Rocco’s life consists of making my sister happy and investing in businesses that need his money and expertise.
“Seriously?” Dexie lets out a sigh.
“I’ll make it up to you.” He approaches her with open arms. “I’ll be home by ten.”
Suddenly feeling like I’m in the middle of a conversation I should have no part in, I turn toward the staircase. “I’m going to finish getting ready. I’ll see you both later.”
“It looks like it’s just the two of us tonight, Rae.” Dexie wraps her arms around her husband. “Just like old times.”
My heart tightens in my chest. Old times meant all the hours the two of us spent together while our mom worked three jobs.
“I’ll see you tonight, sis.” I turn my attention to Rocco. “I hope you have a great day, Bil.”
Rocco smiles at the nickname. Brother-in-law turned into Bil shortly after they married.
“You too, Sil,” he bounces back. “Stay clear of men who aren’t watching where they’re going.”
“I intend to,” I say as I reach the staircase. “I’ll run in the other direction if I ever see that jerk from last night again.”Chapter 4Calder“Hurry the hell up.”
I respond to my assistant’s reminder that we’re already ten minutes late for the charity auction by whipping my middle finger in the air.
He tosses one back at me and ups the ante by adding the appropriate words to the gesture. “Fuck you, Frost.”
I ignore him as I straighten the navy blue tie around my neck.
I can’t remember the last time I got this dressed up. There’s a good chance that it was when I went to my older sister’s wedding. Since that marriage collapsed three months later because her asshole husband couldn’t keep his dick away from other women, I’d say the effort I took to get dressed that day was a waste of fucking time.
I hope to hell tonight is more successful than that.
I donated a piece of my art for a good cause. The funds it raises will become part of a grant for kids at a community outreach center. The jury is still out on whether handing them a basket filled with art supplies will benefit them. I’d vote yes because the tools and metal my dad gave me when I was ten-years-old steered me toward the path I’m on now.
“Why do I need to do this, Bauer? Don’t I pay you a fortune to show up at these things for me?”
I’ve employed Bauer Knight for the past two years. I did it as a favor to his brother, William, who happens to be a lifelong friend of mine. Bauer needed an outlet for his creative energy, so I brought him to my studio one afternoon to witness my process. He cleaned up the place, took a few calls on my behalf, and negotiated a more than generous price on a piece I was working on at the time.
I offered him a full-time job. He accepted on the spot, and we’ve been working side-by-side ever since.
“You need the exposure.” He looks at his reflection in the mirror. “The place will be crawling with photographers. Try to smile, Calder. The brooding, tortured artist look is so last year.”
“If that’s true, why are you dressed like that?”
Bauer glances down at the black suit and shirt he’s wearing. “It’s my signature look at the moment. I’m working with charcoal again.”
I envy that.
Bauer’s talent reaches beyond one medium. The first day he walked into my studio, he was convinced that he’d make his mark on the art world with resin sculptures. That shifted to ceramic figures before he picked up a sketchpad and a piece of charcoal. The fluidity of the characters he drew was remarkable. It not only captured the eye, but the soul. He sold his first drawing a week later.
“Good,” I say succinctly. “You should stick with it.”
He rakes his hand through his dark brown hair. “I can’t. I have to follow the urge. One day it’s clay. The next it’s watercolors.”
I pay Bauer well enough that he can do that, for now. If he wants to be taken seriously in this industry, he needs to master something, not experiment in everything.
He’s got time. He’s only twenty-four.
Six years ago, when I was that age, I was selling small sculptures on a street corner near Central Park. I accepted as many compliments as insults back then.
“As soon as my piece sells, I’m out of there,” I announce. “If you’re on board for that plan, I’ll buy you a drink at Tin Anchor.”
The promise of a free beer at his favorite pub should be enough to lure him out of the auction on my heel.
“I’ll pass.” He straightens the lapels of his jacket. “It’s an open bar at this auction, Calder. I can drink as much as I want. I intend on staying until they push me out of the door at the end of the night.”