But Romeo had. I think he was drooling at the guy.
“Hey, Samantha,” Christos said, “remember I told you back in November that a buddy of mine did storyboards for Adventure Time?”
I nodded.
“This is him,” Christos grinned. “Everybody, meet Dillon McKenna.”
Dillon shook hands with everybody.
Kamiko looked like a deer caught in headlights. I couldn’t decide if she was fan girling because Dillon worked on her favoritest cartoon ever, or because he was so handsome.
“Charmed,” Romeo said as they shook, sounding totally girlie.
I grinned to myself as I imagined Romeo and Kamiko fighting over Dillon.
Christos said, “Kamiko is a huge fan of Adventure Time. And she painted that painting,” he motioned toward it.
Dillon glanced at the painting, then did a double take. He stepped toward it and gave it a closer look. “Wow, you did this?”
Kamiko nodded nervously.
“This is tits,” he said, looking at it closely. “Why does the face on the koi fish look familiar?” he asked.
We all broke into a laugh, except for Dillon.
“Inside joke,” Kamiko smiled.
Dillon nodded as he scrutinized her painting further. “This is really good. What was your name again?”
“Kamiko Nishimura,” she grinned.
“You sure can paint, Kamiko,” he smiled.
“So,” Kamiko said nervously, “you storyboard for Adventure Time?”
“You watch the show?” Dillon asked.
“Totally! I have every season on DVD! I dressed up as Marceline last Halloween!” She sounded totally nervous.
“You do cosplay?” Dillon asked her, sounding impressed.
Kamiko nodded.
“Nice,” he said. “I made my own Ice King costume last Halloween. I have pics on my phone, if you want to see.”
“Shut up!” Kamiko grinned like it was Christmas.
Dillon nodded as he pulled out his phone, “But I’m going to make an Earl of Lemongrab costume for San Diego Comic Con this summer.”
“What! Do you have tickets?”
“Yeah, we get them because we work on the show,” he said as he thumbed through his phone.
“I can never get tickets to Comic Con!” Kamiko said. “It’s always sold out.”
“I can get you in this year, if you want,” Dillon smiled. “They always have extras at the office.”
Dillon handed his phone to Kamiko.
She examined the pictures. “Wow! Your Ice King costume rocks! You made it yourself?”
Dillon smiled a huge grin and nodded. “Totally.”
Turning to me and Christos, Romeo said, “I think we need to leave those two alone. Kamiko’s eyes have turned into candy hearts, or something equally juvenile.”
“I think they’re little pink smiley faces right now,” Christos chuckled.
Christos, Romeo, and I all smiled at each other while we slowly retreated, leaving Kamiko and Dillon to geek out about Adventure Time, cosplay, and the San Diego Comic Con.
CHRISTOS
The DJ turned up the volume as the crowd grew more boisterous. People had to talk loud to be heard, enhancing the nightclub vibe.
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to introduce Kamiko to Dillon sooner. They were perfect for each other.
Samantha demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me your Adventure Time friend was so hot? And perfect for Kamiko?”
I frowned, “Are you reading my mind?”
“What?” she asked, confused.
“Never mind,” I grinned. “Anyway, I guess I had other things distracting me back then.” I gave her a knowing look and leaned down to kiss her lips.
Romeo grunted, “Somebody get me a bucket. There’s so much true love around here tonight, I’m going to puke.”
“Oh,” Samantha said compassionately, “I’m sorry Romeo. Christos, do you have any hot steampunk friends for Romeo?”
“I’ll have to check,” I smiled.
Brandon came walking up. “How are you all?” he smiled. “Enjoying the show?”
“Great show, Brandon,” Samantha said.
I think her mood had improved ever since Kamiko had sold her koi painting. I knew Samantha was trying to keep a game face about her parents’ split, but you could only fake so much. Her guts were probably flip flopping every sixty seconds morning, noon, and night. I know mine had when my mom had left my dad over a decade ago.
Fuck, my guts still knotted when I thought about my mom.
(mom)
“Thank you,” Brandon smiled his stock Mr. Pleasant smile. “Christos, can I talk to you for a few moments?”
“Sure,” I said. I raised my eyebrows at Samantha and Romeo.
“Let’s go look around, Sam,” Romeo said. He pulled Samantha off into the crowd.
“What up, Brandon?” I asked.
“I wanted to check in about your progress on your paintings. Care to take a stroll in the sculpture garden?”
I nodded.
We walked out back. The sculpture garden wasn’t quite as crowded as the inside of the gallery, and it was outside so we had a vague sense of privacy in the hedges mazing around under the starlight. Brandon was all about appearances, so taking me back here meant he had something to say that was going to irritate either him or me.
When we were secluded, he asked, “How’s that portrait of Isabella coming along? Did you make the changes like Stanford Wentworth suggested?”
I chuckled. As if.
“What?” Brandon smiled.
Did I tell Brandon now that I’d destroyed the painting of Isabella in a fit of rage? Or let him find out when it was noticeably absent from my solo show? Fuck it. I didn’t feel like dancing tonight. “I’ve decided to go in a different direction for the show.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I’m trashing the idea of using models. It wasn’t working for me.”
“I thought they were looking pretty good.”
“You heard Wentworth,” I chuckled. “You were there. He said the paintings were lifeless.”
“I could sell them,” Brandon scoffed.
“You could sell a car to a canary.”
Brandon frowned, “Why would a canary want a car? They have wings.”
“Exactly.”
Brandon dismissed my comment. “Christos, you and I have known each other a long time.”
I nodded.
“I’m trying to build your career,” he said.
I said, “But I don’t want a career painting models I don’t give a shit about.”
“Beautiful women sell, Christos. They never go out of style.”
I arched an eyebrow and nodded at him.
“At any rate,” he continued, “I can’t build your career if I don’t have any paintings to sell. Here’s a suggestion. We sell the nudes you have now next month, at your solo show. Next year, we transition you into more meaningful subject matter. The important thing is we keep your momentum going. I have fifteen possible buyers lined up for your paintings. I even have one for the Isabella portrait. I don’t care what Stanford Wentworth said, I can get us one-twenty-five K for it.”
Whoops. I could use $125,000. Nothing like attorney’s fees to drain your wallet down to zero. Fucking Hunter Blakeley.
Sadly, if I dug the tatters of the Isabella painting out of the dump now, I don’t think Brandon would get fifty cents for it.
He asked, “How much longer do you think it would take for you to finish fifteen paintings?”
Brandon needed a reality check. He was under the impression I’d been busily working away in the studio these past few months, cranking out more paintings of his L.A. models. I’d kept hidden until now the fact that I’d fallen way behind because of the Horst Grossman trial and because I’d decided to go in a different direction with my art.