Page 7 of The Fishermen

“One of my paintings sold. Three now, from the looks of it.” I nodded meaningfully toward the corridor Neil had flurried down.

“You’re Leland Meadows,” he said, and I had to admit it felt damn good that he hadn’t said it as if it should’ve been impossible. I’d gotten enough of that from Neil, and from myself.

“The one and only,” I said, feeling like a kid under his stare of appreciation.

Neil returned, steps slowing when he spotted me. “Mr. Meadows. You’re still here,” he said accusingly.

“Yeah, good thing too. Would’ve sucked to make a second trip down here in the rain. Although there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for two grand, weather be damned. Is it okay if I wait around for my payment?”

Neil blanched, and Franky’s jaw turned to stone. I suppose it wasn’t classy of me to discuss payment in front of a paying customer. No one ever blamed me for being classy, though.

“Two grand?” Franky asked Neil.

“Well, three if you count the first painting,” I said, but doing so had made matters worse.

“W-well, there is the, ah, c-commission rate to account for,” Neil stammered.

Franky’s expression went from suspicious to angry, even though his tone remained even. “Are you telling me you have an eighty-percent commission rate?” Franky asked, and my gaze bounced between the two of them as I worked on the math. He’d paid five-grand for my work? Foreachpainting?

“Ah—” Neil started before Franky saved him the trouble of coming up with a lie.

“Who exactly are you cheating here, Mr. Sanders? Me, or Mr. Meadows?”

I got the impression neither option was good.

“Is that how you run your business, Mr. Sanders? With a lack of integrity?” Franky asked, dialing the growl up a notch.

“No, Mr. Kincaid. I assure you it was a simple misunderstanding. I planned on rectifying it once I called him about the sale of the two additional pieces.”

“I haven’t purchased themyet,” Franky said, and the background muzak fell away, the soft footsteps of the other patrons touring the gallery melted away, too, and the air itself seemed to have deserted me as the moment boiled down to what Neil would say next.

I couldn’t blame Franky for wanting to abandon the deal, even though doing so would drastically affect me more than it would Neil. I’d been looking forward to eating something other than ramen and pineapple chunks for dinner.

“On behalf of the integrity of the gallery, and our long-standing relationship with you, I’ll rectify this error by paying Mr. Meadows in full. My commission fee and all.”

“What?”I asked, finally getting in on the fight. I could advance my rent for a full year with that.

“Or open your art-bar,”I imagined Noon saying. But I couldn’t do that because this was a chance occurrence, with a zero probability of it ever happening again. I was no artist, not really.

“Excuse me while I get your payment in order,” Neil said, ignoring my outburst.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said to Franky once we were alone.

“You shouldn’t let anyone get away with giving you less than you’re worth,” he said.

I lowered my eyes, not wanting him to see how much that meant to me, and collided with the empty spot on his finger where his wedding band had been. A sinking sensation gnawed at my gut, and I became consumed with needing to know if he was okay. “Franky—”

“Here you are, Mr. Meadows,” Neil said, returning with my check. He didn’t even look my way as he passed it off to me while addressing Franky. “Mr. Kincaid, your purchases have been left with your driver.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Meadows,” Franky said, shaking me free from my thoughts about his well-being. Neil was gone, and by the time I found my voice, Franky was halfway to the side entrance.

“Hey,” I said, and he partially turned, waiting expectantly. “It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow. I hate wasting even a drop of sunlight.”

There was a brief pause as Franky’s gaze roamed my face and neck. “I can tell,” he said. I clenched my umbrella with both hands to keep from touching my tanned cheeks.

“I’ll be out attempting to be brave, if you happen to be looking for me.”

“And why would I be looking for you, Mr. Meadows?”

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