Page 91 of Devils' Day Party
“I'll give you two thousand for it.”
“Two … what?” I rub the bridge of my nose and close my eyes for a moment before opening them back up as Barron covers the length of the room in just a handful of careful strides. He gets far too close to me for propriety's sake, but I like it. It's almost like he can't bear to keep his distance anymore.
“It's all I have in cash,” he says, clearly a son of privilege. He has no idea what two thousand dollars could do for me and my family.
“Why would you pay two thousand dollars for that?” I ask, pointing at the painting. “I have better ones …” My voice trails off as Barron chuckles, pulling the rainbow lollipop from between his lips. I traded one poison for another, he'd said.
“Because this is a Karma Sartain original. It'll be worth much more when you're famous one day.” Barron studies my face, absorbing every emotion I have before I’m even feeling it. “My parents are supporters of the arts,” he adds, and I decide it's best not to mention how my moms feel about rich people playing with art as tax write-offs. “Maybe they'll hang it in their gallery in New York?”
“Please don't say things like that,” I tell him as he puts the canvas down on the worktable, next to a cluster of potted begonias. Barron puts the candy between his lips and then puts his hands on my shoulders.
“I don't talk much,” he tells me, which is something I already knew. “Do you know why?”
“Because words don't mean as much as actions?” I guess, and he laughs.
“Because there's often nothing happening worth talking about. But you, Karma, you're worth talking about. Sell me the painting, please. And sign it.”
“You're nuts,” I tell him, but I grab a metallic silver pen from an old coffee can sitting near the edge of the table, and I scribble my name and the year into one corner. Barron nods, like this is an acceptable outcome to him, and then pulls out his wallet, handing me a wad of hundreds like it's nothing. I don't bother to count them. Nobody will be spending this money, and tomorrow, Barron will have forgotten he gave it to me.
Even though I tell myself I'm prepared for another reset, I'm not. I'm not at all.
“Thank you for the painting,” he says, grinning around the candy in his mouth. He leans down to kiss me, and then we both pause as the door to the art studio opens and Mama Jane appears in a sea green robe. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her expression is a nice even mix of surprise and confusion.
“Karma,” she says, looking at Barron in his faerie jacket and dirty leather pants, his buckled boots and his rainbow Mohawk. “And who is your friend?”
“Mom, this is Barron Farrar,” I say, lifting up a hand uselessly in his direction. Mom notices the wad of cash in my hand before she registers Barron's name. I try to keep my issues with the Knight Crew mostly to myself, but there's been a time or two when it's all come pouring out. My moms know Barron's name. “He just bought one of my paintings,” I offer up, forcing a smile as Barron studies my mother the way he studies everyone else—with an artist's eye. That's what that intense stare of his is. I'm just wondering why it took me so long to notice it.
“That's lovely,” Mama Jane says, but she doesn't sound convinced. “Are you okay, honey?” The way she's looking at me, it's like she thinks the cash in my hand is for something else. Wouldn't she be shocked to learn that Barron didn't need to pay me for sex; I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. …” Barron trails off and pauses, waiting for Mama Jane to fill in the empty space.
“Jane Sartain,” she says, stepping forward and offering her hand. It's weird, seeing Barron in the same room as my mom. My head spins with the implications. “Karma, I …” She starts, but then she looks at me in my black funereal gown, my red and black hair, and the glitter all over my face from when it rubbed off of Barron's chest and onto me. I just hope she doesn't make the connection as to how it got there.
“Yeah?” I ask, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. She's going to bring up the sex tape. And that's the last thing I want to spend my limited time discussing.
Jane opens her mouth, pauses, and closes it again.
“Never mind. We can discuss it tomorrow.” She turns to go, pausing in the doorway to the studio before looking back at me, brown eyes dark with worry. “If you two want to come in the house, that's okay, just don't wake your sisters up. There are condoms underneath the sink in the bathroom.”
