Something Like Thunder (57 page)

The knock at the front door was gentle and unexpected. Nathaniel tore his attention away from the suitcase he was packing, trying to decide who it was and whether to answer it. Arthur tended to kick the door instead of knocking, and Sheila had a key. He didn’t expect to see Caesar again, and he knew for a fact that Kelly had flown back to New York. When the gentle rapping repeated, he went to investigate. After peering through the peephole, he felt even more confused as he opened the door.

“Good evening,” Marcello said, craning his neck over a huge bouquet of flowers. “May I come in?”

Nathaniel stared, then gestured for him to enter. Zero stirred, spotted Marcello, and began leaping around him, threatening to knock him over. Nathaniel ignored this and proceeded to the living room. When he turned around, a trail of leaves and flower petals marked Marcello’s progress, the large man still being harassed by the dog.

“That’s enough,” Nathaniel said.

Zero changed tactics, hopping up on the couch to secure his favorite spot so he wouldn’t have to share it.

Marcello set the bouquet on the coffee table and brushed himself off. “Never have I met such an unruly beast with complete disregard for personal space. Actually, I take that back. In the seventies I had an encounter with a deliciously beefy Turkish man working at a bath house. At least I thought he worked there. Only later did I find out that he had escaped from—”

“What are you doing here?” Nathaniel interrupted.

Marcello hesitated, glancing around the apartment as if to find some pretense. When this failed, his arms flopped to his sides. “The problem with being wrong is that, up until the moment of realization, it feels just like being right. I thought that you and Kelly simply needed to clear the air, but not all bridges are so easily mended. I should have known better. I’m sorry if I put you through any unnecessary pain.”

“It’s fine,” Nathaniel said. “Would you like something to drink? I’m pretty sure I have a bottle of champagne in the cupboard. Not chilled, but I can throw it in the freezer for a few minutes.”

“No, thank you,” Marcello said. “This is no time to celebrate.”

He looked… sad? Nathaniel couldn’t remember ever seeing him so down. A little pensive at times when talking about friends he had lost or solemn when a business deal didn’t go through, but sorrow had never been part of Marcello’s repertoire. Not until now. “You read my letter,” Nathaniel guessed. “You weren’t supposed to. Not yet.”

“I tend to overlook the first two words of any sentence beginning with ‘do not’ so I can act immediately on the remainder.”

Nathaniel deciphered this as quickly as he could. “Do not sit with me at the table.”

Marcello nodded cordially. “It would be my pleasure.” He followed Nathaniel to the corner of the room that functioned as the dining area. He surveyed the apartment again as he moved a chair away from the table and sat. “Considering how much you earn, you can do better than a one-bedroom apartment. That used to puzzle me. At first I thought you were stingy, that you didn’t want to invest in a nicer home and instead preferred that the company continued paying your rent.”

“I took over the lease after the first three months of living here.”

“As I later discovered,” Marcello said, nodding in confirmation. “And yet, all these years on, you still live well below your means. You’re no penny-pincher. I’ve seen the amounts you’ve spent making sure Kelly has what he needs. Prosthetics aren’t cheap.”

“He has a specialized health insurance plan—”

“Which he doesn’t pay a dime for, thanks to a very small foundation that helps people like him. Just one person, in fact. Is he aware of this?”

“Of course not, and don’t you dare say a word!”

“My lips—as always—are sealed. Then there is the young woman living across from you, and her child, who you’ve spared no expense on. I daresay their lives would be quite different if not for the help you provide.”

“How do you know about that?” Nathaniel asked.

“You consult with company lawyers. The lawyers consult with me.”

Nathaniel sighed. “Look, if this is supposed to be a pep talk about what a good person I am, and how someone will recognize that one day, save your breath. You read my letter. I want Kelly. I’m not giving up on him. Not this time.”

Marcello shook his head. “I would never delude myself into thinking I could direct the inclinations of another’s heart, especially when I have so little control over my own. I suppose that is why I’m here. I won’t stop you from going after Kelly, but why did you feel it necessary to turn in your resignation?”

“To show him I’m willing to make sacrifices. I’m asking permission to be a part of his world, when previously I made him earn the right to be a part of mine. I can’t divide my attention anymore or feel like I have obligations that I need to return to eventually. I need to focus on the future because only there can Kelly and I be together.”

“I see. And you feel that future doesn’t involve Austin?”

“Exactly.”

Marcello sniffed and nodded. “You remember Kenneth, your predecessor? When I first met him, I saw someone just as cunning as myself, a person clever enough to keep the business running without me. I’m not getting any younger, and I may have mentioned a severe lack of family in my life. I have none, in fact. At least not of the traditional variety. It’s ironic then that Kenneth tried to wrest control of the company from me. Had he simply waited, it all would have been his eventually. I’m glad that didn’t come to pass because he lacked one essential trait that you possess in spades. Generosity. That’s why I came here singing your praises tonight. Kenneth might have led the company to more profitable horizons, but he would not have bothered with my fundraisers and such. He always treated them as bothersome and unnecessary. I don’t have that fear with you. In a way, that’s what you’re already doing—finding ways to share your success with those who need it most. I’m proud of you, and lately I’ve become rather fond of the idea of you being there during my final days. Not just as a business partner, or my successor, but rather like a son.”

Nathaniel swallowed against the emotions he felt rising. “You’re a silly old man. You know that?”

“I take pride in it,” Marcello said. “Not so much the old part, but I suppose if I’m willing to trust you with everything else, I can admit it just this once. I’m old and that means I’ve seen far too many of the best things in my life slip away. Friends and lovers all carried away by the whims of chance. I’m not willing to let you go.”

“I need to do this,” Nathaniel said. “I’m sorry I’m letting you down, but I do.”

Marcello shook his head and smiled. “You’re not letting me down. You’re living up to my expectations. I’m too selfish to give you my blessing, but please know that I’ll be here. No matter what happens in the future, no matter how successful you become in New York, you will always have a home in Austin.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel managed to say.

“Now then, let’s see about that bottle of champagne. Perhaps I can get you drunk enough to oversleep and miss your flight.”

Nathaniel grinned. “It’s worth a shot.”

* * * * *

The first few days in New York were spent playing tourist and hoping that fate would intervene. While visitors gazed upward in wonder at the advertising blitz in Times Square or walked the Brooklyn Bridge to gawk at the city skyline, Nathaniel scanned the crowds, hoping against the odds that he would find Kelly there. Of course this didn't happen.

On the third night after his arrival, Nathaniel grabbed a few pizza slices on his way back to the hotel, feeling an urge to buy extra for Zero and a pang of sorrow when he remembered the dog was in Austin with Sheila. Nathaniel needed to find an apartment before he brought Zero to New York, so he began his search online while he ate. He kept nudging the search results toward Kelly's neighborhood, managing to find a rental that looked promising. After making an appointment to see the place the next afternoon, he went to his hotel’s gym, feeling sluggish from so much eating out.

The next day Nathaniel met with an old man who showed him a small dingy apartment, the walls yellowed with tobacco stains and the carpet so filthy he felt it sticking to his shoes. Nathaniel left the place craving a shower. He hoped Kelly had done better for himself. He lived just a few blocks away. If all the buildings in this neighborhood were that poorly maintained… Convincing himself he was playing the role of concerned citizen, Nathaniel used the GPS on his phone to map a route to Kelly’s address.

Minutes later he was standing outside a brick building, cast-iron fire escapes winding their way down the façade. Nathaniel crossed the street, confirmed that the last name of ‘Phillips’ was listed among the mailboxes, and was severely tempted to push the buzzer. What would he say? He didn’t want to make the same mistake Caesar had, barging in and demanding another chance. Even being caught standing in front of the building would seem creepy rather than charming, so Nathaniel continued on to the nearest subway station.

On his way he spotted an art gallery and stopped to look in the window. The place specialized in photography. Considering the close proximity to Kelly’s home, it seemed likely he would be represented there. Nathaniel went inside, eager to find out. He examined each photo carefully, challenging himself to recognize Kelly’s work by content alone. He made his way along all the walls in this manner, not finding what he was looking for.

Nathaniel turn to face the room. “Do you have anything by Kelly Phillips?”

The owner walked over to him, repeating the name a few times. “Afraid not, sorry. What’s his style? Maybe we have something similar.”

“You don’t. He’s a local artist.”

The owner shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not familiar with him.”

“He was one of the hottest fashion models a few years back,” Nathaniel said, taking out his phone and pulling up a picture to show him.

The owner peered at it. “Are you looking for photos
of
him or—”

“No, he’s a professional photographer and artist now. He had a huge exhibition in Austin recently. Just a second.” Nathaniel went to the website for the Eric Conroy Gallery, hoping Tim had his shit together when it came to PR. He wasn’t disappointed. Not only did the website feature an extensive biography of Kelly and his work, but it also included photos from the gallery opening.

“That’s quite the crowd!” the owner said, dollar signs in his eyes.

“Kelly has his fans.”

“You say he’s local?”

“He lives in this neighborhood, in fact.”

The owner narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Are you his agent?”

Nathaniel laughed. “No. I work for Studio Maltese. Used to, anyway. You’ve heard of our catalog?”

The owner nodded. “In fact I have!”

“Let’s just say that photos of Kelly still rake in money for the studio. I expect the photos he takes will be equally valuable. You should get some in here, see what happens.”

“Kelly Phillips,” the man repeated. Then he hurried to his desk. “You know, I believe he was in here a few months back. He dropped off his portfolio, but we aren’t taking on new artists and… Yes! Here it is!”

“If you don’t have room, you don’t have room,” Nathaniel said casually. “It was nice talking to you. Best of luck with everything.”

He left the gallery, keeping a straight face until he was out of sight. Then he turned around and walked backward a few paces, imagining Kelly passing the gallery every day on his way to catch a train, increasingly frustrated that his work wasn’t displayed there.
Everyone’s an artist in New York. Everyone except me.
Had any of the local galleries given him a chance?

Nathaniel decided to find out. He stopped to get a coffee, searching for galleries that specialized in photography and making a list of the nearest and most prominent. During the next week, while continuing his apartment hunt, he stopped at these galleries, never finding Kelly’s work but always casually promoting him before leaving. Some owners were apathetic, but most were salivating with greed by the time Nathaniel left. He always remained anonymous. Kelly preferred to earn his own success, so he probably wouldn’t be grateful for Nathaniel’s assistance. Regardless, he hoped these efforts helped jump start his reputation.

After a few days, curious if his efforts were having any impact, Nathaniel returned to the original gallery. He decided to go late at night when the gallery was closed so his repeated presence wouldn’t cause suspicion. First he strolled by Kelly’s building, glancing up at the lit windows and wondering which belonged to him. Then he made his way to the gallery, where he amused himself by pressing his nose against the window. His smile soon faded. The display had changed. Three new photos hung in one corner. One in particular caught his eye, causing goosebumps.

Nathaniel returned the next morning a few minutes after the gallery opened, not caring how this appeared.

“Guess what we got in?” the owner said cheerfully.

“I saw,” Nathaniel said, heading for the corner. “Have any of them sold yet?”

“No, but that’s not—”

“Good. This one is mine.” He stopped in front of an image of a Siberian Husky leaping through the water, front paws in the air, hind legs still partially submersed and surrounded by froth. The animal appeared elemental, a wave in the shape of a dog.
His
dog. Zero. Nathaniel’s eyes stung. He rubbed at them, feeling more homesick than he thought possible.