“Well if it isn’t Blair Hawthorne,” Mayko laughed on the other side of the phone.
“Oh, not you, too!” I groaned.
“Everyone is a sinner,” she recited the tagline of the book and now movie.
“Shouldn’t you be building a rocket ship for NASA or something and not reading smut?” Her dream was to become a rocket scientist, go to space, and build a colony on Mars.
“Why can’t I do both?”
Giggling, I shook my head. “How are you?”
“Well, I was great until my older sister called me at seven in the morning.”
“Shit, the time difference. I’m so sorry, Mayko.”
“It’s okay—”
“It’s not okay,” a male voice muttered on the other side of the phone.
“Who was that?” I asked, puzzled.
“The reason I don’t have to read smut,” she giggled, followed by a few other noises that I did not feel comfortable identifying. “Sis, I’ll call you back, okay? Antigone was up all last night, so I’ll let her know you called when she is alive…Kevin…oh my god…haha!”
The line dropped right after that, and I was too stunned say anything.
“Wow, you really have no shame.”
When I spun around, there, in torn blue jeans, flip flops, and a black shirt, was a man glaring so intensely you would have thought I had insulted his mother, his father, and all of his ancestors. His hair was pulled back into a bun, and he had a five o’clock shadow that looked like it had reached its twelfth hour.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, was I interrupting your phone call? Here I was just trying to appreciate the piece of art you are standing in front of…still.”
Following his gaze, I saw the blue painting he was so passionate about and took a step to the right.
“Better, your majesty?” The sarcasm dripped from my lips as I practically bowed.
“Well, now that you’ve moved—”
“You really are an ass,” I said before laughing for some reason. I could not catch a break today.
He laughed and shrugged. “It’s all about perspective. Here I was, silently trying to enjoy Picasso, when some strange woman in shoes she can barely walk in starts mouthing off about smut. And to top it all, she’s wearing sunglasses inside a museum.”
“I can walk fine, thank you very much!” I said, taking off my shades.
Again, he chuckled at me. “That’s the only thing you have a problem with? Not the rudely interrupting my view or talking about smut or the glasses?”
I nodded, proudly crossing my arms. “Yes, because I can fix the other things, but if I still haven’t mastered how to walk in heels at twenty-five, there is no hope.”
As I spoke, couldn’t help but laugh, brushing my hair behind my ears. “Okay, I apologize for being—”
“An ass,” he finished for me.
My mouth dropped open, and he waited.
“Fine. I’m sorry for being an ass.”
“Apology accepted. I’m Léo.” He extended his hand, and I tried to remember the last time I had to introduce myself.
“Amelia.” I shook his hand. His palm was hard, and I noticed his hands had paint and graphite on them. Not too far from the windows was a sketchpad. “Are you an artist, Léo?”
“What gave me away? What are you doing in an art gallery if you don’t like art, Amelia?” he questioned, moving to get his bag and supplies.
“What makes you think I don’t like art?”
To that, his eyebrow rose.
“It’s not that I don’t like art,” I said. “I’ve just never really understood it. I’m more of a words person.”
“You don’t think there are words in that paint?” He frowned, rising again. He stepped right in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“What are you—”
He turned me to face the painting. “What do you see?”
“A man holding a guitar,” I replied.
“Okay, but what do you feel when you see it?”
“I—”
“Shh!” he cut me off.
“Did you just—”
“Shh,” he shushed me a second time with a laugh. “Just stare at it. Imagine it’s someone you love, and you walked in to them like this. They didn’t say a single word. They just stayed frozen like this.”
Tilting my head to the side, I did what he asked and tried to see someone in the image, but the person I saw bothered me too much to keep staring.
“What would you ask?” he asked softly.
“Why are you so blue?” I joked.
“Right,” he answered seriously. “Why. So. Blue? Of all the colors, why did Picasso choose blue?”
“I’m guessing you know the reason,” I said.
“Yeah. It was during his blue period.”
“You’re fucking with me now,” I laughed.
“Nope,” he said, and I noticed how he didn’t back away. Yet I didn’t mind it. “During this time, he was struggling with depression. Some sources say he even thought of giving up painting. Nothing he did was good enough anymore. Under this very painting, there are three other figures. I always wondered how it must have felt to be one of the greatest and most influential artists of the twentieth century and walk into your own studio not once or twice but three times and hate the very thing you created with your own hands so much that you had to cover it up.”
“Amelia?” We both turned toward the entrance where Noah stood, staring at us blankly. “Everyone is waiting for you.”
“Shit! Really?” I rushed toward him, but stopped halfway. “It was nice meeting you, Léo, and thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“Calling me out.”
“Anytime,” he responded with a grin.
“Yeah, I found her. We are on our way back now,” Noah said on the phone, still waiting. Waving once more at Léo, I followed Noah out of the gallery. “You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself,” he said.
“Why, because some crazed fan is going to jump me in a museum? It’s like no one knows me here.” For a few seconds, I was just Amelia, and I liked it.
“Just because someone doesn’t say they know you doesn’t mean they don’t know you. You should get a bodyguard.”
“I’m fine, Dad, thanks,” I muttered under my breath. We turned the corner to find the whole crew just standing around. Even worse, the director looked pissed. Checking my phone, I noticed almost an hour had gone by since he told me to take a short break.
“You really are trying to prove everyone right, aren’t you?” Noah said, leaving me to face them on my own.
“Amelia, there you are,” Ollie’s voice went up two octaves.
Shit.
Noah
What the hell happened?
I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling it had to be that guy—Léo, I think she said his name was. Leave her alone for a few minutes, and she was attracting strays, like always. I wonder what it must be like to be so blissfully ignorant to the dangers of our lives. Either way, the person she was this morning and the person she was now were light years apart, so again, what the fuck happened?
“Cut. Amazing, Amelia. Let’s just go straight into the next scene at the vault, alright?” The director jumped up. Everyone scattered like bugs hurrying to get what they needed. They moved quickly, most likely worried that whatever had inspired her latest performance would evaporate.
“Great. Do you mind if I do at least part of the stunt myself?” she asked with a wide smile, downing the bottle of water and following behind them.
“Yeah. I mean no. Sure, but your contract—”
“I want it to look as real as possible. I swear I’ll be careful not to push beyond anything I can do,” she assured.
Huh? I was so lost.
“What did you say to her this time?” Austin whispered beside me, making me even more confused.
Clenching my jaw, I took my spot next to her. She didn’t look at me. Instead, she just inhaled, whispered something to herself, and focused on the camera in front of our faces.