Page 19

Von
All the items up for auction take center stage and the gallery is festive. Madyson has incorporated most of the other art into the background so it’s available but will not steal the show.
Adding lighting and flowers to the austere arch I built, it looks dramatically better than I could imagine. I’m grateful to be included to showcase my pieces.
Alec is greeting everyone at the front door with his dimples and a compliment. He’s the true star of the event. His resilience after the other night amazes me. I could not function if it had happened to me, and I’m proud of myself for putting my past aside to help Alec. It felt good to comfort him.
I entered through the back and watch Alec across the space. My thoughts start to run away from me, and I can’t afford to obsess over him.
I have two sculptures in the auction and three more on display. Madyson outvoted me on whether they were ready for the public.
There is no such thing as perfect, and I silence the voice in my head saying I still have time to make it better as I regard my work with a critical eye. If I keep trying for perfection, I’ll fail on the grounds of having nothing to show.
I am not sure how to feel about Madyson, but Alec seems to have put it behind him, and I cannot fight his battles.
My passion feeds my greatest fear of failure. In the past, I’ve spent hours, days, and weeks dedicated to creating things that no one will ever see. What if my art isn’t what people want? It’s paralyzing to think all this could be in vain.
People must critique my work before they learn of my fame. My life hasn’t been mine in so long. It’s vital I stand on my own. I have money, but I don’t have a life.
I came to New York specifically for anonymity, but now there’s a chance I will be worse than anonymous—I’ll be insignificant. Or the opposite of that—someone recognizes my name and my art won’t be the story.
The woman of the hour approaches me in a silk pink halter top and floor-length magenta skirt. “You look amazing.” I grasp the hand she holds out as if it’s a lifeline.
“You clean up good too.” Madyson’s gaze roams from my head to my toes. She hands me a couple of business cards. “These are from patrons interested in ordering custom jewelry. The necklace you made me is a hit.” She winks and takes a step away.
“But I don’t make jewelry.”
Madyson turns so she’s walking backward. “Artists would kill to have creative license and get paid for it. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s a gateway to other opportunities.”
I mutter the ridiculous phrase I don’t understand. But she’s right. It’s why I’m at this event, to connect with clientele and make a name for myself as an artist. So I can go back home a success.
“Hey, beauty queen.” Alec throws an arm around my shoulders. “Are you talking to your imaginary friends?” He is stunning in a double-breasted, charcoal gray suit with a large floral pattern in shades of pink, fitting as if it’s painted on him. The suit is runway ready, and he makes the floral design sexy in a way I’ve never seen a man dress outside of high fashion events. He takes my breath away, and my eyes eat him up. I hated double-breasted suits until this very minute.
“Look a gift horse in the mouth,” I blurt out because I don’t know how to talk to people.
Alec’s brows draw together and his dimples are impossibly deep. “Am I the gift horse in this scenario?”
I shake my head, hoping to regain some composure. “Madyson said it to me, and it makes little sense.”
Alec hip-checks me, laughing. “It’s totally weird, huh? It means don’t find fault with or criticize a good thing.” He scans the room and nods at someone. “Hey, let me introduce you to some of the gallery’s best clients.”
Alec’s infectious smile ingratiates him to everyone we talk to, and I try my best to smile and act friendly.
Alec is…Alec is incredible.
He should be a TV host or professional speaker because he has the room in the palm of his hand. He’s dressed for the part and adds humor to this serious cause.
“Some interesting facts regarding the origin of The Q Solutions, or as I call it, The Q. Back in the day, when the founders were applying for grants and funding to start the program, they wanted to call it Gay Alliance Guidance. This was before LBGTQ+ was a thing, and they were fans of the alliteration. But someone with sense pointed out that the acronym was GAG.” Everyone laughs. “Not the best for marketing.” Alec gets more animated with the audience’s attention, and I’m mesmerized.
Alec tastefully reminds everyone the purpose of The Q and outlines what the funds raised tonight will be used for, making itclear that everything was donated from the art to the flowers to lighting and sound system. One hundred percent of the profits will go to The Q. He knows specific details for each piece of new art.
He’s selling Cole’s paintings as if they’re priceless works. They hope to raise 150,000 dollars, and he surpasses that mark before he’s halfway through the items.
The glossy program in my hand is so professional, and the photographer made each piece shine. My hands shake as I realize my work is up next. I’m hiding in plain sight, but I stand up straight, knowing Alec will use the spotlight to find me. His introduction makes me sound professional, not a guy trying to make a living off his hobby.
I wave and smile as the light hits me. Alec starts the bidding at twice what I thought the piece would sell for. I hold my breath but paddles fly up, and two women who Alec introduced me to start a bidding war that drives the price up to a ridiculous amount. It’s equal parts thrilling and embarrassing, but I will not complain.
The second sculpture is bigger and sells even higher than the first. I sag against the wall, letting hope sink in that I can actually do this. I can create a demand in the US, go home, and craft art from there. It’s too much to believe.