Chapter 1
Madison
Mr. Thompson glared at me while I sat in his office.
“I don’t understand how you can go to art school and work here for so long and still give me that,” Mr. Thompson said, pointing out of his office to the display of work set up in the showroom. “It’s total shit, Madison.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson,” I replied, trying not to feel too intimidated. This just seemed to be his normal routine. Next, he’ll tell me to move one of the pieces, look it over, and amazingly, he made it perfect somehow. It was like he couldn’t stand that I was good at my job or that I knew art better than him.
“Come with me,” he said, stomping from the office and down the showroom steps.
I had been working for Lee Thompson for over five years, and nothing had changed since the first day I walked in, except now, I knew more. And I wasn’t so afraid of him. Well, usually not. The job wasn’t bad. It paid decent, it was within walking distance from my Brooklyn apartment, and it gave me the experience I wanted.
My biggest issue was, I really wanted to host my own art show, which Lee had promised me when I first started working here. Now, he adamantly refused, telling me my work would never be shown, as if he was the final arbiter of art quality.
I trailed behind Lee while he walked around the gallery, his hand on his chin, and his cheap cologne wafting through the air, nearly gagging me. It was Friday, and I was supposed to get off an hour ago. Instead, I’m following around my boss, waiting for him to move a piece that was fine in the first place, and then send me off with some crude remark about my ass or my thighs.
He was so damn creepy sometimes. It really made me not want to be alone in the gallery with him. I stood back and watched as he awkwardly switched two of the six-foot canvases, sweat dripping from his forehead as he lifted the second one onto the hooks. I walked over and steadied the canvas before it knocked him on his ass. Once it was steady and he had rubbed his fat belly across my face trying to climb down the ladder, I stepped back and stood beside him.
“See,” he said triumphantly. “You have to pay attention to the design, Madison. It’s all about the design.”
“It’s upside down,” I said without emotion.
“What?” He looked at the painting, back at me, and then down at the sheet. “I know it is. I wanted to make sure you were doing your homework and reading the artist’s instructions.”
“Would you like me to fix it?” I asked.
“No,” he sighed. “I’ll do it. I’m tired of looking at your face. Though I am not going to mind the least bit watching you walk away with that sweet ass of yours. Go on, and get out of here. I’ll see you on Monday.”
I shuddered at the thought of Lee licking his crusty lips and patting his sweaty chest as I walked toward the door, grabbed my jacket from the hook, and bolted out onto the sidewalk. The spring air was still cool after the harsh New York winter so I pulled my wool jacket around me and took in a deep breath.
I needed to unclog the cologne from my nostrils, and nothing would do it better than Brooklyn’s finest smog-ridden air. I pulled my buzzing phone from my pocket and checked the text message. It was Charlotte reminding me I was meeting her at karaoke. We were supposed to walk over together, but I got stuck listening to my asshole boss give me a lecture.
Having spent her childhood as a kid in upstate New York, Charlotte was a bit timid when it came to city life. She would watch the news every morning, convincing herself that eventually, she would become another statistic.
I grew up in Brooklyn, went to school in the city, and then grabbed an apartment here with Charlotte after we graduated. So, I rolled through the dark streets, one hand on my pepper spray, and the other flipping through my phone. I don’t get spooked anymore really, which Charlotte says is a bad thing, but I honestly think it’s an awareness thing. Either way, I enjoyed walking from work in the crisp air, hoping that spring heats up soon.
I rounded the corner and made the final stretch toward the karaoke bar. The street was busy since there were several bars and one club on this block, and it was Friday night. The glowing orange light at the end was my destination, and it looked like they finally fixed their sign. The pub’s name was O’Mally’s, but most days, it just blinked O’Ma, which is what I called my grandma growing up.
This was probably my favorite place in Brooklyn to hang out, with its cheap beer, hilarious karaoke, and lack of rich assholes looking for sex in the bathroom. It did have an oddly strong smell of piss out front, but you had to pick your battles.
I walked through the doors and was met with the smell of peanuts, beer, and the lovely musical stylings of some drunk chick on stage. It was good to be back. I shook my head and laughed as I perused the crowd for Charlotte, finding her posted up at the bar, hoarding peanuts, and keeping people off my stool. She looked up and smiled, waving over her head at me.
She was always so colorful with her chunky glasses, bright pink shirt, and checkered leggings. Her outfit matched her personality, which was also loud, but comforting. She was pretty much my only friend left in the city, and after we graduated college, we decided we spent too much time together to not live in the same place. So, we grabbed a small apartment out here in Brooklyn.
“Hey, girl,” she said, moving her bag and purse so I could sit. “This place is nuts tonight.”
“I know,” I said, looking around. “Business has picked up since people don’t have to track through five feet of snow to get here.”
“Gotta love spring,” she said, smiling. “So, how was your day with old Lee?”
“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. “I seriously wish he would choke on his sushi rolls every time I see him eating. I hex him, but it never works. I mean I’ve worked there for five years, and he still won’t let me have my own show. I thought it would be awesome since he made it very clear he respected all artists and their work. His biggest rules are you never sell your work at another artist’s show, you never judge another artist’s style and level of talent, and you always respect everyone’s individualism. It’s getting hard to respect his greasy ass head and nasty comments.”
“You put up with too much shit,” she said, shaking her head. “Does he still move your shows around to the same place they started at?”
“Yes,” I said, laughing into my beer. “That’s why I was late tonight. He seriously struggled to move two six-foot canvases around, only to step back and have me tell him they were upside down.”
She laughed so hard she almost tipped the stool over.
“I just stared at them shaking my head. I almost didn’t point it out, but I knew if I didn’t, the artist would have blamed me, and I didn’t want to look incompetent.” I tried to hold back my laughter.
“You seriously need to start looking for a new job,” she said, shaking her head and taking a drink of her beer.
“I know,” I sighed.
I looked around the bar as the music stopped and watched all the crazy singers peruse the books, trying to find the perfect song. New York was so crazy when it came to karaoke bars and amateur singers. For some reason, these girls and guys thought they had to be perfect when they jumped up there like some record producer was going to be sitting in the audience of a rundown pub in Brooklyn. There had been exactly zero sightings in the history of O’Mally’s, but still, there they were, grooming their hair and practicing their octaves. Charlotte and I, on the other hand, almost never sang. We just liked the vibe of the place.
“So, I want to set you up on a blind date,” Charlotte said, after several minutes of silence.
I rolled my eyes and threw my head back. “I’m not ready,” I said with frustration.
“Yes, you are,” she replied, turning toward me. “It has been a year since you and Michael broke up. You are more than ready.”
Michael and I had met our freshman year in college and had stayed together through school, and for several years after. We really had a blast together. He had been my best friend, though I wouldn’t tell Charlotte that. Our biggest issue was sex or the lack thereof. I was still a virgin. Yes, I was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin. I just never felt right or ready for it. We did other things, but I just wasn’t at the point where I wanted to go all the way.
After so many years, Michael had enough, and I caught him cheating on me with one of his colleagues in the bathroom during a house party he threw. I came to find out he had stopped getting grabby with me because he was grabbing someone else, for over six months. I was beyond crushed, and Charlotte had been there to pick up the pieces. I knew she was right. I knew I had to pull on my big girl panties and move on, but I just knew the dating world was vicious.
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head. “Who is he? I mean you do know him, right? You’re not sending me out with the next Charles Manson, are you?”
“What better way to die than to become someone’s lampshade?” She laughed as she said it, and I just rolled my eyes.
“That was not Charles Manson,” I said, giggling.
“It’s a blind date,” she said, turning to me. “That means you don’t get to research him before you go out. I am not telling you anything about him. You’ll have to ask your own questions while you are out on a romantic rendezvous in the city.”
“Fine, but he’s paying, and I am not wearing heels,” I said reluctantly.
“I can promise the paying part, but you might have to wear some heels,” she replied. “Besides, I can promise you singlehood forever if you wear those damn Birkenstocks on one more date. The ones you’ve had since Jesus walked the earth.”
“They are comfortable, and they are perfect if I have to make a break for it,” I replied.
I shook my head and looked down at my beer, wondering why it was so important to Charlotte to set me up on a date. She didn’t have a boyfriend, though she did have several one-night stands on a regular basis. Seeing as I was carrying around the big V like a billboard, one-night stands weren’t really on the menu. Who knew, though? Maybe Charlotte had good taste in men when it came to someone else.
I really had a hard time imagining Mr. Right showing up at the doorstep to my Brooklyn apartment and whisking me off into the sunset. Either way, I was willing to give it a shot, and if nothing else, I’d get a free meal and a night away from the apartment for the first time in a very long time. I just hoped he wasn’t one of those douche bags I tried to avoid every chance I could.