Talker's Graduation by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online

next sculpture, and the idea that….” That bitter voice
    trailed off and Mark seemed to get hold of himself, which was good,
    because Talker didn‟t have the first fucking clue how to respond to
    that. Mark found a small alcove that afforded them some privacy
    from the crowd that seemed to be gathering around the next
    sculpture and pulled Talker to the side.
    “Okay, look,” he said, his grimace eloquent; he didn‟t like Tate.
    He obviously never would. “I wanted him—you knew that. If you‟ve
    got any fucking sense in your little squirrel-brain, you‟ll know that he
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    didn‟t want me back. That‟s fine, right? I get it. True love always,
    just like those disgusting teenagers in that vampire movie.
    Whatever. But this thing he‟s turning down? The opportunity in
    Petaluma? That‟s huge. Wine country is like… like „Art Mecca‟ right
    now—it‟s right up there with Carmel and Monterey for an
    unschooled artist, okay? And Brian‟s got raw talent and a lot of
    willfulness; unschooled is where he‟s going to be, and he seems to
    be fine with that. I get it. So he‟s not going to take classes, and he‟s
    going to learn everything he can from books he can pirate online, I
    get that too. But he‟s got a chance to run his own gallery, with all of
    the resources he needs built right in, including a studio with enough
    natural light to maybe let him see what he‟s throwing away by
    turning it down!”
    Tate listened to him with an open mouth and a whirling brain,
    right until Skeezenbacher‟s voice rose at the last few words. “Look,
    Skee… Mark. You seem to be functioning under the delusion that I
    have any fucking idea what the hell you‟re talking about. You want
    to back up to, I don‟t know—Petaluma, maybe?” Tate had a tight
    grip on his worry-stone, because the temptation to just twitch
    himself right out of this library and into the big goldfish bowl in the
    sky was almost over-fucking-whelming.
    “A friend of mine is retiring,” Mark said patiently, and then he
    looked away and took a deep breath. “Okay, let‟s be honest. My old
    lover is dying of cancer. He‟s leaving this gallery and this little
    house—and they were his life. He knows about Brian because…
    well, you know I had hopes, but… well, after….” Mark glared at him.
    “After Brian showed me that brilliant piece of work that you haven‟t
    even seen, he told me that I needed to butt out. He told me that you
    guys were like we used to be, back before….”
    Okay. It was official. Talker couldn‟t hate the guy, because he
    was hurting. Wasn‟t going to serve Brian up to him ass-up on a
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    platter, either, but, well, he could understand a little bit, about how
    life would get in the way.
    “Shit happened,” he said softly, and was rewarded with a drop
    in the bitter guard around Mark Orenbacher‟s body.
    “Yeah. Life got in the way. So Taylor‟s dying, and he‟s leaving
    this really wonderful set up, and I offered it to Brian, because…
    well, Taylor would like him. He‟d probably even like you, because
    he has a big heart that way. But Brian… he didn‟t even listen to the
    offer.” Mark looked away bitterly. “He said that you needed to finish
    school first. I tried to tell him that was a lost cause—”
    “Fuck you!” Talker snapped, his sympathy gone, and Mark
    winced.
    “Okay, okay—I‟m being an asshole—but dammit—it‟s there.
    And it‟s beautiful. And if Brian is going to waste his life with
    someone like you, I don‟t see why he couldn‟t make use of his
    talent someplace better for him than this craphole of a city!”
    Talker blinked at him. “You hate Sacramento too?” He and
    Brian had talked about it— God how they had talked about it. The
    homophobia, the urban sprawl, the way their favorite places were
    being eaten up by strip malls. Brian missed the relative quiet of
    Grass Valley, the small