Doctor Next Door

Todd scrambled to his feet, stuffing his cheap leather jacket full of cash. His face was bright red, eyes bloodshot. “You think you’re better than me?” he hissed. “Is that it? You think you can toss money around and have your way?”

“I know I’m better than you.”

“Fuck yourself, man. And fuck you, too, Daliah.”

“Get out of here,” I hissed through my teeth. “Once and for all.”

The man turned on his heels and dashed down the hall, disappearing out of sight when he rounded the corner. I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through the mouth, replacing my wallet before returning inside. I made sure to lock the apartment door for extra security, just in case Todd decided he wanted to try his luck again and catch us by surprise. I faced Daliah, who’d stopped crying, and was now staring up at me with an expression of disbelief.

“You did what?” she whispered.

“What?” I mumbled. I was still recovering from the deafening rush of blood past my ears.

“You’re the anonymous donor?”

I scratched nervously behind my ears, unsure what to say.

“Edgar, that must have cost–”

“It doesn’t matter,” I insisted, waving my hands dismissively.

“Of course it matters. Why didn’t you just tell me in the first place?”

I took her hands in mine and held them firmly against my chest. “Because I didn’t want it to affect how you thought of me.”

Daliah raised an eyebrow, confused. “How would you buying out an entire gallery change how I thought about you? I mean, if anything, I now think you’re twice as awesome as I did before.”

I sighed, feeling very unsteady. “I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want you to see me as some macho, arrogant millionaire who could flash a little cash and get everything he wants. I’ve… I’ve had some bad experiences with women who only ever seemed interested in my money. They weren’t really interested in me. It’s why I haven’t been with anybody in a really long time. But with you, I–”

“What about me?”

“You’re different,” I admitted. “You’re down to earth. You’re charming in a weirdly clumsy way. You’re wonderfully infuriating sometimes.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I really like you, Daliah. And I didn’t want anything to change.”

She took a step forward and circled her arms around me, wrapping me in a hug. She smiled up at me, intoxicatingly beautiful and much too sweet for my heart to handle.

“I promise you,” she hummed, “I would never use you. You know that, right?”

I nodded slowly, lost in her dazzling green eyes. “I do.”

“I mean, unless I need medical assistance. Then I’d probably use you as my personal bandage applicator.”

I tilted my head back and groaned. “I sincerely hope you’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I stub my foot every other day. And papercuts are just a hazard I’ve come to accept.”

We laughed, holding each other tight. Never before had I felt this at home in the arms of a woman. Daliah really was something special. She was strong, she was talented, and she knew what she wanted out of life. And to top it all off, she was headstrong and stubborn enough to keep at it, even when the odds weren’t stacked in her favor. I admired her perseverance, her sheer force of will. I’d never met a woman like her before, and I very much intended on sticking around as long as possible to see what wonders she’d create in the future.

“Well,” she started, clearing her throat, “I have to ask. As my very first patron, are you at all interested in attending my exhibit on opening day?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“I am.”

I tilted my head and hummed, pretending to mull things over. “I don’t know. I’m a very busy guy.”

Daliah rolled her eyes and punched me lightheartedly in the shoulder.

“For you,” I chuckled, “I’d be more than happy to make time.”

“I like that answer,” she said before hopping up onto her tiptoes and kissed me, pure and true.

14

Daliah

Attendance was through the roof. Word had gotten out that an anonymous donor –my anonymous donor– had gone to great lengths just to see my work. The buzz that the news generated caught the ear of several important art critics and fellow artists, and many of them had flocked in at the last minute to try and catch a glimpse of my work. As the line outside the Bodega grew longer and longer, wrapping around the corner of the building, this only served to generate even more excitement about my art exhibit. Like catching flies with honey, my art show had suddenly become the talk of the town.

The inside of the gallery was jampacked. I could barely make it across the room without accidentally bumping somebody with my elbows. The house lights had been dimmed to allow the tiny spotlights before each of my pieces on display to really bring out the color and dramatism of each image. Not a single painting was ignored, with tiny groups of people gathered in front of them with complimentary wine and napkin appetizers in hand. They whispered to one another, nodding along in conversation, as they discussed everything from abstract expressionism to zoopraxiscope.