A Love Song for Ricki Wilde (15)
And when he was done, his tears glistened on the keys. And again, there was silence. But that was okay. It wasn’t the audience’s job to understand a sound the first time they heard it. Then Fats’s cigarette toppled out of his open mouth and into his scotch, sizzling. James, the Lion, and Duke began to clap. Then the whole place exploded.
Breeze grinned and uttered one word. “More?”
CHAPTER 4
MYSTERIOUS BENEFACTOR
February 3, 2024
Ricki was standing at her Wilde Things workstation on the heels of the slowest day at the shop thus far. Aside from the delivery guy from Sexy Taco (it’d become her favorite restaurant), no one had rung the buzzer all day. After consulting her budgeting software, she realized that her problem was money. She was spending lavish amounts on the most exotic, precious breeds. Her designs were breathtaking—the kind that had garnered her a massive IG following—but in real life, this “quality over everything” approach was going to bankrupt her.
I need to budget more wisely, she thought, tucking a fancy bougainvillea stem into a wreath. I need to stop… stop…
Stop thinking about him. I need to stop thinking about him.
With a frustrated groan, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Garden Gentleman’s face kept popping into her brain. Rudely and unexpectedly. He was a six-foot-two-inch (ish?) intrusive thought.
It was just a random encounter. Just two people startling each other in the dark. So why did her stomach drop fifteen floors every time she thought of him?
Stop, thought Ricki. You’re already dating a perfectly nice person. Yes, Ali thought the vice president’s name was Caramel Harris. But no one’s perfect, least of all you.
“… so, what time should we go?”
Ricki shook her head, coming back to reality. Ali was sitting on the emerald throne, scrolling through his phone.
“Sorry, I zoned out. Where are we going?”
“Sweet Colette bakery is hosting that community art party tonight. I’m one of the featured artists? I get to show three pieces.”
“Oh, right!”
“Yeah, you know, 2024 is all about making profits off this art. It’s time to acquire my own domicile. Energetically speaking, my roommates are cool. But living with a throuple is not gucci.” He fished around in his pocket. “The fuck are my abundance crystals?”
“Which three paintings will you show? The portraits of me, maybe?” Jokily, Ricki batted her lashes.
“You’re so distracted with work, my queen. Remember, I told you the owner used one of my Ricki portraits for the social media invite? And today, he printed it out and stuck flyers around the neighborhood, old-school style. Your face is all over Harlem.”
Ricki had been so focused on the shop, nothing besides her latest orchid delivery had penetrated her consciousness.
“I really need to get out more,” she said, rubbing her bleary eyes. “So, you’re showing one of my portraits. What are the other two?”
“My spirit hasn’t led me to that answer yet. I might show pieces from the New School class I started last week.” He winked. “It’ll be a surprise.”
The evening of February 3, there was a frost in the air, but the sky was crystalline blue, cloudless. Socially speaking, a party was exactly what Ricki needed. Once she’d recovered from the mistaken-nationality moment at that networking event, she’d decided to introduce herself to one person a day. The smoothie specialist at her favorite juice bar. The owner of the West African spot where she ate dinner weekly. The clerk at her favorite bookstore who knew her penchant for Eva Mercy’s vampire erotica novels. And after every connection she made, she felt more at home.
An hour into the party, Sweet Colette was thrumming with feel-good vibes. Folks were shoulder-dancing to midtempo bops and helping themselves to sugary cake pops and dry martinis. Ricki was feeling cute in a 1940s lace blouse and a clingy slip skirt. Plus, tonight, she was winning the anxiety battle. She’d bravely introduced herself to Glenroy St. Jermaine, owner of Sweet Colette and fledgling artist, and they were having a delightful conversation.
“So, we’ll be unveiling the art in like thirty minutes. Wait till you see my painting. The subject is an abstract oversized bird,” said Glenroy, a lanky dude in a gauzy kimono and Adidas. “Oil on canvas. Hazy, almost holographic strokes.”
“It sounds surreal,” gasped Ricki. “Like you saw the bird in a dream.”
“I did see the bird in a dream! How’d you know?” Glenroy shoved her shoulder playfully. “We’re twin flames. You get me, my good sis.”
“I always do.” She’d known him for only seven minutes.
“Anyway, to make the body, I painted my ass cheeks and then smashed them on the canvas. It was gonna be a crab, but when I started the detail work, it turned into a bird.”
Don’t do it, thought Ricki. Don’t tell him your crab anecdote; don’t self-destruct…
“Hey, did you know that nature has evolved five different non-crab animals into crabs over history? Apparently, it’s the perfect form. Studies suggest we’ll all be shaped like crabs one day. Crazy, right?”
He stared at her, then died laughing. “I think you need a drink, Bill Nye.”
Shaking his head, he disappeared into the crowd. Slowly, Ricki backed up against the wall. Grasping her martini for dear life, she tried to breathe through her mortification. She was, in fact, a fool. There was no scenario where that fun fact would be appropriate, except for, perhaps, a convention of 2012 Science Tumblr addicts.