Intaglio: The Snake and the Coins (11 page)

“Just watching
out for you,” he said kindly.

Suzanne nodded,
turning to Ava, her face serious.

“You know if you
ever do get caught, you should just call a lawyer, Ava.  Don’t even talk
to the police without one,” she said gravely.  “Chim’s right. 
There’ll be consequences at your age.  Jail time, even.”

“I don’t
know
any lawyers, Suzanne,” Ava scoffed.

Suzanne laughed,
her dark sheet of hair hiding her face for a moment. 

“Suzanne’s mom
is a lawyer,” Chim admitted with a grin.  “Nice lady.”

Suddenly Ava was
bellowing with laughter; the absurdity of ‘Chim the Revolutionary’ dating the
middle-class daughter of a lawyer was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“Oh my god,
Marcus,” she gasped, still laughing.  “You’re sleeping with the fucking
enemy.  You know that, right?”

He grinned and
kissed Suzanne, who was giggling too.

“Gotta keep you
guys guessing...” he said after a minute.  “Wouldn’t expect that from me
now, would you?”

: : : : : : : :
: :

An hour later
and Cole was ready to leave.  He was overtired from the final push to
complete the sculpture.  It wasn’t at all what he’d intended it to be when
he began, and it was certainly not realistic in the way he’d originally
envisioned, but it still felt like ‘Ava’ to him.  He smiled, wondering
what her reaction would be.

“Well, I should
run, guys,” he said, grabbing his coat and dropping two twenties on the table.

“Hey!  No
way!  That’s way too much!” Suzanne said, picking through her purse for
change, but Cole waved it off, standing up from the booth.

“Thanks for
letting me hang out,” he said, heading off without another word.

He had just made
it outside, wondering if the leaden sky meant rain or snow, when he heard her
jog up behind him.  He turned around, grinning, seeing Ava approach. 
His smile wavered as he saw her face.  She was furious; her expression
brewing with something dark.

“What was
that,”
she snapped, hands on hips.

Cole took an
uncertain step backward.

“What was…?”

She pointed
angrily at the now-closed door of the Crown.

“That!” she
hissed.

For a second,
Cole wondered if she was angry that he had asked her to come home for
Christmas.  It had been spur of the moment, certainly, but it wasn’t like
he’d proposed, and the group of them had joked for a long time afterward. 
He was about to open his mouth and protest when Ava strode forward so that she
was only half a step away.  The two of them toe to toe. 

“You didn’t even
say goodbye to me,” she said, voice shaking.  “What’s
up
with that,
Thomas?” 

In that instant,
he could see the flip side of her fury…
the fear.
  She was chewing
the inside of her lower lip, her body coiled tight, ready to explode.

“Hey now,” Cole
said, giving her a lopsided grin.  He reached out, running the back of his
knuckles along the length of her jawline.  “I’m sorry, Ava… I just… I just
didn’t know how much you’d said to your friends about us, and I didn’t want
them to assume...”  He paused.  “
Things
.”

She let out a
frustrated sigh. 

“You could have
at least said bye to me,” she grumbled petulantly.

Cole leaned
closer, his hands running down her arms, feeling the chill of her skin through
his palms.

“I
wanted
to kiss you,” he admitted.

She glared up at
him, blue eyes sparking with a challenge.

“Well, why
didn’t you?”

Cole grinned, he
liked
her voice when she was annoyed.  He shrugged and answered
honestly.

“Because I
didn’t know what you
wanted
me to do.  I mean, sometimes it just seems
like you need…
space
.  Other times, not so much.”  He
laughed.  “Honestly, Ava, I just don’t know what we’re doing here.”

With an
exasperated groan, her hands came up to grab his collar.

“God,
Cole.  We’re
together
, alright?   A couple.  Don’t
be so fucking dense.”

With that she
pulled him down and kissed him hard, their tongues and lips coming together in
a rush of wanting.  Minutes later, the kiss ended and Ava backed
away.  She was breathing hard and grinning.  She waved once, then
crossed the darkened parking lot, heading back toward the closed door of the
bar.  Cole watched her retreat, his heart thudding in his chest. 

As she reached
the door, she turned around.

“And yeah, I’ll
come to your house for Christmas,” she shouted.  “Nothing like a dysfunctional
family to get me in the holiday spirit.”

Cole chuckled,
and the door banged closed.  With a smile, he turned and began walking
home. 

It felt like he
was in flow again.

The following
night, Ava, Chim and Suzanne attended Chambers’ wrap party.  It was held
at the same downtown gallery as the opening so many weeks earlier. The show’s
signage, picked out in a strong serif font, was visible along the white band of
the entrance.  Qaletaqa “Kip” Chambers,
The Art of Rebellion
. 
Seeing his full name, Ava struggled to remember its origins.  She’d read
it in a magazine once. 
‘Cherokee...?  Blackfoot...?’
 
her mind asked.  It was something she’d have to ask Kip about later.

The graffiti
show would be dismantled after tonight, moving on to another city in the next
days.  This particular gathering was a private affair, with black-suited
buyers from various galleries – some representing private buyers and interests
abroad – carrying manila folders, checking items off lists as they walked
through.  Many of the paintings were now marked by yellow “purchased” dots
on the name tags.  More paintings were being pre-ordered even before the
canvases had been stretched or painted.  There were curators and agents in
the crowd too, mingling and talking with one another.  One elderly man was
on his cell phone, arguing loudly in Mandarin.   Meanwhile, Raya
Simpson was holding court by the large frontispiece of the show, an anti-war
painting full of lurid colours and obscene language that provided a bright
backdrop to her bright white suit.

Ava felt
completely
out of her element.

She had dressed
up for the event: a black silk second hand dress, new kitten heels and a silver
pendant of a Chinese character that her father had given to her for her birthday. 
She still felt like a fraud surrounded by the opulence of the affair.  At
Marcus’s insistence, Ava had created a professional portfolio – photocopying it
at an office supply store hours before the event.  She had given out a number
of copies already.  For some reason, Kip Chambers took it on himself to
introduce her around, so Ava was suddenly the uncomfortable recipient of much
attention. 

“Ms. Brooks here
is an amazing artist,” Kip repeated as he introduced her to one art director
after another.  “A real star to watch.”

She tried to
ignore his hand on the small of her back, smiling and nodding instead. 
Cole would be coming later.  The university curators had called him a few
hours earlier.  They’d been having trouble getting his piece in place
(there were concerns about the balance of the statue) and the head curator
wanted his help moving it.  Cole had promised Ava that he would be here as
soon as he could, but in the meantime, she was left fumbling through the crowd.

The throng of
people parted and Ava caught sight of Raya heading up to the microphone near
the front to speak.  Suddenly there was a hand on Ava’s hip and she
jumped.  Kip’s fingers slid to her lower back once more.  He leaned
in, his breath warm against her ear.

“You’re doing
great,” he said quietly.  “I’m sure you’ll be getting calls from some of
these gallery owners.”

She smiled at
his words, but then his fingers began to move, going from a flat palm on her
lower back –
almost
acceptable – to stroking gently where they rested at
her waist, hinting at something more.  He was watching her fixedly, his
warm eyes full of unspoken promises.  Ava felt a sliver of panic. 
Kip Chambers was attractive, of course, but it was the unspoken
assumption
in his gaze which worried her.

“I want to talk
to you later, Ava,” he said, his eyes dropping lower.  “
Alone
...”

Without
answering, she pulled back, letting Kip’s hand fall away.  She might be a
novice at this, but she knew she didn’t want to be beholden to
anyone
for her success. 

Chambers least
of all.

: : : : : : : :
: :

An hour and a
half later, and Cole
still
hadn’t arrived.  In the intervening
time, Ava had lost sight of Chim, Suzanne and even Kip.  She gave out all
of her portfolios and scribbled her name on the back of at least twenty
different cards.  The heels that had looked so cute when she’d put them on
at the mall now pinched her toes and she was starting to get really fucking
irritated.  

‘Goddamnit, Cole
Thomas.  Where the hell are you?!’

With a wave of
anxiety, Ava glanced to the back of the stuffy, overcrowded gallery, trying to
locate the door where Simpson had taken her the first night to talk about the
summer art project.  She just needed out of here for a moment.

Seeing the door,
Ava stumbled her way to the back, feeling her baby toe starting to pulse
painfully.  She knew she was going to have blisters tomorrow.
‘Just
fucking great,’
she thought as she reached the door.  She grabbed hold
of the handle, pushing it open without knocking. 

‘Oh my god...’

She had it
half-opened before she really
saw
what was inside – a woman in white on
the desk, her head tipped back in ecstasy, skirt hiked up over her hips, while
a man with longish brown hair pumped hard and fast into her.  Ava blinked
in shock before closing the door  and backing away.  She had the
sudden, horrifying thought that either participant inside the room could have
seen
her
seeing them, and the thought of
that
left her struggling with
suppressed laughter.

She stumbled her
way to the front door, the remembered image leaving her snickering.  That
was
not
the picture of Kip Chambers she needed to have stuck in her head
all night, but it seemed to be burned into the back of her retinas.  She
had no idea how she was going to work with him after seeing
that. 
Reaching
the empty street, Ava glanced in both directions and stepped into the
alley.  As expected, Chim and Suzanne were there, along with a balding,
middle-aged man in a dark suit.  The three of them were tucked into the
overhang near the back door, toking up. 

Chim glanced up
as Ava’s heels announced her approach.

“Hey Booker,”
Marcus said with a mellow smile.  “How’s it goin’?”

Ava walked up,
her hand outstretched.

“I need a
fucking smoke, Chim...”

: : : : : : : :
: :

Half an hour
later, Ava’s mood had improved significantly.  Even her shoes that were
half a size too small didn’t seem so bad anymore.  She was still in the
alley but she now floated on a blur of alcohol and cannabis.  The exit to
the alley was a brightly swirl of colour housed in a black frame of buildings,
the blurry neon signs reflected in the puddles painted in pastel shades.
‘Like
a Monet,’
Ava’s mind whispered, and she giggled.

Chim and Suzanne
left her to talk business with the pot-smoking man in the black suit.  It
turned out he was the director of the National Gallery.  He was here
tonight because he was putting together a show of non-mainstream
painters.  She grinned hazily:  Ava had just secured her first
official gallery show, and it was going to be amazing! 

The event was
going to be completely graffiti-focused.  Ava would do an installation in
the huge gallery space next summer, which might or might not impact Simpson’s
project.  It wasn’t a choice though… this one was a
national
opportunity.  Shaking his hand once to seal the deal, she headed toward
the front doors of the gallery.  A single thought kept running through her
mind:
  ‘I need to tell Cole.’

Walking back
inside, she noted a distinct change in the atmosphere.  For one, it was a
hell of a lot quieter.  The steady chatter that had filled the room like a
rush of water was now a dull whisper.  Secondly, everyone was turned
toward the fronts-piece artwork – the anti-war painting – where two men stood,
chest to chest, shouting at one another.  The crowd around them was rapt
with attention, a communal breath held in expectation.

‘That’s Cole and
Kip...’

“… and what I’m
saying
,”
Cole growled, his voice rising angrily, “is that your work is blatantly
simplified.  It doesn’t tell the
whole truth
or even
part
of
it.  It gives a commercialized talking point agenda of
disobedience
.
Nothing else!”