“No. I said, ‘No,’ how many times to you? Do you not understand? Melissa Robbins absolutely cannot show her work here ever again,” Yu Lee yelled into the hands-free attachment to his iPhone as he stomped around the half-painted gallery. “Do you remember what happened last time? ….no, I don’t care if she’s the hottest tentacle dildo installation artist of the fucking decade. She’s a nightmare, Billy! She. Is. A. Nightmare. Do you remember what happened last time?”
He flicked his cigarette ash and pushed his David Lynch hair back into place.
“You don’t remember? Whatever. You’re so stupid. You have to remember. Really? You don’t. You mean you don’t remember her opening her show here, getting all trashed like some dirty gutter skank, and insulting all my clients, Billy? Our clients? She is a fucking nightmare! I can’t have that….”
His phone beeped. He had another call.
“Oh my god. That’s her. I’m going to take this. Stay. On. The. Line.”
He switched the calls.
“Oh my god, Melissa, so good to talk to you. Yeah. No. I know. It’s been so long. Yeah, I did. I loved it. Oh my god, I know. It was so great. Look, Mel? I’m on the phone with Billy right now, can we call you back later? Ok, yeah, great.”
He switched back.
“Billy, you have to save me from her. I cannot handle her drama. No. You need to untell her that she can show her work here. I don’t know! Tell her something! This is your fault! No! No!! Don’t you start crying on me. You need to grab those disgusting, gigantic balls of yours and tell her that she can’t show here.”
His cigarette went out.
“Fuck. Billy. My cigarette is out. I can’t handle this, Billy. I need you to take care of this for me. No, she can’t come! We have important artists showing here this time, Billy. People who are making real art, not weird like caves of fucking dildos and shit. I mean, you’ve seen them, right? I’m a freaky bitch—you know this—and even I think they’re fucking weird. Dildo caves, Billy.”
He lit another cigarette.
“I don’t care…. What? Who? Really? Wow. That does change things. Brad Pitt, huh? God, I love him. She’s really seeing him? What about Angelina? No! You bitch! Oh my god! I can’t believe you said that! Nasty! Ok ok ok. Put her on the guest list plus one. But, Billy… Billy, are you listening to me now? Billy. You are responsible for her. If she ruins even one sale, I am never going to talk to you again. You remember that. This is your problem now, Billy.”
He took a deep drag.
“No, I’m not mad at you. How could I be mad at you? No, I’m just stressed, you know, it’s so crazy right now. That’s all. No. No. Yeah. No, don’t worry. Yeah? Ok, that sounds good. Sure, yeah, ok. I’ll meet you there at 9:30? Ok. Kisses. Bye.”