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“I WONDER IF VEE is here yet.”
Spielhaus was a clinically cold gallery space. White walls and polished concrete floors. A room, not for comfort, but only to direct focus to the walls. Eli’s prints filled the largest of the three main rooms, and the numerous attendees filled the gallery. Incongruously the tinny sound system played The Supremes. Given what Eli put forward in fashion lately, Ryan expected Mudhoney or Wu-Tang Clan. But apparently, Eli’s love of Motown hadn’t diminished over the years.
Ben stepped to one side but didn’t advance into the room. “We’re so late. This place is packed.”
“Fashionably late.”
“You’re fashionable. I probably should have put on different clothes,” Ben said.
Ryan wore a tightly fitted camo-print tee in black, grey, and red, with loose red jeans and a black blazer. In their hurry to leave, Ben spent his time washing up and put his striped banker shirt back on. Ryan undid a second button on Ben’s shirt and mussed Ben’s hair until it fell across his brow.
“Now no one can tell if you’re the reckless scion of a wealthy family waiting for your big movie break, or a powerful New York art agent slumming it while looking for the next big thing.”
“Where would I be without you?” Ben slipped an arm around Ryan’s waist and squeezed his hip. “Even with your help, my hair never looks as good as yours.” Ben brushed his fingers over the tips of Ryan’s gel-spiked hair.
“Hey, man, congratulations!” A hand clapped hard on Ryan’s back. A tall Nordic man, ruddy cheeked with stringy blond hair and a red beard, gave Ryan a thumbs-up as he walked past.
Ryan raised his brows at Ben. “What was that?”
“Confused you with someone else?” Ben shrugged.
Eli’s latest linocut prints hung around them, the bright, rainbow colors warring for attention. Ryan’s gaze slid off each one, pulled to the next until he stopped at one too familiar.
“Is that Kevin?”
Ben rested his chin on Ryan’s shoulder. “Kevin?”
“Kevin Aquino. Eli’s boyfriend.”
“Oh god, it is. Nude. Why do some artists do that?”
“You said that when we saw the Sally Mann show.” Ryan recalled well enough why he’d never shown Ben the paintings he did of him. Ben’s comments at that show dashed Ryan’s hopes of painting a full nude of Ben.
“I know it’s artistic, and I get the intent,” Ben said, “but sharing those intimacies is so degrading.”
“Of both the artist and the subject, if I remember what you said.”
Ben shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be a muse. It puts too much out there about the artist too.”
“Yet you think I should be in a show titled Exposed!?”
Ben shrugged. “You’re a good artist. You know how to choose what to share of yourself and give the illusion of full disclosure.” Ben glanced around the room. “Do you think there’s a bar in this joint?”
“I expect nothing less from Eli. I’m sure he went overboard on everything.”
In the second room, a small cash bar stood on the far wall, plus tables in the center with catered food and red and white wine in plastic cups. They each grabbed a cup.
A couple dozen people milled about the room, more interested in talking to each other than looking at the art.
“Ryan!” A rail-thin Chinese American woman rested her hand on Ryan’s shoulder. She had short, severe bangs and thin brows drawn in red pencil. “I should have assumed you’d be here.”
It took him a second before he placed her, an art agent specializing in Northwest artists. She’d lectured at Cornish when he studied there. “Nice to see you, Miranda.”
She smiled enigmatically and floated away in her gauzy grey dress to the main room.
Many more people crowded the room than Ryan expected to come see Eli’s art. The sensation that people were turning to look at him, whispering, crawled up Ryan’s spine.
“Everyone’s excited about the show.” Veronica materialized next to him and picked up a cup of red wine from the table, replacing it with an empty one. Her uniform of Doc Martens, black tights, and cut-off jean shorts included an orange blouse with a crane-and-moon print, her military-issue MA–1 flight jacket over it.
“Well, they all came to see Eli, so that makes sense.”
“No. For your show. Here.”
Veronica spun him around. On a square pillar in the middle of the room, a sixteen-by-twenty-inch poster featured black-and-white circular photos around a vintage drawing of a woman in a veiled hat, her mouth forming a red O of scandalized shock. A mini spotlight shone on the poster as if it too were artwork. It read:
Exposed!
At Prima Zero
6 February through 31 March 1998
One circle featured a photo of Ryan that he’d never seen before, with “Ryan Hikaru Ikeda, Ink and Oil” beneath it. This decision stank of Eli’s weird multicultural fetishization, since Ryan never used his middle name professionally.
“What the fuck? This poster says more about the show than I knew. I haven’t even said I’d do the show yet.”
Veronica frowned. “What do you mean? We said you’d do it when we saw Eli yesterday.”
“He’s having second thoughts,” Ben said. “But he hasn’t yet come up with a valid reason.”
“Hey, you two. I’m—”
“Looking slick as wet paint, and fashionably late as always,” Eli said. “You missed the big announcement.”
Eli wore a purposely rumpled grey linen suit over an old summer-camp t-shirt, his newly shaggy hair pulled back in a ponytail, his face now four days unshaven.
“You remember Kevin, of course.” Kevin might be the only Filipino their age that Ryan didn’t know from church, school, or camp. It was strange that Ryan met Kevin through Eli and not through Hector Villanueva or any of his other Filipino friends from high school. But then Kevin grew up in Magnolia, across the universe from Ryan’s home in Judkins Park. In a dark suit, with slicked-back hair, Kevin seemed like the perfected a caricature of a shark lawyer.
Eli continued the introductions. “You know Ryan the Lion. And Veronica Harmonica. They brought one of the finest men, Ben.”
Next to him, Veronica growled at the names.
“She hates that. I forgot,” Eli said. “She’s just plain Vee. I call her Vee-Ron because everyone needs a rapper name. And R-Lion. You’re looking like a golden lion, my friend, loving these clothes. Very Euro, like a step ahead of American fashion. Saw it so much in Spain this summer.”
“Ryan.” Kevin’s hand was damp. “Ben. Oh, my god, Veronica. I didn’t know you were coming! Red Flag Number Two is so good. When’s Three coming out? I was just telling Eli how lucky he is to have come through school with such amazing artists. But none of us could have guessed this incredible success for you. I hear there’s a movie deal?”
Veronica’s neutral expression didn’t slip a bit. “I can’t comment on a movie deal. But Number Three is in January. I’m drawing Four now.”
“Tell me what happens?” Kevin angled for attention. “Just a hint.”
Her facade cracked into a joyless grimace masquerading as a smile, obvious only to Ryan. She wagged a finger at Kevin. “You’ll have to buy it and find out. But aren’t we here for Eli tonight? The show looks great.”
“It’s not just about me anymore, is it?” Eli hooked an arm around Ryan’s neck and pointed with his glass to the poster. “We’re gonna get Ryan so exposed!” He cackled like he’d made a dirty joke.
“So exposed.” Ryan swallowed the rest of his wine. Ben and Veronica stood to the side, in intent conversation. Ryan assumed it was only cover to avoid Kevin.
Artistic exposure was the point of participating, but with Eli this many cups in, pinning him down about the deeper intent of the Exposed! show was futile. Ryan would get only junior-high innuendo.
“This is a lot.” Ryan pointed to the poster on the pillar. “You only invited me yesterday. How’d you have time to do this?”
“Isn’t it great? Most everything was already made up. An exacto knife and a quick trip to Kinko’s fixed the rest. Kevin found this old photo of you in one of my albums. We’ll do posters with more detail when we know what your work is, but ink-and-oil is what you do best, you know?”
“Too bad we didn’t have room for Veronica too. Her work would be an incredible addition.” Kevin had missed her earlier hint. Veronica stayed heads down with Ben, pretending she didn’t hear. “You’re getting too big for the rest of us, aren’t you, Vee? Probably gotta negotiate with an agent to get your time.”
However unlikely that Veronica would pin Kevin in a wrestling hold, it’d be the only possible improvement to this conversation.
“Elias, do you want to make a statement?” a woman asked.
Saved by a stranger with a press pass. Irresistible to people like Eli and Kevin.
“Lana!” Eli grabbed her in one of his too-tight hugs, dribbling the dregs of his wine onto the floor behind her. “As a gay man, it’s my responsibility to tap into the well of our history. Represent everything that came before we all suffered so much loss.”
Ryan coughed to cover a laugh. That was one way to describe stealing from other gay artists. He glanced at Veronica, who sipped her wine and examined the far wall, unlikely to avoid laughing if she caught his eye.
“...It’s so important for art to be accessible.” Eli turned to Ryan. “Ry-dog. We’ll catch up later? The show’s not until February, so you’re probably not even painting yet. You are a machine at churning out work. This show will be easy-peasy for you. But, man, if it takes off for you after this, you’ll need an army of assistants like I have. We’ll talk soon.” He offered Ryan a fist bump.
“Congrats, Ryan,” Lana, the journalist, said. “Can’t wait to see the Exposed! show.”
The trio walked away toward the bar, blocking Ryan’s hopes for getting a real drink immediately. He was, blessedly, left to interrupt the fake conversation between Ben and Veronica. “Well, that happened.”
“Every time I talk to Kevin, I feel like I’ve been slimed.” Ben looked to Veronica for confirmation. “Though he’s completely polite and maybe a touch too enthusiastic.”
Veronica grimaced. “He’s a lawyer. It’s his job to be solicitous and make you feel dirty after.”
“Ben’s right.” Ryan saw Kevin speaking to the reporter as much as Eli did. “The fact that he wants to support Eli makes him suspect anyway.”
“Eli’s art isn’t that bad.” Ben recognized good art, so it puzzled Ryan that he’d defend Eli’s work. “You two let your feelings get in the way.”
“No, I mean Kevin bankrolls everything.” Ryan gestured to the trays of wine and food, the bar, the crowd in the room.
“What’s wrong with that?” Ben tipped his head in a charming expectant-teacher expression.
“Their house. This event. Eli’s ‘assistants.’” Ryan dug for what bugged him most. “Do you think Eli sells enough to pay for all that? It’s Kevin. I bet he pays gallery owners to get Eli in, so he isn’t selling from a cart in the Broadway Market.”
“Which is where this kitschy gay shit belongs,” Veronica said.
Ben shook his head. “If it gives Eli the freedom to work, what’s wrong with that? Assuming Kevin isn’t going into debt playing groupie to his art-star boyfriend.”
Veronica laughed. “Art star. Oh, my god, Ben, you have it. Kevin wants Eli to be his gay bad-boy pop-art icon.” She took another glass of wine from the table next to the poster pillar.
Ryan continued on the theme. “They want to buy into being the next Warhol. Instead of cans, it’ll be candy-bright stamped Mapplethorpe rip-offs on greeting cards.”
“They feed off each other.” Veronica sipped her wine. “Eli can pretend he’s rich and appreciated. Kevin gets a cool art life without being an artist.”
Ryan toasted her with his empty cup. “Right. This isn’t about artistic merit. It’s mutual masturbation.”
“You’re both being awfully bitchy about this. Is it because it’s Eli?” Ben glanced between them. “Still, it’s fine if that’s how Kevin wants to spend his money.”
A tall, dark, black-clad man loomed up next to them. “What’s Kevin spending money on?”
“Shane!” Their friend’s unexpected presence was welcome. In a leather jacket, a keffiyeh tied at his neck, and a black t-shirt, Shane Fontaine fit in the art fag crowd, though his attire suited his sepia skin, while black washed out most other Seattleites. Shane’s fashion choices were the polar opposite of Ben, despite their close friendship.
Shane towered over the three of them, his black hair combed back into a timeless pompadour. “Hey, Ben. Hello, my favorite artists.” Grinning, Shane extended the three drinks wedged in his hands. Vodka cranberry. Ryan took one and handed one Ben.
Shane offered the last to Veronica, but she shook her head. He gave it to Ryan. “You’re double fisting, because I’m not drinking tonight. Hoping to work later.”
Ryan held his drink out in a small toast to Shane. “How did you know I needed this?”
“Saw you talking to Kevin and his weird boyfriend when I came in, and figured drinks were in order.”
“You’re the best.”
“How do you know Kevin?” Ben asked.
“Oh, we go way back.” Shane’s usual outspoken joviality flickered dark for a moment. Ben had formed a deep friendship with Shane, despite knowing him half as long as Ryan had. Shane remained a mystery to Ryan.
Shane’s smile returned. “Kevin keeps popping up.”
“He’s dating my ex,” Ryan said. “We’re discussing why Kevin would pay to advance his boyfriend’s career.”
“Your ex is the pompous asshole who’s showing all this derivative work tonight?” Shane twirled a finger at shoulder level to indicate what hung on the walls.
Ryan laughed. “I forget how much I love you.”
“Rough being at your ex’s opening, when his work is such shit and yours is so good.” Shane, always direct.
“But Ryan’s got a show too.” Ben pointed to the poster.
Shane peered at it. “That’s great! What does ‘Exposed!’ mean?”
“No idea.” Ryan shrugged. “Apparently I’m doing the show whether I like it or not.”
Ben said, “Ryan’s having a moment. His inclusion in the show happened suddenly.”
“Good for you, though.” Shane rested his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Seriously. Who else is in this show with you?”
“I don’t know.”
Shane laughed. “You don’t know shit about it, do you?”
Ryan glanced at the poster, recognizing a few names. A few he didn’t know, but—
“Holy shit. Terrence Chao is in this. How did Eli pull that off? Fuck.”
Adrenaline rushed through Ryan. He greatly admired Chao’s work. “I didn’t know he was back in the States. This is impossible.” The intent of the spotlight on the poster was obvious now, so no one would miss that Eli landed Terrence Chao for his show.
“Yeah, even I know who that is. He’s from Hong Kong, right?” Shane took the empty drink from Ryan’s hand and put it on the wine cup table. “Maybe you needed that extra drink after all.”
“This is fantastic.” Ben clinked his plastic cup to Ryan’s. “I know this is happening fast, but all these people are good, Sunshine. This will change things for you. Here’s to your dreams coming true.”
Ryan drank automatically. Around them the crowd shifted. Veronica stood in the far doorway looking like she was about to murder a man in jeans and an outdoorsy rain coat, only his frizzy grey-streaked curls visible. To others she might simply appear interested or concerned with what he was saying, but Ryan knew that expression well. He joined them to discover why she would want to do harm to their Asian Studies professor from college.