucker. You brought her all the way here for me to just send her back like dirty linen? Well it’s my pleasure to tell you no.”

Mangjeol’s voice cracked in rage. “Ross. I need the girl returned.”

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