Page 17 of You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty

“You know, being kidnapped by a Nigerian is turning out to be way more lit than I expected,” he said.

Feyi smacked his arm. “Shut up.” She laughed and scooted closer to him, dropping her head on his shoulder. They sat together as the cab went over the Williamsburg Bridge, watching the streets turn until Feyi directed the driver to pull over. She took a deep breath as they climbed up to the third floor, and she unlocked the door to her studio, flipping on the lights. The electricity crackled as the space lit up, and Feyi exhaled. This felt more intimate than anything they’d done so far. Nasir took slow steps, tracing his fingers along the rough edge of a workbench, running his eyes along the walls. Large photographs were hanging pinned from a clear line, images of gallery walls.

“That was one of my first group shows,” Feyi said, wrapping her arms around herself. Nasir stepped in for a closer look. The pictures showed stained clothes displayed behind clear glass. A pair of jeans, splashed dark on the thigh. A ripped T-shirt frozen in stiff folds.

“Is that blood?” Nasir asked, his voice soft.

Feyi pulled her artist persona over her face, polished control sliding smoothly over old scarred flesh. “I recovered the clothes from the accident,” she explained.

He let out a low whistle. “That’s heavy.”

“Yeah. I lost a lot of lightness back then.” She glanced at him. “It’s been nice to find some of it again.”

“You still have these pieces?”

Feyi nodded and gestured to the other end of the studio. “Stored out of the sunlight.” Her movement encompassed a freezer against one of the walls, with a transparent door showing neatly labeled plastic buckets.

“What’s that?” Nasir asked.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Feyi’s mouth. “It’s blood,” she answered, and laughed at his raised eyebrow. “I work a lot in blood now. Since the accident. It’s so … it’s necessary to be alive. I think there’s something in using it deliberately now, versus the accident pieces, you know? There wasn’t much … choice there.”

Nasir missed the way her voice shifted into the past, he was still staring at the freezer. “Human blood?” he asked.

“Nah, pig blood.” Feyi reached up and pulled off a large covering, exposing a thickly painted canvas, taller than her and stretching across the wall. It was covered in rows of neat bloody handprints, each of them with a jagged line marring the middle. “Been using it to make things like this.”

Nasir came up next to her and took her left hand in his, touching the scar on her palm. “It’s you,” he said. “Over and over and over.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful, Feyi.” He laced his fingers with hers. “I had no idea your work would look like this. Shit, I had no idea it would … feel like this.”

She ducked her head. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s wild. For real.” Nasir turned to her fully. “Okay, so I have a proposition for you.”

Feyi raised an eyebrow. “Sounds promising already.”

“Remember when I told you my dad’s the one who got me into collecting?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Okay, so he’s on the board for the National Museum back home and he’s best friends with Rebecca Owo—”

“Shut up! The curator?”

“Yup, and get this—she’s curating this group show for the museum that’s opening next month. Black Diaspora artists. Apparently, there was some drama and one of the participants pulled out or got kicked out? I’m still waiting to get all the tea on that, but here’s the fun part. Rebecca was gonna just close up their slot, but I got my dad to put your name in the mix.”

Feyi pulled her hand out of his. “Don’t play with me, Nasir.”

He grinned, his teeth white and broad. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope. If you want it, it’s yours. I gotta give him an answer by tomorrow, though.”

“You hadn’t even seen my work! Did you look it up?”

“Nah. I figured I’d wait till you were ready to show me yourself. But they looked you up for sure. Guess they liked what they found.”