Kasey liked classic art. A painting of a stormy sea or rolling meadows. A cottage at sunrise with a fisherman on a lake, or a purple mountain peak against an orange sky. Things that were classically beautiful, but generally superficial. The art she liked the most, however, didn’t necessarily look beautiful on the outside. The art she preferred was deep and mysterious; a beauty that could not be seen with a superficial eye. Most referred to this genre as abstract or surreal, but it was so much more than that.
Despite that, this particular piece sent a chill up her spine. She was mesmerized by it in the most chilling way. Drawn to it. It was as if it were alive, pulling her into its dark depths. It was a large canvas with a simple, dark wooden frame, and it leaned inconspicuously against the wall with a cloth covering draped over it. But Kasey had pulled it back and was immediately entranced by it.
It was both simple and complex. Colorful, yet dark. A black background, textured with swirls of dried paint. Splatters of red. The faintest shape of a curved figure - a woman? - on the right. But the patterns in the black paint just barely showed a shadow, contorted and writhing amongst the splatters of red. The more she stared at it, the more she could see. Another dark figure amongst the blood red paint, and in the background, four other shadowed figures, long and dark and formidable.
But amongst the darkness, there were clusters of color. Yellows and pinks and streaks of green. The shapes reminded her of a bouquet of flowers. They were clustered around the curved feminine figure, getting sparser and fainter near the shadows. Further away, there were tiny specks of color, like flower petals that drifted away on a breeze, getting sparse towards the other end of the painting, flowing off the canvas and disappearing into the world.
She finally managed to pull her gaze away, her interest turning to the hand written label on a string tied to the back of the frame.
Christian Sinclair.
“Ugly thing, isn’t it?”
She jumped at Gena’s voice, then backed away, letting the cover drop over the painting.
“I like it.”
Gena shrugged and flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. She smirked at Kasey. “You would.”
“Who’s Christian Sinclair?”
“Mr. Sinclair purchased that painting from another gallery,” Gena said. “He lives in the area so it was dropped off here for him to pick up.”
“Oh.”
Gena looked at her phone and sighed, rolling her eyes. “I need to head out early, but he is sending someone to pick it up tonight. It’ll just be you, so can you handle it and lock up when you leave?”
“I got it.”
“Great.” Gena smiled. “Shawn and Deacon will be picking it up. Grab their IDs. Text me if you have any issues.”
Kasey waited in the back room, listening as Gena’s heels clicked on the linoleum. The phone rang, and she answered it, her tone irate as she headed out the door.
Kasey sighed, looking at the painting for a moment longer. “I’m sure you’re going to a good home,” she said out loud. She checked the time on her phone; just two hours until she could close up. The gallery was empty and no one else was expected in, so she made her way into the little back room that she used as her own personal studio. She stood over a blank canvas, then sat and picked up a paint brush.
She didn’t know what she wanted to paint, but she was inspired by the dark, mysterious painting in the other room. Most of what she painted was simplistic in ideas and themes. She wasn’t a particularly adventurous artist. Landscapes and flowers. Classic art. She was very good at it, and she enjoyed it. But now, she wanted to try something different.
She selected a playlist on her phone and let it play softly in the background. She cocked her head to the side, peering at the blank canvas, then prepped her paint with no real destination in mind. Except black. She knew she wanted black.
She painted the canvas black, then mixed some darker shades as she let it sit and dry for a moment. She created dark shades of red and blue and purple. Shades so dark their hues would be barely noticeable against the black canvas. She swapped out her brushes, then aimlessly dipped them in paint and added casual strokes against the canvas, being careful not to completely copy the painting that waited for Mr. Sinclair.
The bell on the front door chimed, causing her to jump. She glanced at the time on her phone: 8:00. She blinked, unaware that two hours had already come and gone. She quickly set her equipment down, leaving her painting to dry on the easel, and she hurried out into the gallery.
Two men leaned against the front counter, talking quietly to one another. They glanced towards her when she came around the corner, and for a moment, she froze. These were not the men she was expecting to see for Mr. Sinclair’s painting.
Both men looked to be around her age, in their early twenties, however, if she were being honest, they looked more like thugs than art collectors, and the gallery wasn’t exactly in the nicer part of the city. They were both dressed in jeans and simple black t-shirts, the sleeves snug against their muscular arms; one tatted, one not. The tatted one wore a beanie and had a goatee, while the other had on a black, zip-up hoodie that hung open, his face beardless but his hair resembled the unkempt bedhead type. Whether it was styled that way or not, however, she couldn’t be sure.
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Kasey slowed as she stepped behind the counter and swallowed. “Uh, how can I help you?”
The two men stared at her for a moment and she shifted uncomfortably.
“We’re picking up a painting,” the man in the beanie said. “For Mr. Sinclair.”
“Of course.” Kasey made her way to the front desk. “Could I get your IDs?”
They fished their wallets out of their pockets, then presented their IDs to her. She took them each, looking them over carefully and confirming their names. Deacon was the man with the beanie and goatee. Shawn was Mr. Bedhead. She smiled.
“Something funny?” Deacon asked, his gaze narrowing.
Kasey cleared her throat and handed their IDs back to them. “I was just wondering how much time you spent styling your hair.”
Shawn stared at her for a moment and Deacon burst out into laughter.
“Oh, man, like, hours.”
“Dude, shut up,” Shawn hissed. “I do not.”
“Hours!”
“Get the damn painting,” Shawn hissed to Deacon.
“You’re funny,” Deacon said to Kasey. “I like you.”
“Uh, thanks,” Kasey started. “It’s back here.”
Deacon sniffed and continued to chuckle as they followed her to the back room. She stopped beside the painting and gestured to it.
“Bring it to the car,” Shawn said.
“Whatever you say, Fabio.”
Shawn punched his arm when he walked by, and Deacon let out a yelp. He stuck his tongue out at Shawn, then picked up the painting and left the back room.
“You guys are a cute couple,” Kasey said.
Shawn rolled his eyes. “He could never land a guy like me.”
Kasey giggled. “Too high maintenance?”
Shawn sighed and pulled out his wallet, counting out the bills. He handed them to her.
“It’s okay,” she said. “It takes me hours to look halfway decent, so I get it.”
“I don’t believe that,” Shawn started. “I bet you don’t even have to try.”
From out in the gallery, Deacon howled. “DUDE!”
Kasey’s cheeks warmed. She took the money from Shawn and averted her gaze. “Well. Thanks.” She stepped around him and made her way into the gallery, but Deacon had already stepped outside and was busy loading the painting in the back of the black SUV. Kasey moved to the front desk and gathered the paperwork for them to sign.
“So, Mr. Sinclair is into some interesting art, huh?” Kasey commented.
Shawn leaned against the counter. “Hm? Oh, I guess.”
“Are you, like, his goons or something?”
Shawn raised a brow. “Goons?”
“Thugs? Thieves? In the mafia or something?”
Shawn stared at her. “What?”
Kasey shrugged. “I dunno. Usually the big fancy rich guys have some scary looking armed men picking up their fancy expensive art.”
Shawn straightened. “You think we’re scary looking?”
“Nah,” Kasey started.
Shawn grinned. “You’re too trusting.”
“Are you planning on robbing me or killing me?”
“What if we are?”
“I don’t think you are.”
“This time.”
“Does that mean you plan on coming back?”
Shawn held his gaze on her. “Are you hoping I come back?”
Deacon stepped through the door, causing the bell to chime.
“Well, I’d like to know your secrets for achieving the I don’t care look.”
Deacon giggled and leaned against the front counter. “Wha’s goin’ on? Are we flirtin’?”
“I don’t flirt with thugs.”
“Yes, you do,” Shawn said with a grin.
Kasey shrugged. “Sign.” She slid the papers across the counter.
Deacon pushed himself in front of Shawn. “I got this, bro.” He ripped a corner of the page and slid it to him. “Give her those digits.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Shawn hissed.
“Oh, no need,” Kasey said. “He’s not into snobby art girls.”
Deacon looked up from the papers and wiggled his eyebrows. He scribbled a signature and passed them back to Kasey.
Kasey took the papers, filed them, then pulled the ripped corner towards her and wrote down her number. “But if he changes his mind. I don’t only talk about art.” She slid it to Shawn and smiled.
Shawn stared at her for a moment, then looked down at the torn corner. “All right.” He took the paper, then brushed his hand through his hair. “I’ll get a trim beforehand.”
Deacon snorted. “You guys are fucking weird. I like it. Let’s go.” He tipped an imaginary hat to Kasey and grinned.
“Pleasure doing business,” Kasey said.
“Yeah,” Shawn started, hesitant. “Cool. See ya.” He turned and followed Deacon outside. When the door closed, Deacon burst into laughter once more. Through the window, Kasey watched as Shawn shoved Deacon, causing him to stumble into the vehicle, still laughing as Shawn slid into the passenger seat. She watched them pull away and smiled.