Brant
“Abby, please! Just wait!” She doesn’t stop. I try and reach her through the crowd but I’m stopped by a hand on my shoulder.
“Hello, son.” I blink up at the man but I can’t comprehend his presence. My mind is set on one singular goal only - getting to Abby. I look through the crowd to spot her but she’s gone. I blink at my dad again.
‘Hi, Dad,” I sent him an invitation but I never expected him to show up. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here, son,” He looks around to see if anyone is listening to our exchange. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His voice is a little louder than it needs to be. I have no response.
“Impressive turnout.” He nods and takes a sip from his glass of brandy.
“Yeah, it’s great.” I answer lamely. “Listen, dad, thanks for being here but I have to...”
“Can we get a picture?” I’m interrupted by a photographer from the local paper. I don’t have fucking time for this. I just need to get to Abby. I just need to explain.
I open my mouth to decline but my father jumps in before I can say anything. “Of course, of course.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and tugs me in closer. I don’t know if I’m smiling or even looking at the camera. “Be sure to add that I’m the artist’s father. Proud father.” He adds that last bit with a puff of his chest. Wait, what? I just stare at him. Those two words have never left his mouth. The photographer writes it down on a notebook and then slinks off into the crowd.
“I have to say, son, I had my doubts but this is really... “ he gestures around the room. “Something special.” His smile drops and he looks uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
I’m stunned.
For the second time tonight it feels as though the ground has been ripped from under me. He apologized?
“I’m really proud of you.”
I let out a shocked laugh and then shake my head. All my life I’ve waited to hear those words. I’d given up any hope at all that he would ever say it to me, and now, when he finally has, the words mean nothing to me. They’re hollow. Not because I don’t appreciate the sentiment but all I want right now is to erase that look of hurt on Abby’s face.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“OMG! Brant,” My art professor practically squeals. “You’re nearly sold out and I’ve already had four upscale galleries show interest in showing your work. Amazing. Just amazing. Come on,” She says and pulls me away by the arm. “It’s time to introduce you to everyone.”
She pulls me toward the small stage at the back of the gallery. She steps onto it and clinks a spoon to her glass. “Ladies and gentleman, I would like to propose a toast to our brilliant young artist, Coyer Brant Alexander-Marshall III!”
I stand on the stage trying to spot Abby in the crowd but she must be out of the building by now. I hardly even hear the applause from the crowd.
“Brant?” I hear my professor say my name.
“Yes?” I reply dumbly.
“I asked if you’d like to say a few words in thanks?”
“Um,” I rub my hand over the back of my head and then tug at the stupid tie around my neck. “No. I’m sorry. I have to leave.”
I jump off the stage and push through the crowd. I hear her laugh nervously and make an excuse about my artistic temperament and direct people towards the finger foods arranged on a nearby table.
I don’t care if I embarrassed her. I don’t care if I pissed off any gallery owners. I don’t care if they think I’m rude or crazy or difficult. I only care about getting to Abby.
I jump into my truck and rip off my tie. The tires squeal on the asphalt as I speed out of there to get back to the apartment. I run through two red traffic lights and hardly notice the honking of car horns as I overtake them. Once at the apartment I jump out of the truck and don’t even bother closing the door. I’m running up the stairs and fumbling with the keys to the apartment in seconds.
I slam the door open once I finally get the fucking keys to unlock the door and make a beeline for Abby’s room. I don’t bother knocking and just turn the handle but the door is locked.
“Abby! Abby let me in!”
I bang on her door but I’m met with silence.
“Abby, please. Can I just explain?”
No answer.
I brace my palms on the door and let my head fall onto it. “Baby, please.” I listen for any sounds but the only thing I hear is a quiet sob. “I’m sorry. It’s not what you think. Please, just let me in.” My eyes begin to sting and I scrunch my eyes closed against the tears threatening to fall. I can’t let this happen. I can’t lose her. Please, God, just please…
I slam my palm against the door. “Abby open this fucking door or I swear to god I’m breaking it down!” After a beat I get in position to do just that when the door is ripped open.
The sight of her turns my body to ice and break out into a cold sweat at the same time. Her hair has been loosened and her makeup is smudged from the tears she’s already cried but that’s not even what did it. It’s the vacant look in her eyes. Like she’s dead. I could deal with pain, hatred… anything but this. She’s looking right through me. I take a step forward and reach for her but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“Leave.” The word is cold, emotionless.
“Abby, please.”
“Get out.”
“Baby, please, can I just…”
“If you don’t leave now I’m calling the police. You can fetch your things in the morning when I’m at class. I never want to see you again.”
And with that she closes the door in my face.
I stare at the door in shocked silence. If she’d shouted at me. Hit me. Cried. Did anything to give me some kind of starting point to at least talk and explain… but this. This coldness I had no answer to. It’s like she’s decided I was dead.
I stumble my way out the door and back into my truck. I sit there staring into space, trying to decide what to do next.
I scrub a hand over my face and turn the key. Maybe if I give her a couple of days to process everything she’d be willing to give me a chance to explain. Until then, I’d bide my time at Alex’.
I step into the quiet apartment and take in the boxes scattered around the living space, the empty brick walls and the unmade bed in the corner of my loft apartment. I hate coming here. It’s always been a dream to live in an artist’s loft but this place doesn’t feel right. All I feel here is cold and lonely.
I walk to the bathroom and brace my hands on the sink as I look at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot, I don’t remember the last time I shaved and my cheeks look sunken.
My ringtone sounds from my back pocket but I don’t bother answering. It’s either Alex or my agent and I don’t want to speak to either of them right now. All I want to do is disappear into the same black hole that’s been my only comfort in the months since Abby left. I don’t have to feel or think in that hole.
I’d gotten everything I ever wanted. My relationship with my father has made a complete one-eighty. He calls now just to check in or invite me to dinner. The sound of disappointment is gone from his voice. I’d gotten a great agent. I’d gotten showings at three different galleries, art magazines are lining up interview after interview. Money has been rolling in. Enough for me to afford this place and lose myself in alcohol when the sense of loss and loneliness gets too much.
But none of these things mean shit to me. The only thing I want is gone.
I was wrong. About a lot of things. About her understanding why I did it. About her needing a few days to process all of it. All of my calls and texts have gone unanswered since the day I fetched my things. When I finally found the courage to fetch it all, the painting I’d given her was placed on my bed along with all the drawings and notes I’d given her. My shirt she liked sleeping in and the dress I’d given her. She’d written me off.
Alex hadn’t said ‘I told you so’ but I could see it in his eyes when I showed up at his door. But he’d let me in and let me stay at his place until I decided it was time to move on. Abby wasn’t letting me back in.
My phone sounded from my pocket again. I let it ring out but it sounded again. Frustrated I pulled it from my pocket and pressed it to my ear. “What?” I barked down the line.
“Well hello to you, too.” Fredrick, my agent, answered in that sarcastic drawl of his. “Bad day? Well I’ve got some news that may cheer you up.”
When I don’t answer he continues. “I’ve just got off the phone with Messo Magazine. You may be familiar…”
Familiar? Of course I was familiar. Messo was only the leading magazine in the art world with an international audience in the millions. If you’ve heard about art you’ve hear about Messo.
“Yes,” I finally respond. “I’m familiar.”
“Weeeellll,” his voice is positively giddy. “We had a bit of a chit-chat and not only do they want to do a cover feature on you but they also want to live stream and interview with you on their Facebook page. I don’t think I need to tell you what a brilliant opportunity this could be for you. Their following is at one-point-two million at the moment and…” Fredrick drones on but I’ve stopped listening.
Brilliant opportunity. Yes. I smile at the idea that sparks to life in my head.
“Yes,” I interrupt his talking. “Set it up. For as soon as you’re able.” I press the button to end the call and then search for Alex’ number in my contact list. As I dial his number I send out a prayer to the universe. Please let this work.