Work of Art by Monica Alexander

automatically.
    “Yeah?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
    For some reason I needed to see her art. I needed to see what she’d created , and I didn’t want to go back to her tattoo parlor when she definitely didn’t want to see me. I was kicking myself for not noticing it earlier, but I’d been more nervous about getting a tattoo. And then on the way out, I’d been so consumed with the fact that I’d seen her that I hadn’t glanced around at anything.
    But I needed to feel connected to her again, and I had no idea why I felt that way. It wasn’t right. I was getting married in a month. I didn’t need to be screwing around with someone I hadn’t seen in over a decade, but I was intrigued. She’d lived an entire life since we’d been apart, and I had to know what that life entailed. I had to know her again.
    “Give me the list of galleries,” I demanded, holding my hand out.
    “Whoa, slow your roll. I’m sure they’re not open. It’s Saturday evening.”
    “I don’t care. Just give it to me.” I was sure my eyes were wild. I was like a crazy person on a mission, and I couldn’t turn it off.
    He laid his phone down on the bar and let me read the names listed. I was familiar with a few of them, but I chose the first name on the list and dialed it as Brandon shook his head and mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
    “They’re not going to be open,” he sung, as he swallowed the last drink of his beer and signaled the bartender for another one.
    “Hello, Elizabeth Danville Gallery. Cora speaking. How may I help you.”
    “Oh, uh, hi. This is Ryan Carson.”
    “Mr. Carson, how are you this evening?”
    “Fine thanks. Listen–”
    “Is there a problem with the painting?” she interrupted.
    “What? What painting?”
    “The one your fiancé, Trisha Spencer purchased last month. The Harper Connelly.”
    Excuse me?
    Trish had purchased a painting that Harper had done? No way. No fucking way.
    “Oh, uh, no. No problem. Wait, how do you know who I am?”
    “Well, Mr. Carson, Trisha has purchased several paintings from our gallery, and she made sure we knew who you were in case there was an issue. She’s actually one of our best customers. Do give her our best, won’t you?”
    I was dumbstruck. “Uh, yeah. I’ll do that.”
    “Fantastic. Now what can I do for you?”
    “Oh, uh, I just wanted to know your hours.”
    “We’re open seven days a week at 10 am, and our closing hours vary, but we do stay open later on Friday and Saturday night for events and viewings.”
    “And do you have any more paintings by Harper Connelly at your gallery at the moment.”
    “We do have several on display, but they’ve all been sold I’m afraid. Ms. Connelly committed to getting us additional work, but it won’t be available until the end of the month.”
    “Thank you,” I said and promptly hung up the phone.
    “What?” Brandon asked, rapt from what he’d heard. “What’d she say?”
    I scrubbed my face with my hand. “Um, well, they have some of her work on display, but apparently I already have one of her paintings hanging in my condo.”
    “No shit!”
    “Yeah, Trish gave me one for my birthday last month, and I didn’t even pay attention to who the artist was. It’s the large painting in the dining room, the one of downtown Carmel at night?” Brandon shrugged like he couldn’t remember. “We went there for the weekend when I asked her to marry me, so she bought me a painting to commemorate the day.”
    Brandon started laughing. “That’s classic, dude.”
    I turned to glare at him. “No it isn’t. Shut up.”
    I felt like my head was spinning, and I needed to get my bearings. Thing s were happening too fast. Harper hadn’t been a factor for me in years, and suddenly she was everywhere. I felt my head drop onto the bar.
    “Hey, can I get this guy a shot? ” Brandon asked then. I looked up to see him signaling the bartender. “Tequila. Stat.”
    “No, I don’t need tequila,” I