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by Mike Schwarcz, text and art

Thursday night, Hayden was running late to his weekly poker game, in a luxury midtown hotel suite. The hotel room door swung shut silently following his entrance.
"You're lucky, you're just in time. Someone called about a seat. I was about to give yours away."
"Sure you were, you old goat," Hayden shot back at the host, Alex, his oldest buddy from college, and life-long friend.
"All the money I've made you, and this is how you treat me?" Hayden showed his poker face, but said no more.
"I was kidding, come on, sit down, what do you want to drink?"
Seated with his whisky in front of him, Hayden began to relax.

Hayden's sour mood stemmed from the fact that Rachel Spires was alive, but out of his reach. Cece's rejection was more salt to the wound. Now he was getting flak from his oldest buddy. He knew Alex was joking, but it grated on him, making him feel he was losing his touch. That golden touch of wealth and privilege that protected his empire, while also providing him with an aura of invincibility; was it all crumbling?
The game became a distraction. He decided to focus on the Santa Fe project and this new artist, Miguel Angelo, the guy who burned his paintings. Why not drum up some business?
"Any of you guys know of this artist, Miguel Angelo?" Hayden asked.
Blank stares all around the table. "Is he new? Is he with SpACE?"
"I signed him a few months ago; he went viral for setting his paintings on fire."
"Hadn't heard, are you going to syndicate him?"
"I'd consider it. When I signed him, I purchased 50 pieces. He's currently working on his debut collection. I'm going to show him at the premiere of the Santa Fe Gallery this winter, and then probably New York in a year or two." Hayden said.
With the first hand dealt, the bidding went around the table only once before Hayden folded with a seven-high hand.
"This Miguel Angelo could pay off big, if we worked his prices up to around twenty or fifty thousand," Hayden said, looking around the table as a new hand was dealt.
Nobody rose to Hayden's bait. He was dealt another throw-away hand.
"I hope you have better luck with this Angelo. I'm still waiting for the last one you signed me up for to pay off, I'm sitting on six of his."
"I know, I know, his market has gotten frothy, no question. But patience is rewarded, just give the market some time, it always comes back. Going forward though, I'm focusing on the middle market, rather than the top names. Lower prices." Hayden said.
"The market has been sideways since the end of COVID; and still hasn't really sorted itself out," said Alex.
"It isn't what it was a few years ago, but there's still plenty of fruit for the picking," Hayden struck an upbeat tone.
There was another shuffle before cards and chips traveled around and across the felt.
"Look at it this way, there's only about eight hundred to a thousand billionaires in the US. But there are millions of millionaires. A significant portion of that money is new and inexperienced in the art market. Much easier to deal with than these insane Russian oligarchs and tech bros." Hayden waited for the shuffle and a new hand.
The next round was played in silence, and Hayden finally won a hand with a straight. Fifteen hundred dollars, nothing to write home about.

"So what's with your latest, that girl who tried to scam you?"
"Rachel? You know she disappeared from the Hamptons on the Fourth, right?" Hayden said.
"That's what I heard. Any updates?"
"She stepped off a yacht in Nantucket about a month ago. The Customs officer called the police chief in East Hampton because she popped up as a missing person, he called me straight away."
"She still owes me a hundred thou, and I have no idea where she is. I have a PI watching her house in L.A., but nothing yet." Hayden's mood worsened with another losing hand.
"You just can't trust women," someone said.
"Speaking of which, is there any entertainment on the schedule for tonight?" a player asked.
"There may be a surprise or two in store." Alex said.
"Here, here."

Trust women? Hayden, ignoring the other players, chuckled to himself. The only thing he trusted was himself. Rachel and Cece were eating at him only because he wasn't used to losing. He knew he was getting older, but his ego was still a teenager, and needed more attention than ever.
The evening wore on, Hayden barely breaking even, far from the twenty or thirty thousand in winnings he could expect on a good night, was losing interest in the game. He got up, grabbing a sandwich from a platter on the bar, and ordering another drink.
"Guy's, Lady Luck has left me high and dry, I'm out." Hayden seated himself on the sofa with a pastrami on rye and fresh whisky.
"Well, better luck next week." Someone mumbled.
"Thanks friend, maybe I'll just stick around and jinx your game as well," retorted Hayden.
"Buddy, c'mon, I didn't mean it, really."
"See you all later—probably." Hayden left the game.

Waiting in the hall for the elevator, his mind again spun to Rachel and his future plans for her. How could she so brazenly desert him? His foot drummed silently on the plush carpet. He was anxious, in a hurry to get somewhere and get something going. He wasn't going to live forever.
Hayden stood ready as the elevator dinged, and the doors opened to reveal two young ladies.
"Poker game?" he asked.
"How did you know?"
"Instinct, just like my instinct tells me, you'd be open to a better offer."
He held his hands out to them as he stepped into the elevator, kissing each of them on the cheek and whispering a number. They cheerfully followed his lead for the remainder of the night.

Hayden awoke in the old architect's studio in Chelsea, where Cece had stayed. Hidden under the sheets of the king-size bed, the two girls from the elevator were slumbering on. Into the bathroom to relieve himself, and pop a blue pill, Hayden felt Friday morning was going to be alright. Then, suddenly, he felt dizzy and had to lie down again. He may have passed out, he wasn't sure, he was disoriented; he blamed the effects on the pill he'd taken. Had someone switched them? One of the girls? He wondered. When his eyes opened again, it took a full minute before he recognized where he was. The girls stood beside the bed, looking down on him and his erection.
"You okay, Daddy?"
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry, are you okay, sir?"
"There's cash in the wallet, bring me my pants."
"Do you want some help with that?" she pointed at his semi-erection.
"No, thanks, I'll manage. Here." Hayden peeled off a wad of cash from his poker stake and handed the bills to the girl.
"Are we good?"
"We're good. We'll see ourselves out."
"Okay, bye."
Once the girls left, Hayden took stock. He knew where he was, but found it hard to focus. Looking around the room, he could focus one eye, but not both eyes at the same time, and not on the same thing. He didn't like the feeling.
What's happening to me? He suddenly realized how old he really was, and it terrified him. Christ! I couldn't get it up this morning, even with the pill. Those girls were looking at me with pity!

Monday morning Hayden, pushing aside the episode with the blue pill, installed himself back in Aisha's offices for the bi-weekly conference calls to gallery managers. Being summer, business was slow, but planning for the winter season, scheduling shows and arranging those exhibits, was in full swing. After closing out his last Zoom call, Hayden entered Aisha's office.
"What's new with you?" he asked.
"In what sense?"
"Well, Santa Fe for starters."
"Okay, progress is slowing; some issues with expanding sewer capacity and new permits to handle the cafe and restaurant. Roger is on it."
"What about this Miguel Angelo? It's been a month since you got back, and I haven't heard a peep from you about him."
"I had to get him back on track. He lost his way, didn't know what to paint, so I suggested he stick to Santa Fe motifs and execute them in oils rather than watercolors, keeping the luminosity, of course. I asked him to keep them under 30 by 40 inches for now, so we can gauge their viability."
"How many has he done?"
"To be honest, none yet."
"Shit, Aisha, I expected more from you."
"Cece tells me he has some issues with his wife. He's also a little naive; he's never been exposed to the challenges and pressures that come with big pay-days. He's a small fish who now finds himself in a large pond; it's all very new and unfamiliar to him."
"I'm counting on his paintings for the Santa Fe premiere. The first half of November, you know that."
"What's the minimum we would need, a dozen?"
"That's the bare minimum. Look, I don't want to fly down there and read this guy the riot act, but I will if I have to."
Hayden was plainly checking his anger. Aisha thought he looked pale.
"Hayden, it wasn't anything more than the fact that he needed some artistic guidance to get back on track. Let me call first, get a handle on the current situation."
"I want the current status by Wednesday."
"No need to wait, I'll have it for you today. Anything else?" Aisha rose to escort him out of her office, sticking her tongue out at him when he turned his back.
Coming down hard on Aisha was Hayden's relief valve for increasingly frequent bad moods, and the episode put him in a bad mood. He felt fine. He had no lingering after-effects from Thursday night that would cause a man like him to see his doctor. His ego kept him from the doctor's office; he was of superior stock, his family tree genetically exceptional, he was sure of that.
Was Aisha being ungrateful and taking advantage of him? Hayden wondered.
He knew she was more than capable of running the show, but that was beside the point. Without me she's nothing. He smiled to himself. I'm still in charge, and she owes me. In Hayden's eyes, Aisha was merely a poor immigrant girl, a waif. He was the hero who rescued her from her crazy father.
Aisha's perception differed from Hayden's, but was irrelevant to anyone aside from herself. She picked up the phone and dialed Cece.
"How's the weather in Santa Fe?" she asked.
"Fair to middling, I'd say," Cece replied.
"How are you? Are you keeping busy?"
"Busy enough, I've finally moved into the temporary studio with Miguel."
"How's he doing? Do you see him often? Is he spending time in the studio?"
"I'm not sure how he's doing. I'm trying to avoid him, his marital issues; I already know more than I want to. Sara's causing problems for him, she told me she wants to leave him."
"Sara needs to sod off. If Miguel's not painting I'm going to assume it's her causing the problem." Aisha was getting her hackles up.
"That's as good a guess as any."
"Are you in the studio now?"
"Yes, but he's not here."
"Have you seen him paint anything in the last few weeks?"
"Haven't really paid attention, but I can go look."
"Would you, please?"
Cece left her office and walked over to Miguel's studio. Unlocked the door and looked around, she blinked.

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To be continued

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