Chapter Text
How this time he’d ended up at 2 am staring at a bottle of pills he couldn’t quite be sure.
Nobody had come, that was the truth. To his gallery opening, nobody had come. I mean sure people had, the people who always came for free wine and a chance to be ‘seen. But none of his friends had come. One or two maybe he would count as legitimate excuses- two people were currently working in Europe, they might have come he told himself if they’d been home. Some of them had told him weeks ago they couldn’t make it but they’d ‘for sure come and see the show’ maybe he believed them, maybe not. Others had sent last-minute texts, or nothing at all, just not shown. He’d spent all night looking around, hoping to see some of those faces, all while smiling and doing his job to be ‘David Rose, Gallerist’
Whoever that was. He heard himself talking, feeling like he was lying about everything. Like he didn’t know who he was, had no right to be there. He half expected someone to make an announcement it was all a fraud, that he had no right to call himself in charge of all this. That he had no idea what art was. And maybe he didn’t, maybe he’d just been getting by on money and connections and had no idea what he was doing.
He’d drunk a lot, which wasn’t unusual, champagne naturally flowed at these things. He’d always avoided the illegal substances in the bathrooms and cloakrooms, apparently the ‘Don’t Do Drugs’ campaigns of the 90s got through when little else did in school. But apparently, that never extended to prescription drugs, which he’d given himself a neat loophole for. If he knew how much you should take, well then he could moderate accordingly. So he took a few pills to get him through the night last night. And a few more to sleep when he got in, trying to forget the day.
And then he got up and went back to work, and did his job for a day. He looked over the press for the opening, coordinated several interviews for the artists involved, talked sales with the team, and did his job. And still, he felt like he was pretending. That any minute someone was going to tell him he wasn’t good enough.
Maybe his parents, they hadn’t come either. Sure his Mom was off filming in, where had she said? Eastern Europe somewhere he thought. And his Dad, where had his Dad said he was? Maybe he’d gone with his Mom? Maybe nowhere, maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come. He knew his Dad didn’t really believe in his art stuff as a ‘real’ career, it wasn’t a viable business model, it wasn’t a long term plan. It wasn’t ‘normal’ enough for Johnny Rose’s tastes. He never actually said those things but David just knew they were true. Anyway, they hadn’t come, and neither had Alexis. Who had no excuse as the idiot she was currently dating lived right here in the city and he was sure she could have spared an hour to show her face at his opening? She didn’t even have to come when the photographers were there, just if she’d bothered to come at all would have been something. If only in exchange for the hours he spent in line at the Embassy requesting new passports for her. Or on the end of long-distance phone calls trying to figure out where the fuck she was this time.
But of course, she hadn’t bothered. None of them had bothered, and he was alone at 2 am the day after the opening wide awake and feeling like he might as well give up.
The opening had gone fine, but that was it, fine. It wasn’t going to make a splash or change the world, or indeed give his so-called career a boost. Really, what was he doing? He looked around his empty, immaculate apartment and felt really alone. He did his best to distract himself- in productive, and if he was honest, increasingly unproductive, ways. He thought he’d have fixed things by now.
For a year or so things had looked better. He’d come back to the city, and he’d tried again. One more time he told himself, I’ll try one more time to ‘make it’ after all as the song goes if he could make it here...and apparently, he couldn’t. He borrowed money from his parents to fund renting the space, he’d tried to get artists interested in working with him. And some had been, but he knew he wasn’t in the ‘cool set’ the ‘cool set’ had moved on and he was...not with them. Instead, he was chipping away at the fringes of the Chelsea art scene, getting pity coverage in the press and the odd eccentric investor. He knew it was doomed.
But he didn’t know what else to do.
That was the truth.
For ten years, he’d chipped away trying to become something, someone in the art world. He knew he wasn’t talented enough as an artist to do that, he’d know that since High School. But he’d still loved art, so he carried on, thinking he could be part of that world in another way, that he could still be part of something somehow. But he was wrong, he was still on the outside looking in.
And really what was the point in trying any more? Everyone knew he was a huge failure.
He picked up his phone. Nothing. Of course.
He turned on the tv for some noise. He went to the kitchen and grabbed whatever was there- chips, cookies, soda all the staples of a balanced diet. He flopped on the sofa and let the noise wash over him.
It worked for a few hours. He drowned out everything with nothing. With eating until he felt sick until he was sick. He flopped back on the couch. Scrolled through his phone again. There was nobody to call. At least when he’d had a stupid roommate there was someone around at least. Until of course he annoyed her so much she moved out. She said she was moving to Chicago for a job but who knew if that was the real reason, maybe she even moved cities to get away from him. His phone was full of ‘work’ people and hook-ups and people who he wasn’t even sure why were there. He put it down again. Picked it up and tried Alexis. It went straight to voicemail. So she was either in a ditch somewhere or on a plane. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
Panic started to rise and he started to pace. Alexis was hurt and it was his fault he was sure. Where even had she been last? LA? That was the last he’d heard. But he couldn’t remember. It was fuzzy. He went through his emails, his Alexis folder, checking the airline tickets he’d managed to track from getting access to her credit card. It was one thing she conceded to, probably hoping he’d occasionally clear the balance before mom and dad saw and gave her a lecture. At least this way he could track her. He realised he could log into the online banking and see. It took longer than usual he kept getting locked out and his hands were shaking.
She was in fucking New York. She was in New York and she hadn’t come.
His sister who he spent half of his life checking up on, sending passports to, sending money and coloured contacts to. Couldn’t come from whatever penthouse she was in to see his opening.
He cried. And he hated himself for it. He hated caring what his family thought of him, he hated the fact that he missed them, that he wanted them there and he hated even more that they didn’t come.
Then he panicked. What if Alexis was in trouble? That’s why she hadn’t come. He texted again, he called again. He paced, he checked the banking. She’d used the card two days ago. Two days was a long time in Alexis land.
He texted his mom, then his dad. Knowing they’d probably not respond.
‘Haven’t heard from Alexis have you?’
Leaving out the bit where they’d ignored his gallery opening.
Nobody answered. Somehow the time crept forward, from 1am to 2am. And from nowhere, somehow completely rationally he was sitting on the bathroom floor with a bottle of sleeping pills wondering again how many would be enough...not to do any lasting harm but also to maybe wipe out a day or two. Somewhere in his mind, he remembered his dad’s face last time. The way he’d looked so disappointed in him. Which was nothing new was it? That’s what his parents were, disappointed in him. At least Alexis might marry some wealthy successful man and make things look good. What had he done? Nothing. Nobody wanted him.
He downed a handful of pills and staggered into the bedroom and flopped on the bed. Either they’d work or they wouldn’t. Soon he slipped off into oblivion.
It was light when he woke up. More accurately something woke him up. Something he realised shortly after was his mom’s voice- or her shrieking.
‘My boy!!’
‘Moira hush!’
‘But Dav-id!’
‘Ugh Mom? Dad?’ he sat up and his head span. He’d passed out on the couch it seemed. He ran a hand through his hair, his parents were standing staring at him. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he blinked at them.
‘You left us a num-ber of worrisome voicemails.’ his mom said casting her eye distastefully around the apartment. ‘And as we were on our way here anyway for the opening, we came right away from the airport.’
‘You missed the opening!’ David said waking up now ‘It was two days ago! You totally missed it!’
‘Dav-id you told us Saturday.’
‘What gallery opens on a Saturday?’ he objected.
‘David, son you did say the 28th that’s Saturday.’
‘No- no I did not know what I said and-’ his dad thrust the phone under his face, putting on his glasses and checking.
‘See uh says right here ‘Saturday 28th September.’’ his dad held it out.
‘Oh.’ David said ‘Maybe I...it was busy the other week when I sent that maybe I…’
‘David we’ve never missed your gallery openings.’ his dad said looking him up and down with a frown ‘Maybe you’re working too hard, or maybe you need a PA.’
‘Maybe I need people to do their jobs properly.’ he snapped, at nobody in particular.
‘Why don’t I make us some coffee.’ his dad said ‘You could...clean up...while I do.’
His dad wandered around the apartment and David started to see it through his eyes. There was a pile of unopened mail on the counter. The fridge and cupboards were empty as he opened it looking for coffee. The trash was full of junk food wrappers and empty bottles. He didn’t have a lot of stuff- going for ‘minimalist chic’ in the loft, but the wardrobes were a mess of clothes he’d stopped caring enough to hang up, and he hadn’t made the bed in weeks aside from when the cleaner came once a week and changed it for him. It was only really because she came the place wasn’t worse, he tidied up out of guilt and shame sometimes when she was coming. He looked down at his sweater, it was stained with who knew what- a mix of alcohol and vomit and crumbs. He groaned.
‘David you’ve got no milk.’ his dad said ‘Why don’t we go out for coffee, get yourself showered and your mom and I will meet you around the corner at that little place.’
David nodded and shuffled into the shower. He heard his parents leave. He dragged himself into the shower. His head felt full and he hoped the warm water would clear it but if anything it slowed him down. He managed to drag himself out and sat on the bed. Getting dressed seemed too much effort so he sat in his towel. He sat there so long that he dried off, the air chilly on his arms. He curled up on his side on the bed still wrapped in his towel. He had no idea how long he was there but he fell asleep again. Maybe the pills weren’t quite worn off, maybe he was just tired. He woke up to daylight and a blanket over him. He couldn’t remember what day it was.
‘Drink this.’ his mother’s voice said before he even properly opened his eyes.
He groaned and blinked awake, she was holding a glass of water in front of his face. He scowled and took it. And sensed her weight next to him on the bed, he pulled the blanket over him.
‘What time is…’
‘Four.’
‘Fuck.’ he shook his head.
‘Quite.’ his mom said, adjusting the blanket ‘Now here’s what you’re going to do, you’re going to get dressed. We’re going to call the airport and rearrange our flight for tonight and add you on to it. You’re going to come home and get some rest, where someone feeds you and is there to watch you. And in a few days, we’ll discuss what’s to be done next.’
‘But-’
‘David Rose I will not have your father worried sick about you down here on your own you understand? Not after last time.’
He downed the water and nodded.
‘Where’s Dad?’ he asked.
‘In the living room on the phone working.’ she said, softer as she fussed with the blanket. ‘I’m going to pop out for some more coffee for you, why don’t you talk to him once you’re dressed.’
David looked down as she got up, but she reached over and tilted his chin up.
‘Demons sometimes take more than one battle to defeat my dear.’ she put a hand to his cheek and went out.
He finally dressed himself- in old skinny jeans and a t-shirt, buttoning a cardigan over it, and shuffled out into the living area. His dad was reading some papers but put them aside when he came in. David shuffled over to the sofa and sat next to him.
‘Guess I fucked up again dad you can spare me the lecture.’ he could hear how bitchy he sounded but didn’t have the energy to stop. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and looked down. He felt his dad’s hand on his back.
‘Maybe you just need a rest.’ he said.
David glanced over at his dad and felt a lump in his throat, he swallowed hard and then did something he never did, he reached for his dad, who after a second looking confused, pulled him into an awkward sideways hug. David pulled his feet up on the sofa behind him and his dad pulled him in.
‘Everything’s gone wrong dad.’ he said ‘I’ve fucked everything up. You must hate me. I’m a failure.’
‘Oh now David.’ his dad said gently ‘you’ve done loads to be proud of, and you will again.’
David leaned into his dad and smelled his familiar cologne. It reminded him of being a little kid and running to him when he’d come home from business trips, he was never sure how long his dad was gone for back then but it always seemed forever. Right now it seemed liked forever ago too.
‘Tell you what David, you come home for a bit, and we’ll figure the rest out ok?’
David sniffed, and let himself burrow into his dad’s shirt.
‘I’m really tired.’ he said softly.
‘I know son.’ Johnny said ‘Take a nap for a bit while we wait for your mom ok?’
David closed his eyes, and felt the weight of his dad’s arm around him. Ever so slightly the tightness in his chest subsided and he closed his eyes again.