Oh, La-la!

Chapter 5. Kayla

My fears that no one would show up to the gallery were quickly laid to waste. I’m already regretting wearing the strappy impossibly high heels, and it’s barely even seven o’clock. Cecilia, the gallery manager, has been dragging me around introducing me to a sea of people as “the artist.” I’m trying hard to do my duty, smiling and chatting with people who, I assume, have more money than they know what to do with, answering their questions and attempting to accept their compliments humbly. Truthfully, I’m fighting off a major sense of imposter syndrome.

My two best friends from high school, Smash and Tone, couldn’t come tonight. Smash has a roller derby game, and Tone has a DJ gig at one of the city’s hottest clubs. I was bummed they couldn’t be here to help keep me sane, but we were planning to go out tomorrow night. Time would tell if we would be celebrating my first successful show and another derby win for Smash, or commiserating with a bottle of vodka. When I unloaded on Ash earlier this week about freaking out, there had been a part of me that was afraid he’d laugh and say I was being dramatic. Maybe because I knew how overly dramatic I was acting. I didn’t really expect him to be so understanding. I’d asked him to come without thinking, but when he told me he’d be here, I felt so relieved, like the weight of everything had been instantly lifted from my shoulders. I don’t want to analyze why. I’m just overthinking it, like I always do. Besides, he’s engaged! Off limits! We’re just friends, and I’m totally fine with that.

I glance at the door for the hundredth time tonight, telling myself I’m not dwelling. It’s completely normal to turn towards a door as someone new comes in. And so what if my heart falls a little when it’s not Ash’s face I see? It’s normal to want to see my friend. Right?

Cecilia grabs my elbow, snatching a glass of bubbly from a tray and handing it to me. I’m really trying not to drink too much, but she keeps putting a glass in my hand every time she whisks me off to yet another group of influential people.

“Mrs. Burkes is related to the guy that invented those removable hooks everyone uses around the holidays,” she whisper yells into my ear as she hurries me through the crowd. “She’s a serious investor, so things like limited runs and numbered reproductions are important.”

I cringe slightly, but try to keep the disgust off my face. I don’t want someone buying my artwork because they’re hoping it’ll triple in price when I die. I want them to buy it because they love it! Because it speaks to them. Because something in them resonates with the part of my soul that I put into my art. Sighing, I prepare to shove my idealism to the back of my mind and attempt to keep any snarky responses to whatever this woman says to myself.

“Mrs. Burkes!” Cecelia sings out as we approach a woman who appears to be more plastic than flesh. Honestly, she looks like a living sculpture, and I’m guessing she’s preparing for her latest nip and tuck judging from the skin slightly sagging on her neck. She looks like a forty-year-old trying to be a twenty-year-old, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s in her fifties or even sixties. Most of her is probably less than five years old! “This is Kayla, the artist!” Cecelia introduces me and I smile at the partially melted Barbie doll and hold out my hand.

A claw like hand with fake nails tenderly grips my fingers as though she’s picking someone else’s tissue off the floor. “Charmed,” she sneers, but it sounds like someone used to looking down her nose at people rather than anything personal. “Such imaginative… characters you’ve made.”

Most of my work here is inspired from fairy tales. Mermaids, fairies, elves… all impossibly gorgeous and ethereal. Or at least, that’s what I was going for. “Thank you,” I smile. “I feel like we make beauty an unobtainable and unsustainable goal, like a fairy tale, we hold ourselves to impossible standards.”

The look she gives me could melt metal as her gaze travels down my body and back up. I squirm a little under her intense scrutiny and silently curse Tone for picking out this dress for me that shows way too much skin. “Yes, well, I think beauty is something we should always embrace,” Mrs. Burkes drips derision.

I nod my head in agreement, trying to gloss over my unintentional faux pas. “Of course! I simply feel that we should find beauty in all its forms, not just the one-dimensional fiction presented by photoshopped super models. For example, you have the most amazingly expressive eyes.” What I don’t mention is that the expression currently burning in those eyes was potential murder. “How often do people tell you that you have a mesmerizing gaze, Mrs. Burkes?”

I breathe a sigh of relief as she seems to soften at my compliment. “I don’t believe anyone has said that,” her tone is measured, trying to decide if I'm being serious.

“That’s what I mean!” I beam at her. “I would be willing to bet that many people find your eyes captivating, but it’s so much easier to compliment something benign and changeable like your dress or your necklace.”

She c***s her head at me and sips her drink thoughtfully. “I see. And you feel that complimenting a dress or a necklace is… part of some fairy tale?”

Damn. “Well, no,” I admit. “But the idea that mature beauty somehow counts less than youth is a fallacy that too many in our society have been sold into.” She’s literally going to decapitate me. It is what this collection is about, but explaining it to a woman who appears to be guilty of exactly what I was railing against seems… derogatory.

To my absolute astonishment, she smiles, and it doesn’t look like a lion about to surprise a gazelle. “We all age, my dear. Doing so gracefully is always like walking a tightrope.” With that, she lifts her glass and nods slightly at me before turning and melting into the crowd.

I huff out a breath, and turn around, wondering how the hell I managed to escape that cringe worthy conversation intact. I’m not given much respite, however, and I remind myself to smile again as a woman touches my arm and tells me she loves the bold colors I chose for most of the pieces. I nod and thank her, needing a breath of fresh air. I knew tonight would be challenging, but I am sucking through my energy reserves way too quickly.

Almost as if on cue, I glance towards the door and spot Ash smiling at me. I return his smile, relief flooding through me, and apologize to the woman standing next to me. I thread my way through the crowd and wrap Ash in a hug, grateful for his reassuring presence. “You made it!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” his voice rumbles through his chest and I step back, reminding myself that friends don’t hug that long. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” somehow, I manage to not roll my eyes. The dress Tone insisted I wear is several inches too short, way too low cut, and I feel like there’s too much of me on display. I really can’t pull off this look. “You scrub up pretty well yourself,” I grin. He’s wearing a black suit with a self-patterned black silk shirt underneath with the first few buttons undone at his neck. On anyone else, it would have looked like he was headed to a funeral, but on him the effect is elegantly understated. He seems cool and aloof, like he belongs here.

My eyes shift to the seething brunette standing next to Ash. “And you must be Beth!” The statuesque woman could have been a model. Her glossy hair seems to glide like water over her shoulders, her perfectly formed red lips are set in a hard line, and deep intelligent brown eyes shoot daggers at me. She would be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in person if it didn’t look like she’d happily hang me with my own entrails. Trying to ignore the threat, I smile at her. “I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like I already know you! Although, I have to admit that I didn’t think anyone could be as beautiful as Ash described you.” I glance at Ash with a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry. From now on I won’t question your judgement.” He just rolls his eyes in response.

“Hmmm,” Beth sniffs down at me. “Ash left out a few details about you,” her voice is cold and dripping with derision. “I need a drink.” She sashays off, leaving Ash and I staring after her.

“Well,” I sigh, “that could’ve gone better.”

Ash shakes his head. “Don’t worry about her, she’s just in a mood. So?” I look at him, not understanding the question. “There’s a lot of people here. Is it going well?”

I shrug. “I guess. I don’t really know. I mean, all these people? How horrible will it be if literally nothing sells?” I catch Mrs. Burkes out of the corner of my eye and groan. “And I’m not doing a very good job of ingratiating myself to the rich people.”

Ash chuckles. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. Come on, show me your favorite piece here.”

“My favorite?” I chew my lip nervously. “Well, this one is the darling of the show, which is why she was given pride of place,” I say as I lead him over to the sculpture in the middle of the entryway. It’s slightly smaller than life size- a mermaid breaking through a wave. Water droplets cling to her skin as she stretches upwards, the semi-translucent tail fins blending with the spray of the water.

“Wow,” he breathes the word and catches me off guard. Every time I look at this piece, I see all the flaws. Why did I use so much green for the water? “Kayla, this is truly incredible.”

“Thanks,” it comes out more sarcastically than I meant to sound. I didn’t even want to include this one, but Cecelia insisted it was her favorite.

Ash turns to me and squints. “This is your favorite?”

“My personal favorite? No, not really,” I muse. “But Cecelia- that’s the manager here- she says it’s choice.”

“It certainly is choice,” he agrees, “but I want to see the one you love the most.”

I know the one I want to show him. There’s no question in my mind which one here is my favorite, but it’s also the one I’m most worried he won’t like. I let out a shaky breath. “Ok, follow me. It’s kind of hidden in the back here because it doesn’t really fit with the rest.”

I lead him to a dark corner, where, on a pillar under a bright spot light, is the figure of a woman laying on her side. The other sculptures in this collection are all brightly colored, flashy, and as realistic as I could make them. This one is much more subdued. It suggests a form and lets the viewer form their own story about her. It’s emotional, raw, vulnerable. She appears either to be sleeping, to be dreaming of the beauty around her to the optimistic eye, or she’s beaten down by it. Instead of focusing on any flaws, I watch Ash’s reaction. His eyes seem to soften before his brows draw together.

“Why aren’t you doing this full time?” it almost sounds like an accusation rather than a question.

Surprised by the question almost as much as the thick tone of his voice, it takes me a minute to think of the words. He’s so difficult to read sometimes, but he seems truly moved and it touches me in a way I never thought I’d need to prepare for. I had been so worried he wouldn’t like my work that I had neglected to think about how it would feel if he did like it. Not only that, he seems to understand it. “Doesn’t pay the bills,” I shrug, trying to compartmentalize the emotions running through me so I can deal with them later. “It’s not really predictable or steady income,” my mother’s voice rings in my head listing all the reasons working as a project manager was the better choice. Ash just stares at me like I’ve starting speaking a foreign language. “It means a lot that you seem to like my work,” I finish lamely, feeling oddly off balance.

I look up at him shyly, not sure what I’m going to see in his eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for the soft way he’s looking at me. I feel drawn to him suddenly. It feels almost as if an energy passes between us and my head is spinning. My skin prickles with goosebumps and I’m hyper aware of the heat radiating off him. This could easily get out of control if I let it. I take an unsteady step back, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart.

Ash lets out a quiet, almost relieved sigh. Clearing his throat, he croaks, “So, where’s your least favorite piece?”

“My least favorite?” I can’t concentrate with the pounding of my heart reverberating in my ears. “Probably on my bedroom floor somewhere,” I mutter.

“I’d like to see that sometime, too.” My eyes go wide at the implication and I see the moment he realizes what he just said as the color on his cheeks darkens. “The art!” he clarifies. “Not… f*ck. Sorry.”

I can’t help but giggle at his discomfort. At least the weird tension that had seized us was gone and I felt steadier now. Like we're back to where we’re supposed to be.

“While I try to remove my foot from my mouth,” he grins, “why don’t you show me your least favorite that’s here. In the gallery.”

I tap my thumb to my fingers while I think about the possibilities. “Hmmm… probably the first one I showed you.”

“The mermaid?” his brow lifts in question as I nod. “Is that because she’s the show’s darling?”

“You don’t know me that well,” I tease even though that’s a big part of my reasoning. “But also because I worked so hard on her and I still see every flaw glaring at me.”

His head c***s to the side with a wry grin. “That one is probably as close to technically perfect I’ve ever seen,” his voice is earnest and I have to really fight hard to accept the compliment. “But this one?” he looks back at the sculpture in front of us. “This one is… indescribable.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. I don’t have the words to tell him how much it means to me that he likes this, understands it, and sees it. Sees me. It’s scary and overwhelming and complicated, but also somehow reassuring.

“I have to ask a really awkward question, though.”

“My favorite type. Shoot.”

“Are you taped or glued into that dress?”

Panic grips me that maybe this stupid dress has shifted and I’m showing even more than the too much I was showing anyway. “No, why?” I say as I try to straighten it and somehow magically make it have more fabric. I’m never going to forgive Tone for this. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not too much. I’m just not used to seeing you… so much of you, and it makes it impossible to concentrate,” he smiles sheepishly. “I think I need a drink, and we need people around us.”