Page 36 of One Bad Knight
After we’d cleaned up and dressed quickly in the studio, though I didn’t give a damn who walked in on us, Kat remained firm that the pictures were to go back into the closet. Though she paused by the one of me huddled in the corner as a boy, her fingers playing with the edge of the canvas.
The pain in that painting was so private, so close to me. But I nodded at her, giving her silent permission to add it to the show.
Kat deserved to shine, and my pain was inconsequential. I would have cut out my own heart and handed it to her on the spot if she asked.
No matter how big the crowd got, her eyes kept finding me. A mixture of sensual memory mixed with a pure unadulterated joy shone from them. She was in her element. These people saw her for what she was, but I could tell she wanted to remain connected to me. The selfish part of me absolutely preened at the knowledge.
Mine, mine, mine.
I shouldn’t think such things. They would only be the memories I would cut myself on later.
Eventually, the crowd gave her a break and Kat’s friend, Viet, joined her.
We’d officially met at the beginning of the show. She didn’t ask questions even though I saw them crowded behind her dark eyes. I appreciated that.
The two women didn’t notice I was close enough to hear them, as I pretended to be absorbed in a painting. I’d already memorized all the lines of her pictures, so I could save them for later in my mind when I was alone, stuck in a world of gray again.
“They shouldn’t have done that,” Viet said quietly. “Pulled your art out from the closet before you were ready. I tried to stop them, but I should have tried harder.”
Kat sighed. “No, Viet, it’s not your fault.”
Anger tinged the other woman’s voice now. “They literally dragged you out from the closet. The curator said you needed to come to terms with bringing it out in the open, but that is nonsense. Art is so personal. It’s your joy, your pain. You should get to choose the time and place you want to share it, if at all. If that happened to me, I would have freaked out.”
“You mean like how I did?” Kat said, smiling around her glass of champagne.
“Worse.” Viet gave a solemn nod. “Nancy may have an impeccable eye for art, but she is no artist.” Viet suddenly grabbed Kat’s hand, looking up at her with feeling. “Everyone can’t stop talking about ‘the boy in darkness,’ but I hope you did it for you. And I want you to know if you do need a place to share your joy, your pain, outside or inside your art, I’m here. I care about you. I hope you feel that.”
I watched Kat’s reaction. She seemed taken aback and an unnamed fear flitted across her eyes before she was back to normal. “Of course, Viet. I know that.”
“You can trust me,” Viet went on. “I know you are surrounded by these hoity-toity types who care more about your uncle’s campaign or whatever the fuck, but I’m here for you. Whenever you want it or need it.”
Kat looked at the champagne glass in her hand as she rolled the stem between her fingers. Her eyes had turned misty.
“Thank you, Viet.” She squeezed her friend’s hand back.
Despite her thanks, I knew that look in Kat’s eyes. She stood behind a glass wall, and as much as she wanted to trust Viet, she couldn’t let herself. Kat was surrounded by people who wanted things—they tore and grasped for purchase on power and money. It went beyond what people sought to get from her relationship to her uncle, who was a powerful man. Those people didn't see Kat for what she was. I heard the whispers at the parties. She was rich, privileged, and beautiful, so she deserved to suffer the most. To have everything ripped from her perfect fingers and ground in the dirt, so she would know pain.
No one saw the pain she carried. How she tried to squeeze herself into a box, rearranging her bones to fit a shape that wasn’t her own. All to secure a modicum of love and respect from her family. How acutely lonely she was in the sea of vapid, insatiable predators that nibbled on caviar and sipped thousand-dollar champagne.
The two women were interrupted by patrons walking up to talk to Kat about her work. I took a moment to study Viet. She was good and true.
I should know. I’d been surrounded by those qualities my whole life; told I should become them though I couldn’t. I may not be good, but I certainly had learned to identify what I was not.
And Kat needed someone like that in her life.
Especially after I was gone.
A couple caught my attention. They held hands and whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Even as friends joined them, they didn’t break away.
An image of me standing next to Kat, my hand on her lower back as she chatted with her fans, struck me. As soon as I envisioned it, I shook it off. That wasn’t my life. That wasn’t me. I stayed back, watching and waiting.
For the next half hour as the party began to die down, Kat’s head swiveled back and forth. Anxiety tightened the edges of her eyes, as they bounced to the door continually. I knew who she was waiting for, and I could offer no comfort in the matter. Her family had yet to show up.
Viet threw her arms around Kat one last time. “Are you going to meet us for drinks afterward?
“I hope so, but I’m a bit worn out,” Kat said, sounding weary. “We’ll see.”
“Okay, a bunch of us will be at the club, Syn, going on about your success. I hope you’ll come.” Then with a final hug, she left. Viet paused when she passed the older man who entered. She sent a hopeful smile back at Kat and shot her two thumbs up.