Page 52 of Something Like Forever

“If I thought such thingscould tempt you, I would have begun this conversation by appealingto your ego.” Marcello laced his fingers together, resting them onhis belly. “The new Eric Conroy Gallery will need more than just asuitable space, or someone to get it off the ground. We needpublicity. We also require a lucrative method of fundraising. Iwon’t rely on my army of philanthropists with disposable incomes. Icould appeal to them, but if we truly want this to be sustainable,then we must cultivate local support and interest.”

Tim took a deep breath.When that wasn’t enough, he drained his beer. “Tell me yourplan.”

“You’ll travel toJapan—”

“I don’t speak thelanguage.”

“You’ll have a translatorat your disposal. Your primary occupation will be seeking out asuitable gallery space. I’ll stir the PR pot from over here. Whenwe’re ready, you’ll host another exhibition of your art, and if youfind the idea agreeable, a portion of the proceeds will go tosupporting the new gallery.”

“All of it,” Tim said. “Ilike the idea of my paintings helping other artists.”

“You’ll do it?”

Tim opened his mouth, onthe verge of agreeing. Then he thought of brown eyes that could besteel-hard with courage at times, and wet with vulnerability atothers. “I need to talk to Ben first.”

Marcello appeared pleased.“I shall entrust the outcome of this mad scheme to his gentlewisdom.”

“Very nice,” Tim said.“Maybe you should try writing haikus. We could both be big inJapan.”

“Tempting,” Marcello said.“I’ve always been more partial to limericks. I was inspired towrite a new one recently. Would you like me to reciteit?”

“Crack me open another ofthose beers,” Tim said, “and I’ll listen to anything you’ve got tosay.”

* * * * *

“You’re famous?” Benasked, clearly struggling to come to terms with theidea.

He wasn’t the only one. Timstill found it unbelievable that anyone liked his art. Eric hadalways been supportive. Ben too, but they loved him. Tim alwaysfigured they couldn’t separate the art from the man who made it. Inother words, they were biased. Maybe theyweren’tjust flattering him. He wasalways enraptured by Ben’s singing, and he didn’t think loveinfluenced that. Tim had been blown away since the verybeginning.

They were still in bed,the day young. Tim had waited a night before broaching the subjectso he could sort through his own feelings. He had wanted to bestone-cold sober too. Now he couldn’t wait any longer, and for therecord, Ben might not be a former super-model, but he also lookeddamn fine first thing in the morning.

“Mind if I take a photo?”Tim asked, reaching for his phone.

“Of me?” Ben said,recoiling from the idea. “Right now? Why?”

To show Nathaniel, butthat sounded weird, so he changed the subject. “Never mind. And no,I’m not famous. These things happen in the art world. It’s likeTwitter or anything else. An artist will start trending, and forthat week or month, they’ll be all the rage. Then people will moveon to whatever is next. That’s why if we do this—I’ve already saidno multiple times—but if we do this, it needs to besoon.”

Ben exhaled, no doubtgoing over the details in his mind just as Tim had done numeroustimes since meeting with Marcello. “What if you’re not just a flashin the pan?”

“Nothing changes,” Timsaid. “I can paint from here and ship stuff over. I would only goto Japan to get the new gallery set up.”

“Which would double thenumber of artists you can help. And be good exposure for your art.”Ben hugged a pillow to himself. “How long would you begone?”

“Tough to say. Marcellothinks a month at minimum.”

Ben was pensive, staringoff into space. Then he blinked. “If I put off getting my master’sand fly over there with you, what do we do with Chinchilla? Can wetake her with us?”

“I wish,” Tim said.“Bulldogs are banned from cargo holds, and she’s too big to fly inthe cabin so… You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’m notgoing.”

“I think you should,” Bensaid. “It’s just a month. Even if it’s six weeks, it’ll still flyby. I’ll stay here with Chinchilla and hold down the fort. Betweenmy studies and work, I won’t even notice you’re gone.”

Tim frowned. “Really?”

“No,” Ben admitted,grabbing Tim’s arm and rolling over so they could spoon. “I’ll hatenot having you here, and I’ll miss you every day.”

“Then let’s forget aboutit,” he murmured against Ben’s neck.

“We can’t always beselfish. I really want to be, but think of how many people youcould help and where they would be without you. Hitler wanted to bean artist, you know, but he was never given a chance. If you don’tgo, any future World Wars are basically your fault.”