Chapter 19

Meadow

One day after Henry shut me out of his life, I walk to the subway. I’m not sure if I can weather The New York Times storm right after the credit card debacle, but I will pull myself up by my bootstraps and soldier on. Agony about the review contains only a sliver of my emotions. The rest of my turmoil surrounds Henry and our relationship. I can still see his expression as he shut the door on me. The pain in his eyes might haunt me for the rest of my days.

I wanted to take him into my arms. Even though I’m not big on relationships or love, I can’t deny that I feel something deep for Henry that tugs at my heartstrings in ways I never expected. Okay. I’ll admit it. I really care about him.

I might even love him.

My heart broke all over when he started stuttering, knowing I’m the cause of all of his turmoil. If I’d have just left him alone in his loft to create his art his way, none of this ever would have happened. But I had to do what I thought was best, even if it wasn’t what was best for him. I had to run my mouth and my own selfish agenda. I’m officially an asshole.

I thought Henry had morphed into a new man. Now, I realize my error in judgment. Henry’s a work in progress, just like every other human being walking this planet. He only got as far as I pushed him, under the guise of it being for his own good when really it was for my own financial gain.

I have to be honest with myself. Silverman is a real piece of work, but it was even worse to witness Henry’s reaction. What happened to the sensitive, affectionate artist I used to tease for his constant “mansplaining?” The man I opened my art gallery to and shared my bed with became unrecognizable in an instant.

Silverman’s going to pay for hurting Henry. I have always been the kind of woman who believes in doing whatever it takes. I’m more determined than ever to deal with Silverman once and for all. He’s a boil on the ass of the art community that I love, and I just have to find a way to lance him and drain the puss. Once the infection’s gone, I can deal with the personal fallout of my actions. If Henry never speaks to me again, I wouldn’t blame him.

But I do care about him. I do. And I’m going to try to get him to see that.

I make my way down the subway steps and stand on the platform, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth. “Did I say that out loud?”

I look around at all of the strangers waiting for the train. They don’t even see me or my lips moving as I talk to myself. That happens so often in New York that nobody even notices or cares.

It’s hot, so I pull my hair off my neck and into a high ponytail. I’m relieved as I see the train approaching. I step onto an air-conditioned car. It’s so crowded that there are no seats, and I’m forced to stand and hold on to the metal bar.

I’ve done my research, and I’m pimped out for revenge with my black slacks, white blouse, and killer red heels.

I am woman, hear me roar.

Forty minutes later, I arrive at The New York Times headquarters. I’ve been to this building a few times through the years but today is a very different occasion. It’s not a Christmas party. The receptionist, a young man with enough hair gel to stock a salon smiles at me. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to see Greg Silverman,” I say.

“Your name, please?”

I hesitate. I know I can’t tell him my real name because that cowardly bastard, Silverman, would never show his face. I grin and say, “Linda Russell.” I hold my breath, hoping that the receptionist has never seen Linda before. She’s a well-known art critic, far more famous than Greg. I hope my plan works and that he’s flattered that someone of Linda’s caliber would pay him a random visit.

“Just a moment, please.” The receptionist picks up the phone. “Hello, I have a Linda…” He glances up at me.

“Russell,” I prompt.

“I have a Linda Russell here to see you.”

“Please have a seat.” The receptionist smiles. “Greg will be right with you.”

“Thanks.” I sit down on the comfy couch. My heart races as I plan my verbal crusade on Henry’s behalf. For my plan to work, I need camouflage. I grab The New York Times off the coffee table and hold it up to my face.

A few minutes pass. Maybe Greg is busy, or maybe he knows I’m not Linda. I’m debating how much longer I should stay.

“Linda?” His assistant’s chirpy voice calls out to me.

I clear my throat, never moving the newspaper an inch.

“Right this way…”

I bring the newspaper down a bit and get a glimpse of her walking toward Greg’s office. I follow her. We’ve probably met in passing, and on a normal day she’d know on sight that I’m not Linda, but she never turns around to really look at me. Instead, she keeps right on shuffling along and even calls over her shoulder, “What an unexpected surprise!”

If you only knew, I think as she leaves me at his open door.

Greg spins around in his office chair and spears me with a lethal glare. His eyes widen into saucers when he recognizes me. “What the–”

“Silverman, you’re a disease.”

His face turns fifty shades of red. “I have a right mind to call security on you right now. You’re… you’re… trespassing!”

“Well, you’re lying! Who do you think you are, writing those awful things about Henry?”

His smug expression is enough to send every single cell in my body trembling with an anger I’ve never known. I’ve never wanted to slap a man more in my life. Not even Jessie. “Every word of it’s true, and we both know it. That would explain why my review went viral as of nine o’clock this morning.”

I roll my eyes. “This is a public office, you vindictive little bastard.”

“Please, Meadow. Spare me your distasteful curses. You know you blew it as well as I do. Imagine, trying to pass off a fraud as a creator of beautiful and relevant art. You should be ashamed of yourself. I, for one, am going to rejoice when the NYC art community is rid of you and your little protégé poser.”

I step back and stare. “What makes you so damn hateful?”

“Hateful?” He chuckles, and it’s a maniacal laugh that goes straight from his mouth to my heart like a sharp knife. “If you considered that hateful, you should have seen the unedited version of my review. Too bad it had to be shortened to fit the column. You can thank my bleeding-heart editor on your way out.”

“One of these days, you’re going to rue the day you lied about Henry Garrison in a major publication. It’s defamation. It’s slander. I’m going to consult an attorney. You should be very, very afraid.”

His eyes narrow, and I can see he’s a tad bit worried about my very real threat of litigation. “Come on, Meadow. I really tried to do you a favor. I told you not to give Garrison a showing, but you insisted. Please don’t stand there as if I didn’t warn you. You brought this all down upon yourself by not capitulating to someone who knows substantially more than you do.”

Like a slap to the face, I realize who the real mansplainer is in this twisted tale. I’ve had it all wrong.

“Greg, really!” I glare at him. I want to leap across his desk and wring his neck, but I don’t need jail time on top of financial uncertainty. I storm out of his office and make my way to the elevator.

“Have a good day, Linda.” The receptionist waves at me.

“Yeah, right,” I say under my breath as I get on the elevator. “This day couldn’t get much worse.”

By the time I step outside, I know I’ve succeeded in escalating the situation. I can almost feel Greg Silverman’s eyes on me, watching me from a window upstairs, plotting how to accelerate my demise. In my haze, I bump into a guy wearing a designer business suit.

I gather my composure and puff out a huff of self-righteous indignation. The torpedoes are coming in, and I don’t have access to a bomb shelter. Bootstrapping my last shreds of courage, I hop on the subway and take the train to Pathways.

As if on cue, it starts to rain as I walk the streets, and of course, I don’t have an umbrella. I run as fast as possible in my heels and step inside of the gallery. Shannon is there, drinking coffee and looking pensive.

“Going for the sexy drowned rat look today?” He winks.

“Very funny,” I say, unamused. If he wants to tease me relentlessly, he can pick a future date and pencil it in on my calendar.

“Good thing I was on time today, boss.”

“I had some business to take care of this morning.” I take my compact mirror out of my purse and check my reflection. My mascara runs in rivulets down my cheeks. I wipe it up with a tissue.

“What business required ‘fuck me’ shoes?”

“No, these aren’t ‘fuck me’ shoes. Today, they’re ‘fuck you’ shoes.”

He smacks his lips together. “I’m lost.”

“I was this close to shoving the pointed heels right up Silverman’s ass!”

He nods as if it all makes sense now. “You saw him?”

“Yep.” I stomp around the foyer, delighting in the clacking sound said heels are making on the tile floor. “These shoes would have been perfect if I could have only taken them off and used them as missiles.”

“How did you finagle entry into the prestigious office of Mr. Uninformed Backstabber?”

“I have my ways.” I push my wet hair back from my face. “Anyway, it turned out to be a complete disaster.”

Shannon’s phone rings. “Hold on a sec, this is my sister.”

I nod and make my way to the desk. I don’t really feel like working today, but there’s still so much to do. I try to convince myself that life goes on.

“Yeah?” Shannon’s eyes light up. “You mind if I put you on speaker?”

I sigh. No offense, but I really don’t feel like chit-chatting with your sister right now, I’m tempted to say, but I keep my mouth shut. Erin is a great girl, and under normal circumstances, it would be one of the highlights of my day to catch up.

“Okay, can you hear me?” he says. “Meadow is right here.”

“Hey, Meadow,” Erin says.

“Hey.” I force myself to smile. “Long time, no talk. How are things with our favorite girl in blue?”

“Fine,” she says in her best officer-of-the-law tone.

“Arrest any bad guys yet today?” Shannon makes a show of thumping his wrists together like he’s in the cuffs. I roll my eyes at him.

“What’s the address to the art gallery? I think I just heard an APB about some dipshit drama queen fugitive holing up at Pathways. Meadow, it’s totally okay if you make a citizen’s arrest. Don’t go easy on him. Full cavity search and everything.”

“Very funny.” Shannon shakes his head. “Besides, you know I’ll like it.”

Erin snorts. “Gross. Anyway… I wasn’t really supposed to do this but I sorta kinda stretched the rules for my big brother.”

“Your fabulous big brother,” he corrects, giving me his best hair flip. “Don’t leave out that part.”

“Right.” She chuckles. “My fabulous big brother. So I just got the file on him…”

I walk closer to the phone. “On who?”

“Silverman,” she says. “There’s nothing criminal here.” The sliver of hope that became illuminated with her words goes dark again.

“Damn!” I shake my head.

“But…” Her tone sounds too hopeful to ignore.

“What?”

“I’m seeing a report about a disturbance at an art college twelve years ago involving Greg Silverman. Looks like Silverman got angry because his professor gave his ceramic glazed pottery a harsh critique. Took it out on the studio and did some major property damage.”

“Wait? He used to be an artist?” My mind races. I had no idea. In all the years I’ve known him, it’s not something he’s mentioned. And with his narcissism, I can’t believe he wouldn’t throw that out at every opportunity to brag about himself. Also, why isn’t he still creating his own art?

“Yeah. And it got ugly. After smashing a bunch of work by other artists, he choked out the professor and threatened to kill him, but the professor never filed charges.”

“Yikes!”

“Wait. there’s something else… looks like the police were called back out to the campus a year later. By then he had switched his major to art history and had a fight with another student. So, he’s been arrested at least twice for felony assault. Third strike and he’s out. Take that for what you will. I, for one, wouldn’t be sorry if I had to arrest him.”

“Holy smokes,” I say, wringing my hands. This is classic blackmail material. But I don’t want to stoop to Silverman’s level.

“That’s all I can pull up for now. Hope it helps.”

“Yeah, it does for sure. Thank you so much, Erin.”

Shannon hangs up the phone and shakes his head. “That bastard! I can totally see him doing that. The assault part, not the art part. Can you imagine the ugly shit that would come out of someone like Greg Silverman? He probably made those crappy mugs that look like kids in grade school made them by hand without the benefit of the wheel. Complete with handles shaped like ears.”

I nod. “Exactly. He wanted to be an artist, but he didn’t have any talent. Now, he lashes out at people like Henry who receive all the accolades he wanted. He figures if he deflects, it will make him feel better about himself.”

“It’s called sour grapes. I felt so bad about what happened with Henry… something told me to have Erin look into it. What’s the good of having a baby sister in the vice squad if she can’t help a brother out now and then?”

“I’m so glad she did. Now we know Silverman’s dirty little secret. Only thing now is to decide how best to use it.”

Shannon leans in and says, “I never liked the guy at all. He’s like the worst of the worst when it comes to art critics. A fucking full-blown fraud. It all makes sense now. What are you gonna do?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“What exactly do you have in mind, missy?”

I put my pointer finger to my temple and tap. “Something epic’s brewing inside my really big brain. But I’m gonna need your help.”

Shannon claps his hands together. “You know you can count on me.”

“My fabulous best friend.” And I can count on him. It’s what I love most about him.

He winks. “This is cause to celebrate. Where are we going for drinks tonight? Please don’t make me go back to that dreadful dive bar you frequent. I had an upset stomach off rotgut gin for two days.”

I laugh. “No, you’re way too fabulous for that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, babycakes. We both are.”