A Scavenger Hunt for Hearts: New York Friendship

Copyright © 2022 by Katharine Strobos

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Excerpt from Partner Pursuit by Kathy Strobos copyright © 2021 by Katharine Strobos

Excerpt from Her Outback Rider by Giulia Skye copyright © 2020 by Giulia Skye

Excerpt from Caper Crush by Kathy Strobos copyright © 2022 by Katharine Strobos

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover Design: Cover Ever After

ISBN: 9781737713999 (EBook)

ISBN: 9781958894903 (Paperback)

www.kathystrobos.com

Published by Strawbundle Publishing

New York, New York

To my readers.

Also By Kathy Strobos

Partner Pursuit

Is This for Real?

Caper Crush

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Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

Thank you!

Scavenger Hunt Clues

Scavenger Hunt Answers

Partner Pursuit Blurb

Is This For Real? Blurb

Caper Crush Blurb

Acknowledgment

About the Author

Partner Pursuit

Chapter 1

Caper Crush

Chapter 1

Her Outback Driver

Intro

CHAPTER 1

Chapter one

Drew: I’m sorry, but this isn’t working.

Me: You sent this to me by accident. Is your laptop not working again?

A bubble appears. It disappears. No response.

Probably the IT guy called him. I’ve never met anyone whose computer crashes as much as Drew’s.

Me: Sorry I missed your work event last night, but I finished my painting. Let’s see that new rom-com this Saturday. My turn to pick the movie. :)

That was how Drew, my boyfriend of a year, broke up with me. It took me a while to figure that out because there never was a response to my text. He ghosted me.

# Three Weeks Later #

The Museum of Modern Art is lit up, the exhibit flags waving slightly in the night breeze as I wait in costume for my friends. A billowing banner announces the MoMA Come as You Art Masquerade Event and Scavenger Hunt. The prize for winning the scavenger hunt is a Kimimoto print. If I could invite one living artist to dinner, it would be Kimimoto. He’s a Japanese artist known for his emotionally charged, colorful paintings.

The chance to win a Kimimoto succeeded in finally pulling me out of my desire to wallow in my how-did-I not-see-Drew-dumping-me self-doubt pity party. It wasn’t that I hadn’t been dumped or rejected before. Drew was only my second serious boyfriend. But I hadn’t been ghosted before—and by someone I thought loved me, someone who knew my strengths, quirks, and insecurities. Someone who knew that I liked to talk things out.

I smooth down the fake fur of my Meret Oppenheim’s fur-teacup costume. The teacup is narrow to preserve arm motion. The rim ends at my shoulders like a physical manifestation of a scoop-neck collar. My brown shirt underneath represents tea.

Tonight is Day One of Get Back Out There and Conquer.

The air is warm for October in New York City. A breeze carries a hint of moisture from the earlier rainstorm. Yellow taxis, black sedans, and cars drop off costumed partygoers in front of the MoMA’s revolving glass doors.

I can’t help it. I again read the email my dealer, Jade, forwarded by mistake (or not):

To: Jade

From: R.Atkinson@whitegilman.com

This looks like someone threw up on a canvas. I need something cheerful. Something that pops. Something that tired associates when passing will glance at and get a burst of energy. Not this. This feels like anger and hurt. I could get together some associates and have them throw some paint on a canvas and get the same effect. And I’d get bonus points for organizing a team-building event.

– R. Atkinson, Esq.

The criticism isn’t even original. If fifty strangers gathered in a room, probably ten will say my painting looks like vomit. I tsk. Maybe Mr. R. Atkinson Esq. should hold that rapport-building event and see if he does get that same effect.

It is anger and hurt I’m expressing there.

How dare Drew break up with me by text?

That one sentence of the email showed my painting had power and that he got it. The subject matter just wasn’t what he wanted. He should have left it at that. I can give you some cheery pop shit.

Not immediately.

Not right now.

I’m not quite feeling it, but I’m sure I’ll be over Drew soon. If I can just understand why he broke up with me. And how I didn’t see it coming. The text before the breakup text was I love you—and your ghost cupcakes. That was Drew. He couldn’t straight out say, I love you— he had to make a joke. But he still said I love you.

Until he texted, This isn’t working.

Kiara Jackowski! Someone calls my name. Two women wave at me from down the street. Audrey Willems and Winnie Chu. Audrey sports a Rothko painting sandwich board. But Winnie wears black pants with charred holes and firecracker wrappers glued on. We compliment each other’s costumes, and Winnie explains that hers is based on Huang Yong Ping’s Trouser with Firecrackers.

You do smell a little smoky, Audrey says to Winnie.

I burned the pant holes while in the tub with the shower handle at the ready, Winnie says.

We stand off to the side of the street. People in costumes arrive, find each other, and go inside. Someone passes by as a Matisse cutout with construction paper cutouts glued to her shirt.

I’m glad you came out even after getting that email about your painting, Audrey says.

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to win a Kimimoto, I say. And I was afraid if I stayed home, I’d just fixate on that email and worry that I’ve lost it. Like I’ve been doing for the past week.

Audrey pulls up my text of the photo of my last painting. Your painting hasn’t lost it. I feel so much visceral emotion from this—of pain and confusion. It’s conveyed in the depth and the layers and the colors. It’s consistent with your last show review praising your three-dimensionality.

We should plot some evil revenge for him, Winnie says.

We could throw some paint at him—an action painting of associates, per his email, Audrey says.

But he’s right. It’s not happy. And that is the rub.

It isn’t consistent with the joy I am known for.

Audrey and Winnie both look at me, and their expressions admit that it isn’t. Audrey waves her hand dismissively, and Winnie looks down.

I change the topic. Did you get funny looks leaving your law firm?

I went home first. Although maybe I should have used it as a disguise for an early exit. Audrey pops into her painting so you can’t see her face. Let some other associates worry that they’ve been without sleep for too long after a few all-nighters and now they’re seeing the art moving around.

A bunch of people pass us dressed in blue leotards, as if they are Matisse Blue Nudes. That’s brilliant, Audrey says. My costume is really lame.

Someone else saunters by with some paper plates glued to his shirt like a Julian Schnabel.

Should we go in? Audrey asks. I was worried you wouldn’t come. That you’d want to stay home to keep painting for your next show. Do you have enough new works now?

I needed a break. Something is needed to change my current funk.

Getting into the building is slow because of the space required for the costumes. My teacup saucer is particularly wide. I could have made it smaller, but the saucer in Object is rather wide.

We enter the spacious hall of MoMA, showing our tickets.

I hope we can win the Kimimoto for you, Audrey says. Art is not my expertise. I do love scavenger hunts, though.

People in costumes excitedly greeting friends pack the expansive opening hall of MoMA. Next to us are three people dressed as Monet water lilies, their white petals fluttering, yellow flower hats on their heads.

Wow. I move closer to the wall to study the two framed Kimimotos that are the prize. The print gives the feeling of being in the middle of buoyant mayhem at a children’s party. The tension in my shoulders loosens, and I smile. My art thesis advisor once said that I use color and emotion in a similar manner to Kimimoto and that my painting has the same joyous feeling. I own one small Kimimoto print, a graduation gift from my family. It hangs across from my bed so it’s the first thing I see in the morning.

Bold. I like the colors. The light blue, pink, green, yellow, and purple combination, says a tall guy in a white barrister wig.

Winnie scans the fine print. But it says to pair up.

That’s okay, Audrey says. You can pair up with Kiara. I can sit the scavenger hunt out. I’ll get some drinks. What do you want, Kiara?

I give Audrey my drink order of a white wine, and Winnie and Audrey meander over to the bar.

I glance at the guy next to me, biting my lip. I don’t want to separate Audrey and Winnie. They’re best friends. It is a fricking pain being single. I’d like to have a word with whoever instituted