In the kitchen, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Vincent and Matteo, explaining that everything was okay but that I was staying a bit longer and would be home later that evening. I’d have to explain that we needed to make an effort to include Juno and Charles in our lives from this point forward. We’d been neglectful of our friends, and it couldn’t continue.
I sighed and got to work in the kitchen. It was a bit of a disaster, but with focus and hard work, I had it back to being presentable in about half an hour. I folded the towel neatly and placed it on the clean counter. When I went back into the main room, Charles and Juno had gone, and suspicious sounds came from the bedroom. Good sounds.
Then knocking came on the apartment door. I opened it to Vincent.
“Hey,” I said, pulling him into my arms.
“How’s Juno?”
“Better. But I feel like shit. We’ve been neglecting Juno…and Charles. We’re supposed to be their friends.”
Vincent hugged me close. “Charles’ car is parked in Visitors.” He handed me the keys.
I put them on the side table and wrote out a note, using the pen and paper that was there.
I’m so sorry I’ve neglected you, Juno. Please bring Charles to dinner Saturday. You need to meet Matteo and Taylor properly, and we need to reconnect. Charles’ car is in Visitors. XO.
Nic
I explained everything to Vincent on the drive home.
* * * *
“Nic, how are things with Juno and Charles?” Matteo said as soon as he saw us.
I sat on the sofa beside him, tugging Vincent down next to me.
“Better. But, uh, it seems I’ve been remiss in my personal obligations. Would you mind cooking for six people on Saturday?”
Matteo shook his head. “Not at all. I can do spaghetti Bolognese. That’s a delicious and straightforward dish.”
“Thank you. That would be wonderful.”
I explained about the grant that Juno had missed out on, and how that and my neglect had initiated a spiral into self-doubt and worry about finances.
“Poor Juno,” Vincent murmured. “Their art is so beautiful!”
“Yes, it is. I offered to buy that painting they gave us, but Juno wouldn’t hear of it. They also said they’d charge me twenty-six thousand bucks for it, which I don’t have. Not as disposable funds, anyway.”
“Whoa,” Vincent said.
“Yeah, whoa. I have no doubt they’ve sold some of their art for at least a few thousand. I’m not saying that painting isn’t worth twenty K, but, I guess… I don’t know.”
Matteo frowned. “Maybe we could offer to organize an exhibit? Help them sell some pieces? Could we incorporate some kink into an art show? Maybe have some demos, human display pieces, that sort of thing?”
It didn’t take much effort to picture it. We could invite the elites—nasty fucks though they might be—who would come for the titillation and hopefully leave with an art piece for their dungeon.
“That…is not a half bad idea,” I said, tapping my chin.
* * * *
Plans for the event began to materialize. We would call itElectric Dreams—An Erotic Illusion.
There would be an attendance fee, and we located a space we could use for a minimal rental price. The many connections I’d made over the years in the Ottawa kink community meant we had all kinds of volunteers to help. We decided to keep it casual, like Matteo had suggested—something a little kinkier than your average gallery show.
I made a list of all the elite kinksters, intellectuals and artists I knew in town, even those who might not buy a painting. Because an event was only as good as its participants, and I truly wanted people to enjoy themselves. Besides, happy attendees were more likely to go home with a painting or two.
Between Vincent and I, we had the entire event pretty well organized by the time Juno and Charles arrived on Saturday.
