The Artist & The Q.B.

Chapter 4

The knock on the studio door startles me, I'm nowhere near ready for Flynn to see my work. I pick up some of my clothes and start shoving them back into the black garbage bag they spilled out of.

"Coming!" I yell.

Not even halfway done. Screw it! I toss the bag on my mattress. That's as good as its gonna get.

Unbolting the door I swing it open, jumping back when I see Truex in front of me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, confused.

"Is Mya, okay?"

"She's fine. We just didn't think it was smart for you to be meeting some random guy alone." He replies.

"He's not random. I've been to his gallery." I say, irritated that they would think I'd be that stupid.

He shrugs, not saying anything.

"Fine, come in." I offer, going back to picking up my clothes.

I look at the clock on the wall, its 20 to 6. I have some time to get this mess cleared up. Putting my clothes in the corner of the room out of the way, I then start

neatly stacking boxes against the wall.

"You can't live here." He comments. from behind me.

"Funny, because I already am." I challenge, feeling my hackles rise from his tone of voice.

"That door is basically patched together rotted wood and there's no heat in here." He states, looking around the small room.

I point to my space heater. He doesn't even look.

"You're staying with us, until you get the new studio."

"And give up this life of luxury, not happening." I reply, refocusing on tidying up.

"Yes."

I roll my eyes at his response. "How long have we known each other? In what universe did you think telling me I was moving in with you two would be a good idea?"

"Fair enough. Would you like to move in until you can afford another place?"

"Humm... I actually don't know." I say, pretending to think about it.

"Briar." He warns.

I smile, knowing I'm testing his patience.

"Yes. Just stop begging." I tease, kind of relieved.

I didn't count on how cold the nights are here. Even with the space heater, I still freeze.

"Thanks, by the way. You have my word I'll be out as

soon as I possibly can." I say, meeting his eyes so he knows that I truly mean it.

He doesn't respond and I don't ask him to, because the knock on the door distracts me. I smooth out my hair just before opening the door.

"Hi, Flynn. Thanks for driving all the way out here."

"My pleasure." He replies, kissing both my cheeks.

I stand aside, letting him come in and close the door. I turn around and almost run into his back.

"Oh, sorry. This is, Truex Marshall. Truex this is Flynn Simmons, he owns the art gallery I was telling you about." I state, awkwardly.

My nerves starting to get the best of me, this happens every time I show any of my pieces. With Truex here its even more nerve wrecking. I've been rejected from gallery after gallery, to say I have butterflies in my stomach would be an understatement.

Flynn holds out his hand. "I know who he is."

Stunned. I ask. "You know each other?"

Flynn, laughs.

"No, I just know of him. Big football fan." He

explains.

"Oh." I smile, uncomfortably. Not knowing how to respond, so l get down to business. "Well, here's my work."

I offer, gesturing to the stacks of canvases leaning against all available wall space.

"I'm sorry its not displayed better. I'm working on getting a bigger place." I explain, apologetically.

He starts thumbing through them, focusing on each piece. "What are these numbers?" He asks, pointing to the little post-its in the corner of each canvas.

"Just the order in which I completed them."

He nods as he looks through the canvases.

"Your work is interesting. The contrast in subject and emotion from your first canvas to your last is progressively different. Dark to bright, heavy to light. A very intriguing vision, original. I know exactly

how I'd display them in the gallery." He mutters to himself. It feels like an eternity before Flynn looks up from the last of my work.

The room is dead silent until he says, "I'd like to have you come by the gallery next week with photos of each piece so we can discuss them further and set prices. Right now we're full and I don't want to split up the collection, but I think in a few weeks we could give you a show."

My mouth drops.

"Seriously?" I ask, dazed.

Theres no way I just got offered a show. I figured maybe a little feedback on my work, if I was lucky he'd display a few pieces of my collection. I didn't

even expect him to be interested in giving me a showing.

MY OWN f*****g SHOW!