Vegas Knights (18 page)

Kelly eyed him warily, sniffing and doing her best to swallow her sobs. At her curt nod, relief flooded his face. "Okay, good. I'll see you around eight, sound good?"

She shrugged and looked away. It didn't really matter what time he came to collect her. She wouldn't be here. She'd be on a flight to New York.

Kelly was dozing in her seat when the flight attendant rolled up with a drink cart. "Miss, would you like something?"

Yeah, I'd like a lot of things
, she thought, but shook her head at the woman. Her seat mate ordered a bloody mary. He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "Hate flying. Need something to calm the nerves."

Kelly gave him a fake smile and turned to look out the window. Blocks of brown, tan and green passed beneath them as they flew over farmland somewhere in the midwest. She rested her forehead on the cool acrylic, remembering the last time she passed through this part of the country on the back of Rick's bike. A single tear plopped on the grimy plastic surround. Kelly brushed the dampness away from her eyes and took a cleansing breath. No sense getting worked up again. It was over, and by now Rick had found her note.
 

After he'd left, Kelly crumpled to the floor and cried for a good long time. When she ran out of tears, she trudged into the shower hoping to freshen up. She was exhausted, but she had a lot to do before she caught a cab to McCarran Airport. Wrapped in a soft robe, Kelly stood in front of the fully stocked closet wondering what, if anything, she should take. None of it belonged to her but she had to at least look presentable when she arrived at the gallery. In the end, she chose a loose, pale blue silk dress and crepe cardigan by Eileen Fisher to wear on the plane, and packed her old dress and painting clothes into a big brown shopping bag. It wasn't even half-full.
 

Then she set about plane-proofing her paintings. Greta had instructed her how to box and bind them in such a way that would prevent damage. She followed that by wrapping them thoroughly in paper and labeling them fragile. It was a bulky package but not terribly heavy.
 

It was close to four in the morning by the time she was finally ready. Knowing she didn't have enough to pay for a cab to the airport or for one when she got to New York, Kelly pulled two crisp $100 bills out of the stack Rick had left for her. She'd figure out the rest when she got there.

Her hand was on the penthouse's ornate door handle when she stopped. She may be angry with Rick, but he didn't deserve to be left wondering what happened to her, where she'd gone. She had to leave him a note.

At the kitchen counter, she found a pad of paper and scribbled, tears smearing the ink before it dried.
 

Rick,

I'm sorry I can't meet you for breakfast. Beth got me a show in New York, and I wasn't sure if I should go but, under the circumstances, I think it would be best. For the record, I wish things had turned out differently for us. Please know I never wanted anything from you but your heart.
 

Kelly

PS: I borrowed $200 and I took one of outfits from the closet. I'll pay you back as soon as I can.
 

Now halfway through a flight taking her to a new life, one she'd always dreamed of, one she'd worked for her entire life, Kelly could summon no emotion but sadness. She wanted to cry, but she didn't have any more tears left in her. The one that dropped on the fuselage was the last she would ever shed. A numbness crept over her. Some deep, nameless part of her soul had withered up and died like a delicate flower, and no amount of loving care could ever bring it back to life.

Her finger traced a scratch on the window as she pushed thoughts of Rick out of her head and focused on her upcoming landing in the Big Apple. She'd left in such a hurry, and boarded the plane so early in the morning, she hadn't had a chance to call Beth to say goodbye. She'd call when she landed, or better yet, after she arrived at Soto Gallery so the gallerist could confirm she was the right person.

A twinge of excitement broke through the ice surrounding her heart. She was doing it. A gallery had chosen
her
for a solo show. So what if a friend had called in a favor? Just goes to prove the truth of the old saying 'It's not what you know, it's who you know.' She'd always hated that saying, mainly because she didn't know anyone influential. But now...

She hoped Beth could make the show. She would, of course, invite Greta, but had a feeling her mentor might be otherwise occupied. Maybe she could even track down Brutus while she was in town. It had been so long and she missed her best friend.
 

Visions of little red 'SOLD' dots peppering her paintings played through her mind as she nodded off with her head resting against the window. Her dreams were disjointed and vaguely upsetting but, when she woke with a start, she couldn't remember them.
 

Her seat neighbor was passed out, his head dangling uncomfortably close to her shoulder, and reeked of booze. Instead of waiting around for him to drool on her, she unbuckled her seatbelt to take a little walk around the plane, stretch her legs. But as she eased her rear from her seat, the seatbelt light bonged.
 

"The captain has turned on the Fasten Seatbelt sign," said the bored voice of a flight attendant. "Please return to your seats as we prepare for landing."

Landing! She was almost in New York! Her pulse quickened as she pulled up the window shade — her neighbor must have closed it — and got her first glimpse of the city. Skyscrapers reached for the stratosphere amongst an impossibly dense cluster of buildings. She wasn't exactly sure where the Lower East Side was from this perspective, but she imagined she could almost see Bohemian artists clad in all-black, dour expressions on their faces, as they slunk down the street toward the nearest beatnik poetry reading.
 

She chewed on her bottom lip, eager to join them.
This
was what she was meant to be doing, not living in some fantasy world where she'd find happily ever after with a hot billionaire biker. What had she been thinking? Rick wasn't really even her type. She preferred more artsy guys.
Sure, the sex was mind-blowing
, she told herself,
but hot fires burn out quickly
.

As good a time as she'd had on their road trip, riding around on the back of a motorcycle was not what she went to art school for. But she'd be forever grateful to Rick for yanking her out of the corporate life in which she'd become accidentally mired. There was no telling how long she would have suffered in that toxic environment if he hadn't come along. Plus, she never would have met Beth otherwise, and because of her, Kelly was finally getting her big break. So, really, in a roundabout way, Rick was responsible for her soon-to-be success.

Maybe I should invite him to the show
. Uncertainty picked at her brain. She ached at the thought of not having him there, but it would be awkward for both of them. Besides, he'd never come. The show was set to open next; he'd never make in time on his bike, and since his father's death, he refused to fly.
Probably for the best
.

Still, a part of her had warmed at the prospect of seeing him again. She regretted the way things had ended, how she'd just left without saying goodbye. But if she'd actually stuck around to have breakfast the next day, it would have been all to easy for him to sweet-talk her into staying. Hopefully he would look back on this one day and realize that everything happened for a reason, and that they were both better off in the long run. She in Manhattan and him on the road.

Hot, tired and hungry, Kelly waited for her paintings to come out of the baggage hold. Because they were oversized, they wouldn't fit on the conveyor belt so every other passenger on her overbooked flight had collected their luggage, while Kelly waited for someone to deliver hers.
 

An hour after the flight landed, a burly, overweight man in a blue uniform trudged into baggage claim manhandling her package, bumping it into the doorjamb, heedless of the damage he might be causing. She ran up to him and presented her ticket, which he painstakingly checked against the label on the box. Kelly rolled her eyes.
I'm the only person here, dumbass!
She wisely didn't voice this thought.

By the time she made it to the curb, the cabs she'd been expecting to see were gone. All of her fellow passengers had gotten there first. She leaned her paintings against the wall, and followed suit, resting her eyes while she stretched her legs. In the distance, she spotted a distinctive yellow blob moving toward the pick-up area and breathed a sigh of relief. It was much more humid than she thought it would be and her dress was sticking to her body.
 

As the cab pulled up to the curb, Kelly collected her package and was stepping forward when a man in a business suit rushed out of the terminal and hopped in the cab.
 

"Hey! That's my cab!" Kelly shouted at him.

He turned to her, his appraising gaze raking her full figure, a sneer curling his lip. "Go fuck yourself," was his calm reply as he slammed the door. The cab driver couldn't have cared less, and sped off as soon as the door was closed.

The man might as well have punched her in the solar plexus. She was frozen in place, breathless from his action and then his unbelievably rude comment. Tears started forming but Kelly shook them away, refusing to allow such a horrible specimen to affect her.
 

"Nope, this is
my
day," she said to no one in particular. "I'm not going to give that fuckwad the power to bother me." Still, she was shaken by the encounter.

Another cab was moving toward her, anyway, so Kelly sidled up to the curb to make sure she didn't lose this one.
Lesson learned
, she thought as she carefully slid the paintings into the backseat.

"Where you go, lady?" The cabbie's name, prominently displayed on a little placard attached to the thick acrylic partition, was unpronounceable, so she just smiled and gave him the address of the Soto Gallery.

"Be about $100, okay?"

Kelly still had the $200 she'd taken from the pile Rick had left for her. When she'd asked the doorman Peter for a cab, he'd arranged for one of Peterson-Knight's corporate cars to take her to the airport. She felt terrible for using Rick's car to leave him, but it would allow her to have a few extra bucks for New York, just in case. Kelly pulled a $100 bill from her purse and tucked it in a pocket so she wouldn't have to fumble with her purse when they arrived.
 

One hand clutched the paintings as the cab dodged and swerved its way through traffic. If she hadn’t been so excited to get started on her new adventure, Kelly might have been frightened out of her mind at the crazy driving of the cabbie. As it was, she enjoyed watching buildings and people and buses blur by.
 

She cracked the window to feel the wind brush her face, but the cabbie screamed at her to roll it back up. "AH-SEE!" he kept repeating. She finally understood he meant 'AC', as in air conditioning. She nodded and rolled it back up, but not before catching a whiff of the city. It smelled like humanity, full and intense, dark and hot, somewhat menacing but also hopeful.
 

Kelly's skin tingled with anticipation and her pulse quickened the further the cabbie drove. "How far?" she asked.

"Five minute."

Fifteen minutes later, they were at a dead standstill in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Kelly gnawed at a thumbnail, willing the cars in front of them to move. She just wanted to get to the gallery before it closed. Their website had said 5 p.m. and if this traffic didn't start moving, she might not make it. She checked her watch — 4:15 — and went back to gnawing.

The cab pulled up in front of the gallery at 4:55. Kelly was frantic at that point, wanting to make sure she got in the door before they locked up for the night. She tossed the $100 bill at the cab driver for the $85 fare and leaped out of the cab, roughly yanking her paintings out with her. Horns blared as her cab tried to re-enter traffic but she barely noticed as she ran up to the gallery's door. Relief swept over her like a crashing wave when she was able to push the door open freely.

"May I help you?" A tiny Asian man cautiously approached the breathless and sweaty woman who had just spilled into his gallery.
 

Kelly knew what she must look like and tried to smile, but she was having a hard time catching her breath. "I...I'm...Kelly...Saun...ders," she panted.

The man's tentative smiled never wavered. "Yes?"

She took a final cleansing breath and started over, extending her hand. "I'm sorry, I'm Kelly Saunders. I just got off the plane from Las Vegas and the traffic was horrible and I didn't think I was going to get here before you closed." She was laughing as she told her story, but the man didn't seem amused.

"And how can I help you today, miss?"

"Oh, God, I probably need to talk with your boss. I have a show here next week and wanted to touch base today before we get started on the preparations tomorrow."

The man stiffened, his eyes narrowing to slits. "I am Gary Soto, the owner of this gallery. I can assure you, if you had a show here I would know about it."

Confusion muddled Kelly's thoughts. "This is the Soto Gallery, isn't it? My friend Beth Peters arranged it? From Las Vegas? She sent you photos of my work." She pointed to her boxed up paintings to prove she wasn't a lunatic.

Mr. Soto stood up to his full height — which was still about a foot shorter than Kelly — and crossed his arms. "Yes, this is the Soto Gallery, but I've never heard of you or your friend. I do have a new artist showing next week but you're not him. If that's everything..."

Clutching at his arm as he turned away, she pleaded, "Wait! Please?" He looked down at her hand until she removed it, but didn't move away again. He huffed in exasperation and gave her a dark look that said, 'Well, hurry up about it.'

"There must be some mistake," Kelly started. "I'm an artist. My friend Beth — Beth Peters?" The man shook his head. "Well, she arranged a solo show for me here next week. See?"