Edward Lee - Incubi

“Don’t hesitate to buy film rights,” Ginny joked.

“Unlikely.” Amy Vandersteen wasn’t joking. “I write all my own scripts.” She turned to Veronica. “I haven’t heard of you.”

“You will,” Veronica said.

Then she turned back to Khoronos. “I’d really love to see the rest of the estate, Erim. You have impeccable taste.”

Khoronos led her back toward the house.

“Jesus,” was all Veronica could comment.

“You were right,” Ginny said. “She is an asshole.”

“Stewie!” Jeri blurted over the line. Some unnamed excitement raged in her voice. He’d hired her from St. John’s as a secretary. “You got a call on line one! It’s the—”

“Calm down,” Stewie replied. He felt disaffected today, depressed or something. “Who is it?”

“It’s the Corcoran!”

This sounded funny. “What do they want? A donation?”

“They want you, Stewie! They want—”

“I got it,” he mumbled. He punched the extension. “Stewart Arlinger here.”

“Mr. Arlinger,” came a dry and rather sexless voice. “This is D. F. Pheeters. I am the director of the schedule of events for the Corcoran Gallery of Art.” The voice pronounced schedule as shed-yule . “You are the agent of Veronica Polk, the expressionist?”

“Yes,” Stewie perked up, “not that I’d label her as an expressionist. I believe my client’s work transcends categorization.”

“Yes, of course.”

It was true, Veronica had gained some notoriety over the last year. Making waves was the name of the art game. But had she made enough waves for the Corcoran?

“We’d like to do a show,” the voice told him.

This statement, coldly conveyed, locked Stewie up at his desk. “You mean a joint show, a filler or something?”

“No. We’d like to show Ms. Polk’s work exclusively.”

“Uh, when?”

“First week of next month. We have a cancellation, Shiver, the abstractionist. We want your client in that slot.”

This was difficult to believe so abruptly.

“Mr. Arlinger? Are you there?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I was just thinking.”

Now the voice seemed impatient. “Well, are you interested or not?”

“Yes, uh, yes, we are—” How should he address the genderless voice? Sir? Ma’am? Director? “There’s a minor probl—”

“Mr. Arlinger. Surely you’re aware of your own client’s schedule. She is either available or not. Which is it, Mr. Arlinger? If you’re not interested in showing your client at the Corcoran, I’m rather certain I can find someone who is.”

“We are interested,” Stewie said, but what else could he say without sounding incompetent? “My client is out of town for a short time. I’m expecting a call from her very soon.”

“Is your client prepared to show new work?”

“I—” I don’t fucking know ! he wanted to yell , because I don’t know where she is, and I have no idea how to reach her! “I’m not sure to what extent, and I apologize for this inconvenience. She wanted to get away for a little while. I’m certain she’ll be in touch very soon.”

“Very soon, you said that twice, Mr. Arlinger. How soon?”

“I’m not sure,” Stewie confessed. “It wouldn’t be wise for me to make a commitment before talking to her first. She’s very secretive about what she’s got ready to go. But I’ll get back to you the minute I hear from her. I just need a little time.”

“A week is all the time I can give you, Mr. Arlinger. If I don’t hear from you by then, I’ll presume you are not interested in showing your client at the Corcoran Gallery of Art.”

“I understand,” Stewie said. “And thank you very m—”

When the line went dead, he yelled, “Goddamn it to hell !”

Jeri’s college-girl face appeared at the door. “Stewie, w—”

“ Get out! ” he bellowed. He threw the phone at the wall and knocked out a chunk of sheetrock. Jeri disappeared in terror.

How the hell could he manage Veronica’s career when he didn’t even know where she was? She hadn’t left Khoronos’ address or number. She’d promised to call him every day, but he had yet to hear from her since she left with goddamn Ginny three days ago!

This was the third gallery bid he’d gotten since she left. The first two were smaller, and he’d dogged them easily. But the Corcoran was a different matter. The Corcoran meant nationwide credibility, higher sales values, even fame. An art agent dogging the Corcoran was like an unpublished novelist dogging Random House. Professional suicide.

She’s my life , he realized, looking at the prints of hers in the office. Stewie had been two-bit before Veronica. Without her, he’d be two-bit again. But was that all of it?

He knew it wasn’t. Veronica was also his friend. He felt protective of her, like a brother. She went off on tangents: she was a confused girl with a lot of confused ideals. This Khoronos thing was a prime example. Veronica’s reclusion as an artist made her vulnerable as a person. There were a lot of sharks out there; Veronica, on her own, wouldn’t stand a chance against them. Just who was this Khoronos guy anyway? What did he want?

He stared out his office window. A cop car driving by reminded him of Jack. Stewie and Jack were polar opposites, but Stewie was honest enough to realize that Jack was Veronica’s best protection against her vulnerabilities. She’d been content with him, and she’d worked better; on the same hand, Jack’s own problems diminished. They were good for each other, and Stewie could see that. He could also see that, apart, Veronica was all alone with her confusions. Experience , she’d said a million times. But experience had many faces, some very ugly. Stewie had seen a lot of them.

Complete strangers . That’s what Khoronos and his two friends were. Art eccentrics, rich, good-looking. Veronica would be putty in their hands.

Stop worrying , he thought, quite uselessly. What could be do? Nothing . She’d either call or she wouldn’t.

Maybe he’d go out tonight. Yeah. Dress up, grab a handful of rubbers, and a head for the singles bars. Get drunk, get laid, get his mind off it. One good thing about bisexuality was you always had twice as many prospects to choose from. But as he thought about it now, staring out the window, nothing could’ve seemed more remote.

“Stewie?” Jeri’s voice peeped from behind. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stewie said.

“Don’t worry about Veronica. You know how she is, she just forgot. She’ll call soon.”

Nice try, Stewie thought.

“See you tomorrow. And stop worrying!”

“Sure. Good night, Jer.”

Stop worrying , he thought when she left. But that was it. Stewie was worried, all right. He was worried to death.

“I wonder what she dug up,” Jack said. He looked out his office window. The moon was rising in the rim of dusk.

“Probably nothing. It’s been that kind of day,” Randy Eliot said. “The harder we bust our humps, the less we get.”

That much was true. After meeting with Jan Beck, Jack had spent the rest of the day helping Randy interview Shanna Barrington’s “acquaintances.” They’d all recounted similar stories: I met her at the club. She came onto me, so I went with it. We had a few drinks, danced a few dances, then she wants to go back to her place. You have sex with her? Sure. How long were you there? Most of the night. You ever call her again? Most had not. She knew the score, a one-night thing, no big deal. She seem level-headed to you? Sure, she wasn’t a nut, if that’s what you mean. You have sex with her more than once that night? Most had. Several repeatedly. One guy said, “six, seven times. The usual.” She do drugs, coke, anything like that? No way. You use rubbers with her? Of course, I ain’t crazy. She into kinky stuff? Kinky like what? Kinky like maybe she wants you to tie her up, gag her, blindfold her? No way, man.