The next day, I agreed to meet Collin at Java Man around noon. He was dressed in expensive-looking dress shirt and slacks, carrying a leather briefcase in his hand. As we sat by one of the tables in the far corner for privacy, Collin pulled out the contracts and laid it all on the table between us.

He began telling me about how being represented by the Logerman Art Group worked, and how my signatures on certain forms allowed them to represent me and my work, including the exhibition of two of my paintings at CSK Gallery in L.A. As he spoke, my thoughts drifted back to the past, my vision growing distant each time the image of David came to my mind, his voice replacing Collin's at times. But this time, instead of allowing the past to send me into a full-blown anxiety attack similar to what happened when I first met Collin at Java Man, I pushed the thoughts away and forced myself back to the present, where I told myself I was safe. This time, I was in control.

I could refuse to sign if I wanted to. I could do whatever I wanted to do. It was my art. This was my life.

After Collin explained all the details, going through each line with me and having me initial next to each bullet point or number, I wondered if he knew of my history with David by now. Surely Erik would have told him. Surely this was the reason he was treating me with kid gloves, spelling everything out so that this time I knew what I was getting into.

After I signed everything, he filed the documents away and slipped them into his briefcase. Then he handed me a stiff envelope containing an invitation.

"Is this the invitation?" I asked, trying to quell my excitement. "For the gallery showing?"

"I know it's last minute, but yes, it is," Collin said, grinning. "The invitation doesn't include your name because you're a last minute replacement, but it will be all over the gallery."

"I'm just so happy to be included," I said, blushing. "Thank you so much for everything, Collin."

"Even if Erik's the one who's been proudly showing off your work to anyone who'll listen, you deserve every bit of praise and attention for your work, Sam. Strands alone deserves to be featured, but Erik is stubborn about not including it. He's suddenly afraid someone's going to slash it or something," he chuckled. "But it doesn't matter. Two of your pieces made it in, including a third one."

"A third?" Erik hadn't told me anything about a third painting making it into the exhibit.

"Olivia's portrait was a personal selection for the brothers who own CSK Gallery, and Olivia's given her permission to have it included."

"Will she be going this Saturday?" I asked.

Collin's brow furrowed. "I think she and the in-laws are heading up to Ojai with Josh. The aunts and uncles enjoyed it so much the first time they went that they begged for another weekend there, and I think this weekend opened up for two of the casitas."

I tried to hide my disappointment, but Olivia had her life to live, and I couldn't expect her to be there for me in everything, the way Rosie was, even though Rosie was helpless against helping me deal with David. But then, that was only because I was so caught up in my choreographed dance with David to allow anyone to help me then.

"But I hope you can be there," Collin said. "Erik said he would be there though he's going to be late. I think one of his doctors is still on vacation."

The thought of me going on my own scared me though it wasn't exactly the act of stepping out the door and driving there, actually standing up when my name would be called, and taking ownership of what I had created. I'd been so used to having David take credit for my work, convincing me that I didn't need to be there and that he'd be the one to represent my art because he knew it more than I did. How could I have been so stupid to believe him?

"I'll think about it, Collin," I said.

"Here's my card," Collin said, handing me a card with lettering in gold leafing. "Call me if you do decide to go. Even if you don't, call me if you have any questions. I'll be happy to answer them - whatever they may be."

He gathered all the paperwork in front of him, double-checked all the places where I had signed and initialed before slipping them into his briefcase.

"Can I ask you a question - before you go?" I asked as he closed his briefcase.

"Sure. Anything."

"What do you know about David Dean?"

"Your ex-husband?" He asked as I nodded.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," I said. "It's just that I've kept out of the art world since it all happened and even before...I stopped painting."

Collin leaned back in his chair and exhaled. "I'm not sure if I should tell you what I know, Sam. I'm sure you must know more about David than I do."

"Enlighten me about his professional life," I said. "Please. If you have the time."

After making sure he didn't have other appointments that ran close to mine, it took Collin a few minutes to start talking. There were times when he looked as if he were debating with himself whether he should or shouldn't share what he knew of David. But in the end, he did.

"Well, you're not the first artist he's stolen from, Sam, if you wanted to know what I think. There was someone in New Mexico, before you. Maybe even further east, though I don't know about that for sure."

As I listened to him, I realized that I'd been holding my breath. I exhaled and took a sip of my coffee, grateful that my hand wasn't trembling. I knew that David wasn't originally from California. He was born in New York, transplanted to California just ten years earlier. Before that, he told me he'd represented artists in Chicago and Boston, as well as New Mexico, which explained the many trips he took when we were together.

"What happened?" I asked. "The one before me."

"He got her work into galleries - Santa Fe most especially, which is the hub of New Mexican art, what with Georgia O'Keefe having made it her home and all," Collin said, shrugging his shoulders as he relaxed. "And then he sold her work to the east coast. Her style was more gothic, which had more to do with her personal style as well as her artistic style - you know, piercings and all that. I hear that he negotiated top dollar for her work, but gave her less than half of the net proceeds."

"The net?" I exclaimed, toning down my voice when I noticed people turning to look at us. "That's hardly anything." Of course, it would depend on the entire amount that David would have negotiated, I thought. Still, it was still a pittance compared to what she would have gotten. But then who was I to judge? David had probably done the same thing with my work.

"True, though I doubt she would have noticed it," Collin said. "I heard that she was a crack addict, and the drugs may not have helped with her decision-making any. He represented her for six years."

"What happened? Did she sue him?"

"She died of an overdose," Collin replied. "She was 27, I think."

"She was 21 when they met," I said slowly. She was much younger than I was when I met David, which made me feel even more foolish for having allowed myself to be fooled by him all those years. I should have known, I thought. But of course, I didn't, for I'd been too happy just to be with someone who told me they loved me.

"What was her name?"

"Claudia Grande, I think," Collin said. "Beyond that, I don't know much else about her except that he met her at a fundraiser for some women's shelter."

"An art auction?" I asked, remembering how I'd met David at an art auction to benefit the foster care program.

"That's what I heard."

We sat quietly for a few minutes before I thanked Collin for answering my questions. He didn't have to, but I was glad that he did.

"I know you're reluctant to be represented again, Sam, but I'd love to help you any way I can," Collin said.

"Does Erik know about David and this girl, Claudia?" I asked suddenly, wondering if Erik had been curious enough to ask Collin the way I had.

Collin shook his head. "He hasn't asked me anything about David. And what I know about David Dean is something we in the art world don't necessarily discuss with just anyone."

My phone alarm beeped, reminding me to pick up Michael at George's.

"I've got to get going," I said, finishing the last of my coffee. "Thank you so much for everything. I'll think about Saturday."

"I hope you do go, Sam," Collin said. "Two art magazines are doing profiles of the artists we're featuring, and one of those of artists is bound to be you. It's about time you stopped being one of the South Bay's best kept secrets."

I thanked Collin again, assuring him that I'd think about Saturday night before watching him gather his briefcase and step out the door. It made me nervous just thinking about Saturday night and the reporters who were going to be there. What would they want to know? How far would they dig about my art? My past? Would they know about David and what happened in Beverly Hills?

I hurried home and found Michael in George's front yard, sitting on the grass playing with a toy bucket and shovel while George did some weeding. I had ordered him a cappuccino before I left Java Man and he accepted it with his usual exclamation of you didn't have to, Sam. It was difficult to show my thanks any other way since George refused any payment for his babysitting services. He was, after all, one of Michael's godfathers. Chuck had been the other one.

When I told him about the art exhibit that Saturday, George insisted I go and leave Michael with him. His son and daughter-in-law were coming to visit that weekend anyway, and his grandson was the same age as Michael.

"They can play with each other all night," he said. "So, go, Sam! It's your big night!"

"I'm still thinking about it," I said sheepishly.

"Stop thinking, Sam, and just do it," George said. "If Rosie were still alive, she'd say the same thing."

I nodded. "You're right, Trev. She totally would."

I thanked George again, seeing him place his cappuccino on one of the flagstones next to him as he resumed his weeding. At least, I didn't have any weeding to do in my front yard, considering that there was nothing but mostly rocks. Unfortunately, Eunice's effort at mimicking a dry riverbed with a few drought-tolerant clumps of nassella tenuissima grasses here and there didn't make it an ideal play area for Michael.

After changing into my running clothes, I buckled Michael into the jogging stroller. I jogged up the Strand, past Erik's house with its living room empty behind the floor to ceiling glass windows, where he'd kissed me as we watched The African Queen. I wished he could accompany me to the exhibit on Saturday, but it worried me that I relied on Erik just as much as I used to depend on David. For everything.

Was Erik's presence on Saturday required for me to be able to talk about my art to reporters? Did I need him to hold my hand in everything I did the way David did with me regarding my art? Was I allowing history to repeat itself? Did old habits die that hard?

Such thoughts bothered me throughout my run, nagging at me even after I finished and fed Michael his snack. By the time I showered and changed while Michael napped, I knew what I needed to do.

I searched for Collin's card, found it and called him. I told him I'd be there on Saturday night, and that I was more than thrilled to represent my work.

It was about time I stood up for myself.

•·.·''·.·•AUTHOR'S NOTE•·.·''·.·•

Finally! Maybe Sam will finally step out of David's shadow and stay out! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for all your reads, votes, and comments!