I couldn't have a woman like that, case closed.
"So what is the plan today?"
"I have to hit the gallery. They said they would give me a week to bring in some art for them to make their decision on for the next show. But I want that off my plate so I can work on the pieces for the show."
"Yeah, there's no way they aren't taking you on."
I wasn't sure if he meant because I was that good, or because I had a distantly connected wise guy to vouch for me. And while I knew Anthony Galleo had mentioned my name there when he got out a few weeks before, I wasn't going to be throwing that name around. I wanted to get shit on my own merit. Otherwise, what was the point?
"Well, here's hoping," I agreed, reaching for my food. "Because I didn't exactly have a backup plan."
Getting a straight job for an ex-felon was next to impossible. And, generally, the only places willing to take you on were the docks. Since the Grassis owned the docks, and I didn't want to have any connections to that old life, I was praying it didn't come to that.
As far as my legit businesses went, my family had obviously kept them running while I was away judging by the almost obscene amount of money in my bank account, just sitting there, not getting used, accumulating interest for six years. Eventually, I would have to find a lawyer that wasn't attached to the rest of my family, and figure out how to sign those businesses over to them without actually having them see me doing it.
Until then, it was bringing in an income, and what I had in the bank already was more than enough to, well, sustain me for another six years even if nothing came of the art.
Hell, if I had to, I could open another new business fully on my own.
But I would prefer for the art thing to pan out.
Otherwise, it had been a waste of six years working on it on the inside.
And when you did something really well, it was only fair to wish to make a living doing it.
Portraits were how I made my money in prison, but they weren't all I was capable of. My skills stretched into many different styles from landscape to abstract to post-impressionism. I planned to, if I was going to get a wall, put up a little bit of everything.
"Hey," Bobby said, making me snap back to the present, realizing I had drifted for long enough that I had nearly finished my breakfast without having even tasted it. Call it a habit of prison. It was always better to zone out so you didn't have to think about the slop shit they fed us. "You aight?" he asked, watching me with lowered brows. "That's not a good look, bro. I've seen a lot of guys get out of the joint and have that look."
"What look?"
"That look that says you aren't adjusting. Like you thought inside was easier."
"Easier? Yeah." When someone else dictated your whole life, it was a whole new kind of simple to get through a day. "But I'm not exactly in a rush to go back, Bobby. This is all just new to me."
Being as in-and-out of the system as Bobby had been for so much of his life, starting in juvie, he had never really needed to do what I did - start over completely fresh. He always had his friends and family. He always had a slower, smoother transition to the life outside.
It didn't seem to matter that, in the grand scheme of things, it was only a small fraction of my life spent in prison. It was still a fish-out-of-water sensation to be free after so long in the same rote routine.
"I get it. It might take a while to settle in, man. I just want to make sure you ain't fixing to rob a convenience store or some shit so you can go back in. Wouldn't be the first man I knew to pull that shit."
"Don't worry about me, Bobby. I'll adjust."
To the life outside, sure.
To this hole in my chest that felt a helluva lot more empty now?
That, I wasn't so sure about.
Already that morning, my thoughts had drifted to my family more than they had in months on the inside. I guess it was easier there, since there was no chance of seeing them since I refused visitation.
But now?
Now, I could chance by one of them on the street.
I could walk over there in a weak moment.
I had a feeling it was only going to keep getting harder day after day. At least, until enough time had passed that it became as easy as it was in prison.
Someday.
"Glad to hear it. I'm gonna get going. I gotta go get Nat some flowers."