Painted On My Heart

Arik nodded, he’d pestered Gage’s new curator several times today about the pending arrival of his new art. Technically, he should be thanking his cousin, but he couldn’t give an inch of satisfaction to Gage. His cousin would take it and then expect a mile more. So, just to get under Gage’s skin, he turned and spoke directly to Tristan.

“He finds me these magnificent pieces of art. They’re created by this indie artist he found. He first started sending them to me for my birthday or Christmas about three years…” He looked over at Gage for confirmation, but he merely shrugged. “No, maybe about five years ago. I fell in love with the expression. I connect to his art. Now they’re displayed in all my resorts. I’ve become quite the connoisseur and never really thought I had much of a taste for art.”

“Some connoisseur. You’ve never bought your own piece,” Gage shot out.

“Why would I when I have you buying them?” Arik interjected, giving a very clear what-the-hell look.

“I can’t wait to see it. From what I gather, just listening to both of you talk about him, the guy must be amazing. So, he’s indie…but not well known…but should be,” Tristan said, trying to follow along.

“Yeah. I found him when I taught Marketing for the Visual Arts at the Art Institute of Dallas years ago. He always stuck with me. He was so talented, even way back then. I knew he had it in him to delve a little deeper. He just needed experience. He’s the artist I chose for the studio’s grand opening next weekend. He’s extremely talented,” Gage explained to Tristan, then turned his head toward Arik. “You should be happy. He’s local to Fort Worth, I think. You featuring his pieces here could really give him a boost, getting him to that next level. I think he needs it.” Gage stopped himself, lifting his glass for another drink. “I actually don’t know that—it’s just a feeling. He keeps to himself. He’s real private. He’s a good-looking kid. Does that ‘island unto himself’ thing really well. I think that helps sell his art.”

“Who’s real private?” Trent asked. Gage lit up when he heard his husband’s voice.

Dylan—Tristan’s boyfriend and business partner—followed Trent into the bar. Apparently the final prep meeting had wrapped up.

“Kellus Hardin,” Gage answered. “You remember him, right? He’s the artist who does all the amazing pieces I send to Arik when he opens a new resort.” Gage tracked Trent as he sat on the stool next to him.

“He lives around here, right?” Dylan asked, joining the conversation as he took a seat next to Tristan. Dylan was the only one in the group who was a Dallas native.

“Yeah,” Gage answered.

Dylan smiled as he looked over at Tristan. “Remember, he’s the one I got who’s gonna work with our graphics department to do the home screen art on Picasso’s birthday?” Dylan glanced at the others, giving them new insights into the artist. “He also did a week-long stretch with us when I introduced our emoji software a couple of years ago. He developed five for us. I first saw him on Reddit, but I know he used to set up around Deep Ellum in Dallas and sometimes Sundance Square or on Magnolia Avenue in Fort Worth on the weekends. Now he mostly makes appearances at art festivals. When he works on the street, he’s interactive with his audience. He draws a big crowd.”

So Kellus Hardin was starting to get noticed. He should probably pick up a few new pieces and maybe get a contract in place before the guy’s value skyrocketed.

“I’ve thought of doing a mural in the lobby of Wilder. Something to make the place more inviting. Does he do that kind of thing?” Tristan asked, turning to Gage.

“Probably. As I said, he’s real private. I don’t know a lot about him, but I think he could use the money. I’m just basing that on how involved he is on the business side of things. I don’t really know that.” Gage glanced at Dylan. “It’s interesting to hear he involves his audience. He was always very reserved and unassuming when I knew him.”

Arik didn’t say anything more, but refilled Gage’s and Tristan’s glasses and poured each new arrival a drink. Since rum was the only bottle not locked up, he stuck with that, pushing the drinks in front of each man before he moved to the sink to wash his hands. He listened to the continuing conversation while drying his hands with a stray hand towel. When there was a pause from discussion, he took the opportunity to chime in.

“You guys stay as long as you want. They’ll clean up when you’re done. I slept about an hour last night. I gotta hit the sack,” he said, tossing the towel to the side. “I’m glad this worked out so well. Thank you for personally coming out.”