Everything seemed to go on fast-forward after that. The owner of the Sedona gallery, one Eli Michaels, came upstairs to see the rest of Connor’s paintings, both in the studio and in the apartment. Thank the Goddess that both places were reasonably clean, and that I was more or less presentable, since Connor and I tended to go out for lunch a good deal and I tried to make sure I was ready to go at a moment’s notice. To tell the truth, I was pretty sure Eli barely noticed I was there; he was far more interested in looking over all those canvases.
“Impressive,” was his evaluation. “I’d like to do a show at the end of the month, if you can be ready for that. We need to get your work out there as soon as possible.”
Connor sort of stammered out a “sure,” sounding very unlike his usual confiden
