At least a dozen different outfits are sprawled over my bed as I consider which to pick for tonight’s exhibition. I barely managed to finish the last of the paintings in time. Mark almost had a heart attack when I told him I needed to make some changes on the big guy and wouldn’t be sending it until this morning. He wailed for at least ten minutes about not being able to include it in the catalog. I preferred it that way. I want to watch Roman’s reaction when he sees it for the first time.
Picking black leather pants and a green silky shirt, I drape them over the chair, leaving the rest on the bed. I haven’t slept in this room for quite some time anyway. All my things are here though, because other than sleeping in Roman’s bed, I don’t plan on moving in with him. Okay, that sounds really strange since, well, I do live with him.
“This is so weird,” I mumble, sit down at the vanity, and start applying makeup.
My phone rings, and I take the call without checking the caller ID.
“Nina, is everything okay?”
If I had known it was my mother, I would have let it ring. “Yes.”
“You’ve been avoiding my calls for weeks.”
“Again, yes. I don’t see the point in this call, Mom.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and then surprises the hell out of me. “Your father and I would like to come to the gallery tonight. If that’s okay with you?”
I look at my reflection in the mirror, wondering if I heard her correctly. My mother has never come to my exhibitions. She once said that my art scares her.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” I say finally.
“Why?”
“Well, first, this collection is rather dark. I don’t want you to get a stomach ulcer. And second, Roman will be there.”
“Yeah, about your husband. I’m . . . I’m sorry for what I said that day. It’s just . . . I was surprised and I said some nasty things. It’s hard to understand you sometimes, Nina.”
I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t be the person you wish for me to be, Mom. I never made it easy for you; I know that. But I am who I am. If you can’t deal with it and accept my choices, that’s okay. Just don’t call me anymore. However, if you can accept my life and my choices without reproach and unnecessary commentary, you are welcome to come tonight.”
“Okay, honey. We will be there.”
I cut the call but stare at the phone in my hand. Why would she change her mind so suddenly? I scroll through my phone, find my father’s number, and call him.
“Nina?”
“You told Mom, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Jesus, Dad.” I slump in the chair and put my hand over my eyes.
“I had to tell her, Nina. She would have kept grilling you, so I told her to make her understand.”
“To understand what?”
“Why you are with that man. I . . . I told her what I did, and that you married him because they would have killed me otherwise. I explained that you have to pretend.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m not pretending, Dad. I haven’t been for quite some time,” I sigh. “I am in love with him.”
“Nina! He is a killer. Are you crazy?”
“Maybe I am, but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you will go and explain that to Mother. And if that doesn’t sit well with you two, I don’t want to see either of you tonight.”
I press the end button, throw the phone in my purse, and get back to my makeup.
Roman
I get closer to the painting and lean back, regarding it. The lights are muted throughout the gallery, leaving only a single wide spotlight above each painting to illuminate the space. It works well, considering the dark vibe of Nina’s art. I had a look at most of the pieces while they were still at my place, but having them showcased in this way gives them a much more disturbing feel.
The painting in front of me shows a mirror reflection of a pale-skinned woman with long dark hair, holding a length of material clutched to her chest. In the space behind her, several faceless tall figures loom, their hands extended. Everything is done in shades of gray and black, except for the dress the woman is holding, which is bright green.
Before I move to the next piece, I throw a look toward the opposite corner of the room, where Nina is standing next to a short young man with a receding hairline. Mark, the “pimp”. They are discussing something, and I pay attention to their body language for a few moments. Nina looks up and, noticing me regarding her, smiles. She says something to Mark and heads toward me. I ogle her cat-like body dressed in leather pants as she sways on sky-high heels. For someone who said they don’t like wearing heels, she’s managing quite well. Those things are outrageous—at least five inches high, probably more.
“So, what do you think?” she asks and nods to the painting.
I take her hand, raise it to my lips and place a kiss at the top of her fingers. “They are amazing, malysh.”
She smirks and leans toward me. “You are only saying that to drag me into your bed.”
“You usually come into my bed of your own accord. But if you insist, I can drag you there myself tonight.”
“I insist.” She looks at me through hooded eyes and bites her lip—my little seductress.
“If you keep looking at me like that,”—I take her chin between my fingers and pull her head toward me—“you will be missing your own exhibition, Nina.”
“That doesn’t sound bad at all, Pakhan.”
I grab her around the waist and pull her onto my lap. Nina laughs, wraps her arms around my neck and buries her fingers in my hair.
“I am taking you to say your goodbyes, and we are going home,” I say and crush my mouth to hers.
“Can’t,” she whispers into my lips, “you haven’t seen the big guy yet.”
I growl at her.
“Seriously, Roman?” She kisses me again. “Animal sounds now? What will people think?”
“People can go fuck themselves.”
In the corner of my vision, I see Samuel Grey approaching us, warily, with his wife on his arm. “Your parents are here.”
Nina looks up but doesn’t make a move to get off my lap. Instead, she keeps playing with my hair while she watches them coming.
“Mr. Petrov,” her father says when they approach. Her mother just nods, her eyes focused on Nina’s hand which is still buried in my hair.
“Just Roman, please,” I say and turn my gaze to Nina’s mother. “So, what do you think about Nina’s newest work, Zara?”
She blinks, visibly tense, then offers me a smile so fake it might have been plastered on Barbie.
“It’s . . . nice,” she says and looks at Nina. “We wanted to buy one of your paintings.”
Nina stares blankly at her.
“Maybe something without dead chickens. If possible,” her mother adds.
“You don’t have to buy any,” Nina says, still looking at her mother with slight confusion on her face. “Just pick the one you want and tell Sally. She’s the woman in a red skirt over there at the entrance. Everything except the big one in the next room is for sale.”
“We already asked when we came in,” Samuel throws in. “She said all the paintings have already been sold.”
“That can’t be true, we just opened ten minutes ago,” Nina mumbles and looks at me. “I have to see what’s going on.”
She climbs off my lap and hurries toward the woman on the other side of the room.
I turn to her mother. “Pick the one you like, and just tell Sally I okayed it.”
Zara Grey regards me with a surprise. “You bought them?”
“Of course, I did.” I nod and look over at where Nina is standing with the curator. “Does your wife know, Samuel?”
He inhales sharply, and then lets out a strangled, “Yes.”
“Good. But you should know something,” I say and turn to face them. “The deal is off, Samuel.”
“Off?” He gulps and quickly clasps his trembling hands in front of him. “What does that mean?”
I look him over, then move my gaze to Nina’s mother who is staring at me with dread in her eyes. “It means I’m keeping your daughter.”
Grabbing the wheels of my chair I head toward Nina, leaving her parents standing openmouthed in front of the painting with the girl in the green dress.
“Sally says that an anonymous buyer bought all the paintings!” Nina says the moment I approach.
I barely manage to keep my face serious. “What a selfish son of a bitch.”
“Exactly.” She nods. “Good thing that I told Mark to note the big guy as not for sale right away.”
“Why?”
She gives me a secretive smile. “That one is for you.”
I stare at her, grinding my teeth. “Where is it?”
“In the other room, around the corner, but . . . where are you going, Roman, wait!”
I ignore her and keep pushing my chair as fast as it would go toward the room she indicated. We agreed she wouldn’t do the self-portrait for the exhibition, and I’ll be damned if I was going to let anyone see it. They are taking it down right away, or I’m killing someone.
“Roman!” Nina’s heels click behind me as she tries to follow. “It’s not the one where I’m naked!” she shouts after me.
Suddenly, there is absolute silence in the gallery. I stop and turn to find at least fifteen people, including Nina’s parents, staring at her with shock on their faces.
She doesn’t seem to notice, and comes to stand in front of me, with her hands on her hips. “Why do you always need to make a scene?”
I raise my eyebrows. “You just informed the whole gallery that there is a painting of you naked, and I’m the one making a scene?”
She blinks, looks over her shoulder at the people who are still staring at her, and snickers. “Oops.”
“Yes.” I nod my head. “Let’s go see that painting before I lose my shit, because there are at least ten men over there imagining you without clothes right now.”
She giggles and motions toward her left. “This way.”
We round the corner and enter a separate section of the gallery. It’s almost as big as the first, but there is only one painting showcased there. Three spotlights illuminate it from above. The exhibition just opened so there are only two people here. They’re standing off to the side, which gives me an undisrupted view of the composition.
Like Nina’s other works, it’s done mostly in grays and black, but the shapes are sharper here, more recognizable. The whole bottom part shows piles of rocks, parts of buildings, and different debris. Clouds of smoke here and there are done in white paint. Above the central pile of debris, a lone figure sporting huge devil horns looms. He’s also done in black with shades of gray, and holds a huge sledgehammer in his right hand as if he’s in mid-swing. The figure’s face isn’t visible because he wears a huge red helmet in the shape of a wolf’s jaws, and a long red cloak floats behind it. It’s magnificent.
“Why is he smashing everything?” I ask, not able to move my eyes from the scene.
“Because he can, I guess.”
“What is the stuff scattered around? City ruins?”
“Not really. It’s a metaphor.”
“For what?” I ask.
Nina leans toward me and whispers in my ear, “For my poor demented mind. Or whatever is left of it after you so skillfully demolished it, Roman.”
My head snaps to the side and I stare at Nina, processing what she just said. I need her to elaborate, but she just stands there, looking at the painting. I hook a finger on the belt loop on her pants and turn her to face me. “Explain.”
“You are a clever man, Roman. Think about it, and you’ll come to the conclusion for yourself.” She kisses me and then turns toward Mark who is waving at her from the entrance, leaving me to stare at the painting in front of me.
