Seventeen

THAT WAS WHAT I WAS EXPECTING. I’m stupid in love, but I’m not always just stupid. Ever since Washington passed the Marriage Equality Act, I’d been expecting it. When the law went into effect last weekend, the newspaper had been full of the reports of gay marriages all over the state. I’d noticed Melody more often referring to Lissa as her wife. And Lissa had been doing the same. The news didn’t seem to be affecting my cock in a negative way. I pushed at her again. “Ohh.”

“I take it from what you said previously that you intend to commit adultery at least often enough to have babies,” I whispered. “Or am I being traded for a turkey baster?”

“Tony! Oh, love, never! I want to make love with you every day for the rest of our lives. But ... oh, lover ... Lissa.”

“You know she wants to have a baby, too?”

“Yes. Isn’t it exciting?” I remembered the first time Lissa and I ‘practiced’. It was just before I discovered she was physically responding to Melody’s absence. She’d woken up the next morning crying that her Little One needed her. I guess that was when I had my first inkling of what the future would hold. “Tony. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea. I feel so full of love for both of you that nothing could be more right. We’ve always known that we couldn’t have a group marriage. Washington isn’t nearly that liberal, even if it did legalize same-sex marriage and pot in the same election.” We laughed and I could feel my cock moving in her again.

“You know we could both change our names to Ames when we get married. Then our children would all bear your last name. With you on the birth certificate as father and Lissa and me married, we wouldn’t have any difficulty with parental rights for all three of us. And we’d still all live together,” Melody said. She’d obviously been giving this a lot of thought. “Please tell me it’s okay, Tony?”

“I love you more than life itself,” I said. “I think it’s wonderful. I think we’re going to need a bigger house. I think I’d better start selling a lot more artwork. What does Lissa think?”

“I haven’t talked to her about it yet. I couldn’t until I talked to you. I couldn’t bear to do anything if it would hurt you. Besides, this would make it possible for you...” Melody stopped herself short.

“What, sweetheart?”

“For you to marry Kate,” she whispered. “I know you want to. I know she wants to. It’s just so obvious.”

“I don’t know, Mel. I don’t think Kate is anywhere near ready to make that kind of commitment. Maybe that’s where the two years age difference changes things. Someday, maybe. But you marrying Lissa isn’t contingent on me marrying Kate. The things that are right are right.” I began to soften at the mention of Kate. Melody noticed and moved off me to lie beside me and cuddle.

“You don’t know until you ask,” Melody said. “Don’t sell her short.”

“After what I did last night ... You didn’t hear how I yelled at her, Mel. I know she says she understands and we’re all right now, but she can’t help but look at me differently. Or me to look at her differently. It wouldn’t surprise me if she and Wendy got married. Only I’m afraid that their marriage wouldn’t include me.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

“I hope...” What did I hope? I’d expected Melody and Lissa to get married eventually. If Washington hadn’t passed its law, I was sure they’d go to Massachusetts to do it. But would I marry Kate? Just thinking about the possibility of life without her left me empty inside.

“The order is all wrong! Don’t you people read?” I demanded. I stepped through the gallery with Melody tagging silently along behind me. Caldwell—wonder what his first name is—abandoned me to a docent who was doing his best to be obsequious and was succeeding. He was almost more irritating than Caldwell. At least the prints had arrived and were matted and framed according to my specs.

We spent the next two hours re-ordering the oils on the walls and movable partitions. You wouldn’t think it would take that long to hang twelve paintings, but since the horizon line was different for each one, you couldn’t just switch places without readjusting the hangers.

When I was satisfied that the order was good, I started moving the three mobile displays around.

“You can’t move those!” my toad shouted.

“Can’t?” I asked, looking at him sternly.

“I mean, let me get help for you, please. Mr. Caldwell positioned them so people would have access to the bar at the opening.”

“Just what I need. A bunch of drunks slobbering over my artwork. The bar will be located in the hall outside this gallery. That will encourage the drunks to look at other things in the gallery. God knows, you’d have to be drunk to buy some of that crap.” He looked at me with a horrified expression and ran to get another docent to help move the partitions. Melody kissed me on the cheek.

“You can be such a bastard,” she laughed. “That poor guy is going to get blamed for that, you know.”

“I’ll make sure I take the blame in an obvious way,” I whispered back. “Did you notice how people are leaving us alone today? After the show we’ll take Mr. Bartleby out for a drink and apologize. I won’t mind being human then.” Even the lowest level of Caldwell’s team was introduced by last name. I had a vision of walking around tomorrow night wearing a nametag that said, “Hello! My name is Mr. Ames.”

I got the partitions repositioned so that they didn’t block the view of the Bacchanalia. I wanted people to see it first, but look at everything else before they approached it.

“You know, no one’s going to buy that at that price,” Bartleby said as we looked at the new arrangement. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Caldwell drops the price fifty percent in the middle of the opening.”

“He’ll be sued if he does,” I said calmly. “All the artwork in this room is here on consignment at his insistence. Contractually, the artist has the right to remove the piece from display rather than agree to a price adjustment. We have two weeks contracted in this room and will leave it empty rather than consent to a single price drop. Now, what time does the show open tomorrow night?”

“Seven o’clock, not that it matters.”

“Why is that?”

“The only people who are going to show up are Caldwell’s cronies. They’ll be here at five for cocktails and tie up as much of the inventory at twenty-five percent of value as they can. No one else will come. They are the only people Caldwell sent invitations to.”

I was sensing that Bartleby was about as disgusted with his boss as I was.

“Okay, Bartleby. Is that really your name?”

“Uh ... no sir. Liebowitz doesn’t fly in this part of town. Mr. Caldwell assigned a name. If I quit tomorrow, the next person hired would take over my name.”

“Christ! How slimy is this business? Okay, here’s what’s going to happen tomorrow. You don’t need to tell Caldwell any of this. No one will be allowed in this room without me and no buyers until the show opens at seven o’clock. That’s in my contract. No sales will be made before the opening. At eight-thirty, I’ll begin my presentation.”

“Presentation, sir?”

“Yes. I’ll have a large screen and computer projector delivered here tomorrow morning and will be here to connect and test it at two o’clock. From that point on, either I or my representative will be here to ensure nothing is disturbed. He’s slated to arrive in half an hour, so I’ll introduce you then. An hour and a half should allow guests to be fashionably late. The presentation will be one half-hour in length. The gallery is slated to be open until eleven.”

“He never leaves it open that long. He’ll come in about eight when no one is here and tell you there’s no sense staying open any longer.”

“There’ll be people, I promise. Closing early would damage the gallery’s reputation and cause serious repercussions. At eleven o’clock we’ll disconnect our equipment. Then, Bartleby, I intend to take my good friend Liebowitz out for a drink. Got it?” The grin on Bartleby’s face rivaled what I usually get from Kate. I reminded myself not to lay it on too thick. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

“Yes, Mr. Ames,” he said. “I’m sure Mr. Liebowitz will be delighted.”

My phone buzzed and I got a text from Bob Bowers. “Fifteen minutes away. Hope you’ve managed to keep the buzzards at bay.”

“We keep flapping our wings,” I responded. “Only last names here and don’t acknowledge Melody at all. She understands.”

“Perhaps I should be ‘Smith,’” he wrote back.

“I like that. Don’t let them know you are a critic.”

Bob arrived in a cab with only a briefcase ten minutes later. I wondered where his luggage was. He walked into the gallery and I shook his hand.