Picture This

Unnoticed in the chaos of the building, Gabriel had found it easy to slip past the painters and plasterers. He’d then inched his way to Felix’s door and pressed his face against the internal window of his office. Inside, Dustin, in the middle of outlining his ideas to market Koons to the Chinese, suddenly noticed Gabriel’s face squashed dramatically against the glass.

‘Jesus! Who’s that?’

Felix immediately swung around. ‘No one. Just a friend.’ Furious, he made his way to the door. ‘Dustin, you should go. We’ll speak this afternoon. But again, thanks.’

A second later Felix yanked Gabriel into the empty office and pulled the blind down.

‘What the hell are you doing here? I told you to never come to the gallery!’

Gabriel pulled himself away and smoothed down his jacket. ‘I had no choice. I didn’t think it would be safe to talk over the phone.’

‘Goddamn! Did Chloe see you?’

‘No and even if she did, would that be such a big deal? You’re being paranoid.’ He reached out and ran his fingers across Felix’s chin. ‘Designer stubble, that’s new. Did you miss me?’

‘Gabriel, not here.’

‘Then where?’

Felix went to the door to lock it. ‘You look thin, are you eating?’

Ignoring him, Gabriel walked around to the back of Felix’s desk, checking out what the gallery director had been reading on his screen: an article in Frieze magazine on the work currently showing in Baum #1. A photograph of the artist – young and rakishly handsome with the obligatory tortured intensity playing around his eyes – accompanied the article. Gabriel felt a pang of jealousy. ‘What do you care?’

‘You know I do.’ Felix came up behind Gabriel and wrapped his arms around him, then half-kissed, half-bit the back of Gabriel’s neck; the scent of him immediately swept Gabriel back into the memory of all the afternoons of lovemaking, of losing himself against Felix’s confident, chiselled body, the power of Felix lulling him into a false sense of security, of a future together.

‘Don’t.’ He pulled away. ‘Felix, she knows about the yellow. She figured it out.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The woman who broke into my apartment. I followed her. I confronted her. She knows about the Hoppers, the pigment… She’s connected to Maxine Doubleday somehow.’

‘Hold on, you saw her? What exactly did she look like?’

‘Large – maybe six one, six two – heavy, like some great fucking giant.’ Gabriel watched as Felix went to a filing cabinet and started frantically to sort through the files. ‘I mean, she scared the hell out of me. I’m not even sure she isn’t missing a few screws upstairs, but I’m telling ya, she means business, she’s on a mission and your head, and possibly mine, is at the end of it. Felix, you listening?’

Felix found what he’d been searching for and pulled out a catalogue. He flicked through it, then opened it and held up a photograph for Gabriel to see.

‘Is this her?’

Gabriel glanced down; the photograph showed a large bronze sculpture, Latisha Dormant, by Maxine Doubleday. The reclining figure, even naked, was unmistakable.

‘She was her model?’ Gabriel was amazed; this wasn’t the relationship he’d envisaged.

Felix shook off the question. ‘You know where she lives?’ His tone was grim.

Gabriel stared over at Felix. Latisha’s warning flashed through his head; was he really ‘marked’, was Felix really capable of murder? The sense of yet another part of his morality about to be stolen away swept through him like nausea. Felix moved closer.

‘Gabriel, if she really knows about the paintings, both of us will be going down. I can’t allow that to happen. Not to me and not to you.’

‘What are you going to do? What will you do?!’

In a flash Felix was beside him, holding him, rocking him against his chest. ‘Shhh, I made a promise, remember? To protect you. I meant it, we’re nearly there, Gab, one more painting and then we’ll let it all settle, set into history like cement. It’s no big deal. It’s how history gets made all the time. The existing paintings are all in collections or museums and we’re almost home. Voos isn’t going to crack; he has as much to lose as us. Why let a paranoid old woman destroy all that? Gab, your money is just waiting for you. You’re rich, baby.’ He tipped Gabriel’s face up to his and kissed him, his tongue searching and hot.

Hardening, Gabriel reached for him, now empty of everything except the drive to be taken and take.

Biting down on Gabriel’s lip, Felix spat into his hand and reached down into Gabriel’s jeans, cupping both cheeks of his arse, moistening him, teasing him. After which he twisted him around and roughly pulled his pants down to his knees, bent him over the desk and entered him. Gabriel cried out in pleasure and pain; this was what he had wanted, had fantasised about for weeks: his buttocks spread, Felix’s hand playing his cock hard as he plunged

into him again and again. They came together in a huge shuddering silence.