Tito: You’re making me worried.

  Me: Usually, that’s a good thing.

  I switched over to Pierre’s name on my contact list, told him to get the phone from Tito, and bring it to me as soon as possible. It was only then, when I finally opened the door, rushed down the stairs, and headed to my own private gallery on a quiet section of my penthouse.

  It barely took ten minutes as I bustled through the crowd of party-goers in my smoky living space. By the time, I arrived at my private gallery, Pierre was standing in front of the entrance with the friend’s phone in hand.

  “Damn.” I grabbed it from him. “Tito broke a record this time.”

  A frown spread over Pierre’s face.

  “What?”

  “The stealing of her friend’s phone, is a bit, over the line for courtship, don’t you think so?”

  “This isn’t a courtship. It’s my usual thing, I’ve always enjoyed the hunt. You know that.”

  “This doesn’t feel like one of your usual hunts.”

  I leaned my head to the side. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You seem a bit. . .”

  “Just say it.”

  “Obsessed.”

  “Thank you, Pierre.” I took the phone from him. “I’ll contact you when I need you.”

  “Wolf—”

  “I have everything under control. She’s just another chick I’m trying to see naked, nothing more.”

  “You’ve never spent this much time on any women.”

  “Red is harder to get to than most.”

  “Perhaps, that’s what makes the chase more enticing to you, or maybe it’s that you both have a shared interest in graffiti art.”

  “Neither. It’s her boobs.”

  Pierre gave me a knowing look. “Okay, Wolf. I hope this works out for you.”

  “It will. Oh yeah, and do one more thing for me.”

  “Yes?”

  “Go back to the table that they were at. Red should be there. Escort her to the gallery.”

  “Would she come with me again?”

  “She will. Trust me.”

  “O-kay, sir.”

  As Pierre walked off, I undid the lock screen with a thumb swipe and spotted two missed calls from the same number, one I knew to be Red’s digits. I’d paid a lot of money to discover her number.

  Pierre might be right. I have spent more time and money than usual on one woman. Why?

  In that moment, Red called the phone. It buzzed in my hand. Excitement hit me, then disappointment as I realized that she wasn’t calling me, she’s been dialing her friend.

  I pressed ignore and then typed in a text.

  Me: Hey, we’re in the gallery. Ask Pierre to show you how to get here.

  Red: Pierre, huh?

  I grimaced.

  Did I say something wrong?

  Me: What?

  Red: You said Pierre as if you were on a first name basis with him.

  Me: Oh. He’s nice.

  Red: Nice as in panty-wetting nice? Or nice as in cuddly puppy?

  How wet are your panties, Red?

  Me: Cuddly puppy.

  Hurrying into the gallery, I decided to take a risk, and type something else.

  Me: How did the commission go?

  Red: Don’t know. I was really high. I probably imagined all the sexual attraction in the air.

  Damn you. Then why did you run off?

  Me: You like him?

  Red: Who cares? I’ve no time for men. I’m still on my three year pause. No penis until fame and fortune.

  My cock twitched in my pants. She’d been sex-free for three years? That type of woman would be nice to have in my bed, one who’d saved herself for something more. Granted it wasn’t for marriage or God, but something I truly believed in, art.

  After I taste you, you’ll be happy that you waited so long. I’ll give you three years’ worth of anything that your body needs.

  Chapter 6

  The Big Bad Wolf

  Red

  For the second time that day, I followed Pierre on a set of stairs. This time we went down instead of up. The stairs were also done differently, no décor of any type, just plain white walls and dusty steps.

  “So your boss is the Wolf?” I asked.

  I’d meant it as a joke, but Pierre stopped climbing the stairs and stared back at me in shock. “He. . .he told you that? He told you his name?”

  “Wow. That’s really good acting. Does he pay you for that?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Does Mr. Furry Wolf pay you to pretend he’s different animals so that he can get women in bed?”

  “That’s a tricky question.” He adjusted his collar as if it was ruffled. “It’s clear that he’s lied about some things, but. . .he is the famous artist, Wolf. I’m just. . .thoroughly shocked that after all of these years, he’s come out to you, someone he’s. . .”

  “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “He’s been interested in for a while.”

  “Interested?”

  “Very interested.”

  “For a while?” I eyed him. “We’ve only met today.”

  “He’s been intrigued by you for some time.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Pierre seemed to look off beyond me. “I can’t believe he told you his street name.”

  “Oh come on.”

  Pierre maintained that straight face. “You really don’t believe him?”

  “I don’t believe him or you.” I walked past Pierre. “So where’s this gallery? I’m ready to meet up with my friends.”

  “He is the Wolf,” Pierre said behind me.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” I got to the top, opened the door, and headed down the only way one could go.

  “Mrs. Red? Hold on, please.”

  I stopped and turned his way. “What?”

  “You cannot tell this to anyone. His identity must be kept secret. I’ll need you to sign paperwork before you go.” He toyed with that collar some more. “In fact, I’ll rush some papers up to you within a few minutes.”

  “I’m not signing anything.” I continued down the hall toward an opened white door where jazz music drifted out. “I don’t trust him or you. Maybe next time your Dr. Sheep could be more honest.”

  I got to the door and pushed it forward, but before I could walk in, Pierre grabbed my arm.

  “Ah!” I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

  Coco’s grandfather had did a good job with keeping us motivated to protect ourselves. In the past, I knocked a few guys out with a some prominent hits, here and there.

  I put my back to the door, rolled my fingers, and got into the stance Coco’s grandfather had taught us, when we were only in middle school. “Back away. You’re weirding me out, and I’m already pretty out there with my thinking right now.”

  Pierre raised his hands and backed up. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I was only trying to get your attention to help you understand how serious this is.”

  “I’m not signing anything. In fact, I’m getting out of here.”

  He took one step forward. “You can’t leave without signing—”

  A familiar dark voice sounded behind me. “She’ll leave, when she’s ready, and on her terms.”

  That better not be who I think it is.

  I turned around. “This is making me uncomfortable.”

  Dr. Sheep/Wolf/Whatever kept his gaze on Pierre who was mumbling sorry behind me.

  “Did you touch her?” My sudden hero asked.

  “I only grabbed her arm,” Pierre said. “But it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “Don’t touch her, again.”

  “I second that.” I spread my hands out on my sides and drew a huge circle around me. “This is my space bubble. Both of you back up.”

  They moved away.

  Pierre’s voice was more accusation than question. “You told her your identity?”

  “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t believe I’m Wolf, anyway.”

  “It does matter. Part of your success is the mystery—”

  “My success is the art.”

  “She’ll need to sign a form saying that—”

  “No.” Wolf waved the statement away. “She’s run the streets with some of the same people I’ve known or mentored in this game. She understands the need for privacy, and all the things that could happen if my identity is revealed. Besides, I know her identity too.”

  I turned to see Pierre’s response, not willing to disrupt the conversation.

  Sometimes silence helped me learn the truth of most situations.

  They are really talking about him as if he’s Wolf. Is this for real?

  “She’s only starting out,” Pierre said. “If you tell the world who she is, it won’t cause as much damage for her. But, Wolf, if your identity is known. . .there would be many repercussions. Things that you may have never considered. Think about it. You’ve desecrated government buildings in foreign countries, during a time of war, when US citizens weren’t welcome, and I told you it was a bad idea, but—”

  “Those Palestine kids needed the unicorns and rainbows, more than I needed to play it safe. It was the least I could do. Too bad I couldn’t have taken them all. They needed to see something special, instead of men killing each other.”

  No. There’s no fucking way this is him. I mean. How the hell could this be him? I pictured a much older guy. He’s older, but. . .

  Wolf’s unicorn stunt had been all over the news. CNN had even started its own Wolf section, updating the art world monthly on his recent stunts. He’d been one of the pioneers of the graffiti game. People were fascinated by his innovative images and clear critiques of society.

  A year ago, a cop shot an unarmed black boy on a regular afternoon in front of hundreds of school kids. The cop never lost his job. No justice came. Everything in that town seemed lost. Hope appeared like this black cloud over the whole area, and the world sat back in their houses and watched on their television screens.

  A day later, the boy’s life and town’s damage had been forgotten due to a celebrity teen getting drunk and pissing on a gate in front of the White House.

  Wolf changed the tone. The next morning, a large controversial mural was painted all over the back of the police station. How he’d done it? No one knew. It took major balls. Police had to be their 24/7. In fact, the very idea of vandalizing a police station during a state of unrest was insane.

  But, Wolf did it.

  The image?

  Powerful.

  He’d drawn three laughing clowns, dressed in police uniforms and holding massive machine guns that were shaped like black, bulging penises. These haunting men stood on top of a big mountain of dead boys,

  all with dark brown skin,

  decorated in bullet holes,

  and tears spilling from their eyes.

  Their hands gripped school identification cards between their little fingers.

  Blood spilled between the dead children,

  money too.

  At the top of the mural, he’d sprayed, “To Protect and Serve.”

  Wolf represented more than street art. He symbolized social activism. He was my hero, why I shifted from Mickey Mouse penises to something more.

  Jesus! Is it really him?

  The things he painted, targeted governments and the police, put them all on notice for their lack of humanity. He triggered social discourse.

  And they hated him for it.

  Which made me love him more.

  Pierre’s voice disrupted my thoughts. “Those unicorns almost got you killed.”

  Sighing, Wolf’s only response was. “Let’s finish this later. Red doesn’t have to sign anything.”

  “Fine, Wolf.” Pierre frowned and then turned to me. “I’m sorry for grabbing your arm.”

  “Apology accepted,” I said.

  Wolf gestured for me to enter. “Come on inside, Red. There’s no need for me to dress up as Grandma. You already know that I’m the Wolf. However, I almost put on an old lady’s dress and wig, but I figured I would creep you out. And I’m trying not to do that.”

  I raised my eyebrows and didn’t move.

  “Red?”

  “Are you really Wolf?”

  “Yes.”

  My heart beat fast in my chest. “Prove it.”

  “Come inside.”

  My excitement faltered a bit. He was still someone I didn’t know. Idol or not, I couldn’t put myself in a dangerous situation. “Why do you want me in there?”

  “It’s my private gallery. My actual works are there. Murals I later took due to knowing that certain countries’ police were going to paint over them.”

  “You took your murals off of street blocks? I don’t understand.”

  “Come inside. You’ll understand then. It’s all in my gallery.” He stepped in. “The only reason why I bought this penthouse was for the gallery on the third floor.”

  “I thought this was only two stories.”

  “Most people do. I keep this gallery private. No one comes on this floor. You’ll be the fifth person to walk inside. So far only my buddy Tito, my mom, Dad, and Pierre have been in here. No one else. You’ll be the fifth.”

  I’ll be the fifth. Oh my God. Is this really him? Wait a minute. I’ll only be the fifth person?

  Suddenly, it dawned on me why I’d come up here in the first place, and that if I was only the fifth person to walk in the gallery, then Coco and Mary weren’t in there.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Something is going on. My friends said they were here.” I glared at him and stepped back.

  Raising his hands, he took a step back too. “Okay. I did that, but it was only to get you up here and start over with my introduction.”

  Annoyance replaced my fascination with him. I edged away again. “What did you do exactly?”

  “I. . .okay. Understand, I’m typically very level-headed, but with you. . .I’ve taken it to the extreme. I should apologize.”

  I scrunched up my face in confusion. “What did you do?”

  “I had my buddy grab your friend’s phone.” Wolf took it out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I needed you to come up to my gallery and just see the truth of who I am.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure you understand what truth is, or the fact that no matter why you did something stupid, the thing you did is still stupid and creepy.”

  “I’m Wolf.”

  “Well, then Wolf is a controlling bastard.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Where are my friends?”

  “With my buddy Tito. They’re fine. Tito is a good guy.”

  “Yet, he’s the one who’s a thief?”

  “Look. He did it for me.”

  “So he’s a mindless lackey?” I unlocked Coco’s screen, pulled up Mary’s number, and texted her.

  Me: This is Red. Are you all okay? I have Coco’s phone.

  Mary: We’re on the rooftop smoking from Tito’s bong. Hurry! It’s good stuff.

  Me: On my way. Are you both okay? Seriously, is everything fine?

  Mary: Uh yeah. Are U okay? You sound a bit paranoid. Maybe, you need to drink some water.

  Alrighty. They’re fine.

  I pocketed the phone and headed back to the stairs.

  Wolf called behind me. “You don’t even want to see what’s in the gallery?”

  I showed him my middle finger.

  “Red, I want to paint with you.”

  “Find someone else.” I approached the door. “You’ve got the money and fame. There shouldn’t be any problem getting a volunteer.”

  “But there is a problem when it comes to finding someone to spend my time with. In this city, no one is real.”

  “You’re right. No one is real, including the guy in this hallway.” I pointed at him. “You want to paint and spend time with me? Come up and approach me like a normal man. That’s how you talk to me.”

  “I’ve seen guys do exactly that. I’ve watched many men come up to you. It doesn’t work. You brush them away. Most of the time you ignore them. Your eyes are always covered with sunglasses. Your ears plugged in with music, and your mind is on your art.”

  I let go of the door knob and glanced over my shoulder. “What do you mean you’ve seen guys approach me? When?”

  “In Wynwood.”

  I spun around. “You’ve seen me in Wynwood?”

  “I’ve watched you work.”

  “You stalked me?”

  “I wouldn’t say stalk.”

  “It sounds like stalk.”

  “I watched you work in a public area.”

  “Still sounds like stalking.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a wolf. We stalk.”

  “You’re a—”

  “Let me mentor you.”

  “No. And we’re talking about you stalking me right now.”

  “I already apologized for that.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Then, I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck your sorry.”

  “Fine. Fuck my sorry. Now let’s talk business.”

  “Your insane.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I get it. There’s no chance of anything more than a platonic situation with you due to my actions. Is that clear?”

  “Clear with a capital fucking C.”

  “Then let me mentor you.”

  I opened my mouth in shock.

  “Let me show you the business side of graffiti. I can introduce you to powerful people, help your brand, and fund what you need. You’re talented. You are the very essence of street art. That’s what made me crazy. It was those images all over cracked bricks that fucked up my head. I haven’t been able to think straight since I’ve viewed your pieces.”

  My heart pumped in my chest. My words left my tongue.

  “Please. let me mentor you?”

  “I. . .I don’t trust you.”

  “Do you remember the first artist you fell in love with?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was it?” he asked.

  I bit my lip, not willing to let him know that it was him.

 

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