“Well, Mr. Calder.” Vanessa was in black again, but this time her hair had been lacquered into an intricate display of large curls plastered against her forehead. It reminded Wyatt of a flapper or maybe an old-timey showgirl. “It’s going splendidly.”
“It’s crowded.” More crowded than he’d expected.
“I wish I had known this was your first show.” She gave him a raised eyebrow look that he didn’t think most people could pull off. “I would have made a bigger deal about it.”
“Sorry, I should have mentioned it”
“Too late now, but you have drawn a lot of attention. If you have time after this, maybe we can talk about possibly showcasing your work in our Manhattan gallery. We’re talking Robert Mapplethorpe status.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And.” She gave him a smile that seem to break the character she played. “You look particularly tasty this evening, and the staff and I have a wager on how many numbers you’ll pocket tonight. I have fifty on eighteen.”
“Oh.” Wyatt fought a blush. He’d lost count of the number of people—both men and women—who’d tucked their number into his jacket pockets or pressed them into his hand. “I think you’ve already lost but I’ll let you know at the end.”
She laughed.
Wyatt fought the urge to check his phone again and the desire to watch the door. He figured it had to be approaching eight-thirty, but so far the night had dragged on. He was not great at making small talk, but luckily most of the people who approached him did most of the talking. But he’d feel more comfortable once Saal was there.
“Hey, man.” Wyatt nearly jumped at the voice and was relieved to turn and find Clay.
“Thank God.” He hugged him, whispering in his ear and holding him longer than was strictly necessary. “I’m so glad you came. Don’t leave me.”
“You got it, but what the fuck? It’s a mad house.”
“I know.” When he let go, Clay stood a little taller and elbowed him in the side, making less than subtle eye contact. “Oh, yeah. Clay, this is Vanessa Corbyn. She’s a partner here at the gallery. Vanessa, this is Clay Morris.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morris.”
“Clay, please.” He gave her what Clay called his panty-charmer smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Oh, hon.” Vanessa shot Wyatt a look and he tried hard not to apologize. “I’m nearly old enough to be your mother.”
When she walked off, Clay grinned. “Does she not know that just makes it hotter?”
“God, you’re weird.”
“Hi.”
Wyatt turned around, a nervous flutter in is stomach. “Hey, Samuel. Thanks for coming. You look…great.”
And he did. And happy. Wyatt had almost forgotten how beautiful he was when he was happy.
“So do you.” Samuel looked Wyatt over, and he had the urge to fuss with his clothing and hair. “I’m proud of you, Wyatt.”
“Thanks, that means a lot.”
“After this, maybe you’d want to—”
There was a loud burst of laughter and Wyatt’s attention was drawn over Samuel’s shoulder toward the door at the moment Saal pushed inside. Just the sight of him made Wyatt relax.
In a deep-green sweater and wool coat, his dark hair pushed back from his face, he looked handsome in that intimidating way of his, but then his eyes caught Wyatt’s and he smiled, and Wyatt was hit with a sense of longing that froze him completely. “Well shit.”
Saal noticed Samuel then, the smile diminishing for just a moment before he looked back at Wyatt and took a little bow.
Afraid he’d leave, Wyatt raised his hand, waving him over, but suddenly Saal jerked, his eyes going wide and scared. Then he disappeared in a puff of blue smoke.