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Chapter One
Antoine
Living in Oliver Creek was bliss.
Most of those in my high school class in the then-dying town fled for greener pastures. And, as an artist, I had been encouraged to do so by my instructors in high school, and my university professors had encouraged me to “spread my wings” and move to a big city where I would have access to “essentials” like multiple galleries, other artists, salons… In general, connections. And I did spend those four years studying in one of those cities, and really enjoyed everything in the art scene there.
Yet, I’d still come home every summer and did my best work in the little shed in my fathers’ backyard. Inspiration lay here, in nature, in the people, in the comfort of surroundings that I loved. Despite ignoring the advice of those older and wiser than me, I still managed to achieve a level of success that most of my classmates had not.
Artists rarely survived on their work. Art history was peppered with examples of talented painters, sculptors, and others who not only had to work full-time jobs, often at the lowest levels of society, but whose work remained undiscovered until they were long gone and unable to enjoy their spoils. Rory, my roommate in college, who I considered to be the most talented of our entire cohort, now occupied a position as professor at our own school. He was gradually reaching a broader audience and had confided that he hoped to be able to step away and paint full-time in about five years.
And yet, here I was, in my childhood home that my dads had put on the market when they decided to retire to Key West, and which I had purchased for full price with the earnings from my work. Dad and Pops, when they realized I wanted it, tried to give me a discount, but there was no way I’d let them lose any of the equity they’d built just to help me out.
Fact was, I could not only afford this place, but I could have bought something much bigger, even in the cities my professors thought I should be living in. I kept my head down and worked hard and tried not to question what the kindness of Fate had bestowed. Or hope for the additional boon of a mate. Nobody could have everything, right?
Now, our “dying” town was blossoming largely due to enterprising restauranteurs that drew tourists and foodies. The food trucks, vineyard, and spectacular organic vegetable growers that populated the farmer’s market were drawing not only day trippers but also enough weekenders and vacationers to bolster other businesses.
Which affected me only peripherally. I was glad for the townsfolk, but my art was already committed to galleries in the big cities, and living a short distance out of town ensured the peace I needed to create.
My backyard shed remained my studio…although I was upgrading it to both increase my comfort and keep out the spiders and snakes and other critters who had taken advantage of the splintered wooden walls to come inside and hang out with me. The black widow family had been the final straw. A contractor was currently at work, driving me into the house on a temporary basis. And it had been difficult to finish the works for my next show in the dining room instead of my old friendly spot. I only hoped that my new-and-improved shed would grow on me.
I plopped down at the dining room table and opened my laptop to go over the images for my next gallery show. I had managed to complete the pieces before losing my spider shed, thankfully, and soon I would ship them to the gallery.
One of the disadvantages of living so far from where the showing would be was having to travel there, but I would only go for opening day and a few meetings then escape back to my construction-marred paradise.
I moved the images around the gallery view, shifting them here and there. Since I would not be present for the installation, the owner would be waiting for my instructions, and I had been working on this for a few days now, never quite feeling like I had it right. Shifting the pictures here and there, I huffed out a frustrated breath before getting up to make a sandwich.
Never having this kind of trouble with the simple organization phase, I couldn’t imagine why it was happening now. Was I happy with the individual works? Yes, although I had to watch out for the tendency to overthink, but they were all ready.
I spread butter on two slices of bread and laid the first one on the cast-iron griddle my dads left behind for me. A mountain of grated cheddar and pepper jack followed then the other piece of bread. I didn’t eat grilled cheeses too often, but when I was feeling kerfuffled, this childhood favorite with the cheese upgrades was often my go-to.
Flipping it over, I let the images of my paintings run through my mind. Why was I… Oh hell.
I turned off the gas and slid the sandwich onto a plate then left it behind as I stomped into the dining room to check my notes for this particular project.
How could I have forgotten my initial idea? Not wanting to slow down the rest of the project, to make the trip into the city and rent studio space as I usually did when using a model, I’d put off one painting until later then last then completely pushed it out of my mind. And now…damn, damn, damn.
By putting it off then somehow forgetting entirely, I’d severely limited my options. The agency I patronized when I needed a model booked out months in advance and even if they had anyone, it wouldn’t be someone top tier.
Before I had a complete meltdown, I made a desperate move and placed an ad for someone local. My odds were slim to none…but I could not stage this installation without the centerpiece, and the gallery would blackball me if I canceled at this stage.
Wanted: Experienced Male Model for nude work.
It took about six tries before it didn’t look like I was trying to find a sex worker.
And my sandwich was cold and congealed. Not the best day of my life so far.
Chapter Two
West
I sat at my square repainted table in my kitchen, wondering what the hell I would do now.
Clint had put a pause on my plans. Not the first time, of course. He’d sabotaged my plans plenty of times, but I wanted this more than ever.
I’d worked for it. Saved for it.
So, when the payment on my shaved ice truck bounced, I thought I’d miscalculated. Made a mistake.
