A Quarter After One

The dull roar of the crowd almost drowned out the upbeat music being piped into the room. Glasses clinked. Trays of food made their rounds. People were making pretentious remarks about the deep, hidden meanings behind my pieces. Others were scoffing and making sure their snide comments about my being a hack were heard over the din.

My first gallery showing.

As near as I could tell, it was a success. No one would be bothering to insult me if it wasn’t. They probably would have stopped had they known how much I enjoyed it. I wasn’t about to stop the one thing keeping me entertained and distracted.

“Its amazing!”

My contemplation of the crowd was broken by the ecstatic yell in my ear. I turned to find Debra, my agent, getting ready to pull me into a hug. Fighting her was useless, so I allowed her to pull me close. She was good at what she did and she was at least partially responsible for this. I supposed a hug wasn’t the worst she could do to me.

No, she’d pretty much already taken care of that…

“Tell me you’re as excited as I am!” Something about that seemed like a command. “Your first show and people are already making offers. I’ve had several approach me about you doing custom pieces for them. This time next week, everyone in the art community will know your name!”

I hoped my smile didn’t too closely resemble a grimace. Don’t get me wrong, I was excited. Very excited. I’d always dreamed about my first show. Having people see what I’d put so much of myself into. The thought of them being moved by something I’d created. It was all I’d ever wanted.

I guess I’d just pictured it a little differently.

I took a quick look around the room, trying not linger on any one piece. “I just wish you could have gotten me more time. I was hoping to put something new-”

“But these are fantastic!” she cut me off. If she didn’t stop yelling, I was going to shove her face into a plate of cubed cheese. “Besides, there was no time. This gallery is booked years in advance. You’re going to owe me your first born for even getting you in when I did. Or, at the very least, the guy who burned down Samuel’s studio.”

I wondered if Hallmark made a ‘thanks for committing felony arson and furthering my career’ cards.

“Its just that-”

“Just nothing. You have to strike while the iron is hot. Look, I’ll level with you. I don’t know shit about art. I do, however, know how to make money off of it. And, sweetie, you might as well have painted dollar signs on these. Now go mingle. This crowd is lousy with money.” With that she stalked away, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume behind.

Debra was a bitch but she was a good agent. She knew the importance of getting her clients out there for people to see. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have punched her in the face months ago.

As much as I hated to admit it, she had a point about talking to people. That didn’t mean that I wanted to though. They would want to talk about my art and, despite it being the reason we were all here, that was the last thing I’d wanted.

If she’d just gotten me a couple of more weeks, it would have been fine. I wouldn’t be standing here doing my damnedest not to look at a good portion of the walls surrounding me. The very walls that seemed to be closing in around me.

I grabbed two glasses of wine from the waiter as he passed. I downed one in two quick gulps and started on the second. People were shooting me glances. Let them. I was an artist and entitled to some quirky behavior. My antisocial behavior would probably be written off as some fascinating ennui.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to hell with it. The problem wasn’t going to just go away; I might as well deal with it.

Vibrant turquoise and violet edged out from the photos. Delicate filigrees of white traced, lace like, through the bold colors. I was concentrating on those because I didn’t want to look at the pictures. I know most people use their art as a way to work through their emotional pain. Honestly, I did. But this was different. It wasn’t using the art to deal with it, it was the art throwing the pain back in my face.

The first thing I noticed was how happy we looked in the pictures. We were both grinning and happy, overjoyed just to be with each other.

Such bullshit, I thought bitterly.

His jade eyes seemed to follow me. To see straight through me. He had way of looking at me, like he could see to the bottom of my soul. Like I was the most important thing in the world to him.

If I’d been so important, then maybe a little faith in my abilities wouldn’t have been too much to ask.

Thanks, Zack, for ruining one of the biggest nights of my life. He wasn’t even there and it still felt like he was judging me.

No. I refused to let him, or the remnants of him, spoil what I’d worked so hard for. He hadn’t thought I could do it but I’d proven him wrong. Might as well bask in my triumph.

I grabbed another glass of wine and proceeded to do just that.

”You should go.”

I didn’t bother to look up from the flier Brian had thrown onto the table in front of me. It wouldn’t be overdramatic to say it would have hurt less if he’d sucker punched me.

Her brown eyes stared at me from the paper, sparkling with barely repressed amusement. She looked happy but I couldn’t help but feel some of that amusement came from my misery. From so successfully proving me wrong.

From pointing out just how massive of an asshole I was.

“What good would it do?” I sat back and rubbed my face. “She doesn’t want me there and it would just end up being a cluster fuck. I’m not going to ruin her night by doing that.”

“You’re in probably half of the pieces in the show. If she asks, just tell her you came to see them. Offer her money for one of them. I don’t know, you’ll think of something. Just go!” Brian’s voice raised as he became more frustrated with me. “You can’t just sit around and do nothing for the rest of your life.”

I tried not to let the anger I felt get the better of me. Brian was giving me an excuse to go to her. It might have been a half assed plan but he cared enough to suggest it. And it wasn’t his fault I wasn’t there with her, sharing something she’d been dreaming of since she was a kid.

No, that honor, dubious as it was, belonged solely to me.

The look I gave him may have been harsh. Sadly, I just didn’t care. “You’re right. So instead of sitting here doing nothing, I’m going to drink myself fucking stupid. How about that? Is that a good enough plan for you?”

“Then let’s go out. We’ll get drunk, you can get laid.”

My hand tightened around the bottle of Jack. Seriously? Any other time, any other woman, that would have been a good suggestion. But I doubted there was enough alcohol in Orange County to make me forget about Sarah. About the fact that I was to blame for the whole goddamn mess.

No doubt about it, the flier was taunting me.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” Brian said. “Call me if you change your mind about sulking here by yourself. I’ll go to the gallery with you.”

“That’s a kind offer,” I mumbled, taking a long drink from the bottle, “but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“Jesus Christ, Vengeance! Talk to her! Whatever it is, I’m sure you can work it out. It couldn’t have been the end of the world. You know what, just fucking forget it. I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you’re still alive.”

The front door slammed behind him. A part of me felt like I should apologize. A bigger part wondered why I would bother to over something he’d forget within the hour when I couldn’t be bothered to do it over something that truly warranted it.

Fuck me but he’d left the flier. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have enough to remind me of her. Did I really need this too?

I wanted to go. I wanted to see how happy I knew she had to be. She’d have that grin she wore whenever she’d done something she was truly proud of. She’d run to me and wrap her arms around me. I’d tell her how I always knew she could do it.

But it was a little late for that. I should have told her that months ago.

“Why can’t you just accept the idea that I can do this on my own?”

Why indeed…

Eight glasses of wine and five commissions later, I was feeling much better. The art critic for the Orange County Register had promised a glowing review. Slowly but surely, I was making my way up the ladder in the artistic community.

It was a fantastic evening. Or it should have been.

My head fell against the passenger side window. I was hoping the impact would knock some sense into me. At the very least, dislodge such stupid thoughts.

Debra didn’t seem to notice my attempt to inflict slight brain damage on myself. Chances were, if she did, she wouldn’t care unless it impacted my ability to make her money.

“Sweetie, I want you back to work the minute you step foot in your house. We don’t want to flood the market but we need enough to keep them interested. I want you pumping out the new ideas. Especially if they involve the piece of sex that was in some of them tonight. He could be a big selling point.”

I’ll admit I was only half listening until she mentioned Zacky. “No,” I stated firmly. “He’s not going to be making any more appearances. I wouldn’t have used anything with him if I’d had more time to prepare.”

“So who is he?” She looked away from the road to me. I didn’t answer. “An ex? So what? That makes it even better. Everyone loves a tortured artist. Use it to your advantage. Besides, I already commissioned a piece for someone at the party with him in it. You have to understand, sometimes you have to be make concessions to get where you want in life.”

If I made concessions, I wouldn’t be having this inane conversation. I wouldn’t need a tactless agent who couldn’t have cared less if I finger painted as long as she got a percentage.

What I would have had was my boyfriend there to share my success. Of course, it would have been bought with his fame, not my talent.

More and more, life was starting to seem like a loose/loose situation.

The rest of the drive to my house was silent. I had the door open before she came to a complete stop. I needed to be out of that car, away from her, before I did something unfortunate.

“You’ll do the piece, right, sweetie?”

Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, I turned and smiled. “Of course. Can’t disappoint them, can I?” It almost sounded like I was asking permission to do just that.

“That’s my girl! I’ll call you!”

That was what I was afraid of.

Once inside, I kicked off my heels and leaned against the door. The alcohol was still coursing through my veins. I should have been tired but I wasn’t. The energy from the night had me amped up. I wanted to do something.

So I changed clothes, grabbed another bottle of wine, and went to my art room.

I couldn’t contain the sigh of relief I let out when I turned on the lights. There was no other place in the world that made me feel more at peace than this room.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one other place but it wasn’t an option any more.

There was little I wanted less than to work on another Zacky piece. I’d only kept the others because I couldn’t bear the thought of destroying something I’d put so much love and effort into. The show came up so suddenly that I hadn’t had time to replace them. Not that I’d been able to concentrate enough to even begin to-

I had to stop thinking about him. But how was I supposed to do that when they were expecting me to do the exact opposite of that? I couldn’t not think about him and pour every bit of heartache into the piece. It just wasn’t possible.

Maybe I shouldn’t even start it. I could just do something else. Something upbeat and happy. The problem was, I wasn’t upbeat and happy. If I had to do this, I might as well get it over with.

Picking up the bottle, I took a long drink. This wasn’t the kind of night that called for glasses.

My heart ached as I opened the box. I hadn’t kept much, most of it was lost in the first wave of my anger after the break-up. A part of me regretted that. Looking back, it seemed a waste to throw away memories that were so important to me. No matter how it ended.

Our eyes always seemed drawn to each other. It didn’t matter who else was around or what was going on. For a while, we’d been each other’s world. The pictures were a heart rending reminder of how things used to be.

I took another, longer drink. Half the bottle was gone before I got up the strength to take out of the pictures and spread them out on the floor.

She looked so happy in the pictures. If someone had asked me, I would have said we’d be together for the rest of our lives. There was nothing to indicate just how sour it would turn.

Or how quickly.

My gaze strayed from the pictures to the bottle of Jack. I was going to need more of it if I insisted on being so masochistic. As I wandered to the bar, my mind took off in a completely different direction.

There was no doubt in my mind that Sarah was an amazing artist. The way she took ordinary photos and turned them into something so much more was nothing short of astounding to me. She made art like I made music. Only so much more effortlessly.

But she was struggling. She tried agent after agent, gallery after gallery. The agents told her she had to get a showing before they would take her on as a client. The galleries said she needed an agent before they’d let her show.

Day after day, the stress started to weigh on her. She’d get up in the middle of the night to paint while she thought I was still asleep. I’d wait and follow her, watching as she created more that people would just refuse to see.

It started to take a toll on our relationship. I didn’t know how to help her and, as I’d find out later, she didn’t want me to. Our mutual helplessness made us snap at each other. Things that wouldn’t have even registered before became huge deals.

I tried to be patient. She tried not to take her stress out on me. I don’t think either of us did very well with that.

Finally, I couldn’t take anymore. We were working on the new album and we needed cover art. We wanted to go in a different direction with it so we all agreed to look for an ‘unknown’ artist.

Needless to say, the first person that sprang to mind was Sarah. I figured it would give her a great opportunity for exposure. Surely no agent would turn her away once it dropped. The cover would be everywhere and I’d make sure everyone knew that it was her doing. She’d have her choice of galleries.

She was working on a new painting when I got home. I could barely contain my excitement about telling her.
I’d like to say that it was purely selfless. For the most part, it was. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to be able to do the one thing she always wanted to do. And I wanted to help her with that.

What’s the point in lying now?

As much as I wanted all of those things, I also wanted things to go back to the way they were. For the arguing to stop and for me to stop feeling so fucking helpless all the time.

So I told her.

Her first words were, “What the fuck?!”

“Huh?” I was a little thrown by that reaction. To say that I hadn’t been expecting that would be an understatement.

She closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over her face. It left streaks of green along her cheeks. Even though I could tell by her expression that we were about to have a fight, I couldn’t help but think it was adorable.

“What made you think I wanted you to do that?” she asked quietly, obviously trying to fight back her anger. “That I needed that?”

“I just thought this would give you the pull you needed. It’ll get your name out there. Don’t give me that look, this is a good opportunity.”

“I’m not saying its not. But I am saying that I don’t want it.”

“What do you mean you don’t want it?!” I yelled. This was not the gratitude I’d been hoping for.

Sarah glared at me. “I mean, I don’t want to do the damn cover. I don’t want you tossing me a bone because you don’t think I can do it on my own.”

“I don’t-”

“Bullshit!” She threw her paintbrush across the room. “You think I need some kind of handout, that I need the guy I’m fucking to rescue me and you’ve convinced the rest of the guys of that. So no, I don’t want to do it. I frankly resent the fact that you think I would. You can take your offer and kindly shove it.”

That’s when I started to get angry. She was blowing things so far out of proportion that I didn’t even have words for it.

“Look, I was making the offer because I want you to do it. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t. So don’t fucking throw it back on me like I’m doing something wrong. Nothing else has worked, maybe this will.”

I knew it was wrong as soon as I said it.

“Oh, so its pity! That’s just fantastic. Awesome. So nice to know that you think so fucking highly of me and my abilities. Is there any other way you’d like to insult me while you’re at it? Seriously, think about it. How would it look for me? The only thing people will see will be that cover. Everything I achieve will be based on the fact that my boyfriend used his pull to get me ahead. It will follow me everywhere. I don’t want that. And I would expect you to understand why.”

“Well, I don’t. Do you have something against doing a cover for us? Would it be fucking insulting to your artistic sensibilities ? Because that’s not a slap in the face to me at all.”

Taking a deep breath, Sarah looked at me. I knew what that look meant. She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted me to understand. Unfortunately, it was too late for that.

“If someone had approached you when you guys were first starting out and said they could make you famous but you had to spend a year as a boy band, would you have done it?”

Hell no. I knew the point she was trying to make but my pride wouldn’t let me acknowledge it. “That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” I scoffed.

“You know its not. No matter what you did later, how heavy or hardcore you ended up, all anyone would remember would be the year singing pop tunes and dancing. That’s what the cover would be for me. It would be me compromising and letting someone take control of my career without ever letting me start on my own. If you want to pretend you don’t understand that’s fine. But let’s just drop this. Please?”

We both knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. She might have calmed down a bit but one push would send her over the edge. And I was already there. She wasn’t going to accept my offer. That meant I had nothing left, no other way to help that wouldn’t result in the same wounded egos.

Then I said the dumbest thing I could have said.

“Fine. Maybe you can ask whoever we get to do it instead to put a good word in at another gallery that’s just going to reject you.”

There was no excuse for that. I was angry and, even though I understood, I didn’t really understand. I wanted to be the one to rescue her. I couldn’t allow myself to see that she didn’t need me, or anyone else, to do that.

“Fuck you, Zack.”

I knew there would be no stopping her. If she’d stayed and insulted me or even hit me, there would have been a chance. Such a simple sentence. And I knew she would be gone.

And she was, I thought, grabbing another bottle. Just like that.

It was my fault. Hindsight could be such a bitch.

Completely against my will, my eyes moved to the door. I still expected her to come sweeping in. Her hair all windblown, grinning like she couldn’t wait to tell me something. She always swept through everything she did. She was my force of nature.

Was.

Before I realized what I was doing, my hand was on my phone.

Why couldn’t you have just understood that I needed to do this on my own? To be appreciated for my own merits? I couldn’t help but ask myself. Then things wouldn’t have gotten so fucked up.

I knew he just wanted to help but it felt too much like pity. He knew that every rejection set me back a little more. The sleepless nights, the stress. Maybe he did really think he was doing something nice for me. Maybe he should have realized that wasn’t how I would see it.

Maybe I shouldn’t have blown up about it.

Maybe we should have done a thousand things differently. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore.

His bright green eyes stared at me from the floor. Under my hand, was us kissing. Next to that was him giving me a Valentine’s gift. The wine bottle was empty. I couldn’t even begin to be able to handle this without more alcohol.

Much more alcohol.

I was hoping to get blind drunk. So drunk that I could just do the piece without having to feel all of the emotions that were running through me. Hopefully drunk me would be kind enough to throw a sheet over it so sober me would never have to see it.

Why, I thought, why couldn’t he just understand? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Why was it so fucking devastating to me that he wasn’t there to share my moment? To see me achieve my dream?

The questions just kept running through my more than slightly fogged brain.

The booze was trying to force me to admit that I missed him. It was true but there was no way I’d say it. I didn’t even want to think it. We’d both made our decisions.

So why was I moving towards my phone?

What the fuck was I doing?

Never mind the fact that she was probably off partying somewhere, I was the last person she wanted to hear from. She hadn’t even told me about the opening. If I called her, spouting some drunken apologies or explanations, she’d likely come kick my ass.

Besides, how much of a pussy would I be to call instead of actually going to the damn thing?

It was stupid to call her this late just to tell her I was proud of her. Because I knew it would just turn into me trying to convince her to come back. Telling her how much I missed and needed her.

That didn’t stop me from dialing her number.

Why the fuck was I even thinking about calling him?

He had to have known about the opening. If he’d wanted to talk, he would have shown up there. He didn’t so I was going to end up calling him at one in the morning, drunk, wanting to talk about-

What? That I needed him with me? That I didn’t even care about the offer anymore because I loved him enough to overlook it?

It wouldn’t do either of us any good.

So why was I pushing the call button?

It was ringing.

Panic shot through me. What was I going to say? I hadn’t even meant to call her. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d had myself convinced that I wouldn’t.

I tried to come up with something to start the conversation. Some inane small talk. Anything but just shouting out like a lunatic that I loved her.

And it just kept ringing. She wasn’t going to answer. She’d seen it was me and decided she’d rather stab herself in the eye with one of her paint brushes than answer a call from me.

The other line beeped in but I wasn’t about to switch over. What if she answered and I missed it? Fuck whoever was trying to call.

I was doing something important. Stupid but important.

He wasn’t answering. I should have known he wouldn’t. I’d left. I burned that bridge and I was going to have to deal with it.

And who was trying to call me this late? I didn’t want to pull the phone away to check the caller id for fear that I’d miss him. Not that it mattered; he’d probably rather take one of his guitars up his ass than take a call from me. What if he was with another woman?

That was it, I couldn’t take anymore. It was now or never. I had to see him, talk to him, before I sobered up and could think better of it. If I was going to do something so idiotic, I wanted to be wasted.

If it didn’t work out, I could always write it off as a drunken delusion.

There was no way I could drive. I almost fell over putting my shoes on. It was almost last call and a cab would take forever to get here. Waiting was not an option. Not tonight.

Zacky didn’t live far, I’d just walk. No big deal. It would give me time to think of something to say. I needed some kind of excuse for just showing up, shit ripped, at his door. I could say I left something there or that I thought maybe my mail was still being sent there. Or maybe that there was a gas leak in the area.

Wait. How would I know that? No, that wasn’t going to work.

Maybe I could tell him the truth. I just didn’t want to be without him. I needed him. Not just to be there for me but so I could be there for him.

What good were things if we didn’t have each other to share them with?

“Zacky,” I mumbled to myself, just to hear the words out loud, “you were an enormous dick but I’m willing to overlook it because I love you. So just say you’re sorry and we can move on. You want to move on, right? Yeah, sure you do. Because you’re too nice to let me show up here in the middle of the night and embarrass myself. Great, its settled. Fantastic.”

A man walking his dog passed by, he gave me an odd look. No doubt he’d heard my less than sane seeming practice monologue.

“What?! I can’t just wing it!” I yelled.

He nodded uncertainly and hurried off. Some help he was.

I was so engrossed in my ramblings that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Nor did I hear the ramblings coming from in front of me. At least, not until I ran into the man making them.

The shock of it tore my eyes from my feet. Up to the very same eyes I’d been staring at all evening. The ones I longed to have watch me like he couldn’t get enough. The ones I loved.

Zacky looked just as shocked to see me as I was to see him. His mouth moved but no words came out. I must have looked the same. All that practice and the words deserted me. They were replaced with the need to pull him into my arms and never let him go again.

“I tried to call you.”

”I tried to call you,” she said at the same time.

God, she was beautiful. I watched as she stared at me in shock. At least it wasn’t anger. Her lips moved, like she was trying to decide what to say but couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. But I did want to kiss her until words didn’t matter anymore.

Her brown eyes searched mine.

I decided then and there that I wasn’t going to let her turn away. I couldn’t handle watching her leave again. I was never going to let her go.

Our words were lost over each other. He was looking at me like he’d never really seen me. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted him to do something.

Finally, I got tired of waiting. I wish I could say I eased into his arms and we had a romance novel embrace. Unfortunately most heroines are sober during their reunions. I wasn’t. So I more or less lunged into his arms, knocking us both off balance. My lips meet his in a frenzy I don’t think either of us was prepared for.

We hit the sidewalk still kissing. I could taste the whiskey on his breath. Something about the way it mixed with the taste of him made me press myself harder against him. He held me tight, welcoming my enthusiasm. Not that it was one sided, he more than returned it.

To this day, I’m still not sure how we made it back to the house. All I remember were hands and lips and a desire for him greater than I’d ever felt. The walk back to the house mattered as little as the walk that led to him. It didn’t matter how it happened. All that mattered was that we were home.

He laid me on the bed as gently as he could before falling on top of me. Any other time, I would have laughed about that but I was too busy doing other things. Much more important things.

Our clothes magically disappeared. The haze of the alcohol was making me loose time. His hands moving over me raised chills and burned through the fog. His lips drove away the buzz and left me with nothing but the feeling I’d missed more than anything the past few months.

The feeling of loving each other.

Our bodies moved like we’d never been apart. He knew exactly how to touch me and when. And I knew just how to drive him insane.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath on my ear as he drove me closer and closer to the edge. “Never leave me again. Please?”

“Never.” I murmured in agreement. “As long as you stop being a douche.”

I hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

His laughter was lost in a groan and a move that made my eyes roll back. “Agreed.”

The heights we sent each other to were dizzying. My body wept with joy at the way he touched me, the things he did. He whispered my name over and over again. Like he was making sure I was really there and it wasn’t just a dream.

When neither of us could stand it any longer, we both let go. I was surprised car alarms didn’t go off. It was amazing. Earth shattering. We held each other until our heartbeats returned to normal and we could form words again.

“I meant it,” he said, looking down at me. Pushing a bit of hair behind my ear, Zacky brushed his lips against mine. “I love you, Sarah. I’ve always believed in you and I’m sorry I lost sight of that. I’m so proud of you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there tonight.”

I tried to fight back the tears of happiness that welled up. “Will you promise me one thing?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll never miss another night?”

“Never.”