The Shark of SoHo

Chapter 1: Money Woes

Columbia University. Monday evening, April 17, 2006.

Neal studied the lineup of paintings propped against the walls of his art studio in Watson Hall. Altogether there were eight works. Six of them had a river as the theme. In addition, there were two paintings inspired by the Pre-Raphaelites. Together they were the sum result of his second—and final—year in the visual arts program. In ten days, he'd transport them to the art gallery in Schermerhorn Hall for his master's exhibition. Then, in a month, assuming they'd passed muster, he'd obtain his master's diploma.

The victory, though, would come at a cost. At that time he'd have to bid adieu to the studio. It was destined to become the home of some other aspiring artist.

Neal scanned the crowded space gloomily. He was already missing it and he hadn't even moved out. The voodoo doll Richard had given him over a year ago still dangled from the whiteboard. She gazed at him forlornly as if she didn't want to leave either.

Richard poked his head in. "I'm heading out for coffee. You want anything?"

"How about a dose of extra mojo for the voodoo doll to keep away evil spirits at the exhibition?"

"That doll's already powerful magic," Richard said confidently. "Gabrielle made it for me in New Orleans. Aidan's convinced that the doll I gave him is what powered our fencing team to an unbeaten season."

"Do you think it will help me find a studio I can afford?"

Richard made a face. "In Manhattan? I better give you a second doll. Even then, what you're asking for may be beyond the power of voodoo."

"Have you figured out what you're going to do?" Richard and his husband Travis lived in a two-bedroom co-op in the Village. In comparison with Neal's loft, the square footage made it seem like a palace, but Travis's electronics didn't leave much space for anything else.

"We discussed it over the weekend. We'd converted the second bedroom into a joint workspace but it's already stuffed to the gills. We decided to sacrifice the living room as well. If we line the walls with work tables, there'll still be enough space for one couch and a couple of TV trays." Richard smiled. "Let this serve as a warning to wear jeans next time you come to dinner. We may have to eat Japanese style on cushions." He glanced around at Neal's painting paraphernalia. "Have you found any suitable location for your art supplies?"

"Not yet. I investigated a few studio spaces that are way beyond my budget. I suppose since Sara's still in London, I could cram everything into the loft."

"And constantly breathe paint fumes?" Richard shook his head. "Not recommended."

"What's not recommended?" Myra demanded, sticking her head into the open doorway. "Obsessing over your art before the exhibition? I'll second that."

Neal's art advisor had become decidedly friendlier over the past few months, only rarely living up to her reputation as the Impaler. Neal didn't know if the transformation was due to the nearness of graduation or because she was pregnant, but he gave it an enthusiastic thumbs up.

The pleasure of having Myra as a mentor had become yet another reason graduation would be bittersweet. Should he consider using his work at the Bureau as an excuse to not exhibit? Surely Peter could come through with a painfully tedious mortgage case to work on. Then Neal could take another year to graduate. But if he acted on the thought, he'd be responsible for the tuition since his scholarship would end in May, thus getting back to the state of his bank account.

Neal propelled himself out of the financial abyss opening beneath him to focus on Myra who was discussing the schedule for delivering their works to the art gallery. "You are responsible for writing extensive notes for each work," she reminded them. "I expect to receive them from you no later than Friday. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of their importance. They'll be used by the panel of experts reviewing your creations."