I have no idea if the chick on the other end even has her sound on, but it needs to be said because I’m unsure if the well of tears in the girl’s eyes will come across on the screen. And it’s the most mesmerizing part, the slight uptilt of her mouth and the tears in her eyes. The rest of her life might be shit, but she’s doing the one thing that makes her feel alive.

My phone buzzes. The chat bubble lights up, and I tap the screen.

SaintR: It’s perfect.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “She is.”

A few minutes later, I’m circling a water feature set off to the side. Broken pieces of metal curved and shaped to have the water running from one piece to the next.

My phone goes off again, the chat icon with a red dot.

SaintR: I can’t see anything. The video is black.

I take off the glasses, knowing I charged them last night, and turn them around, shoving my face at the camera like that will somehow fix the problem.

“See me?” I ask.

SaintR: Nothing.

I shut them off and hang them off the front of my shirt before switching to my phone camera. The box in the corner shows the framed portrait the camera’s pointed at.

“Better?” I ask.

SaintR: I’m still not seeing anything.

“Shit.”

SaintR: I can hear you just fine though.

“Good to know.” I drag a hand through my hair and glance around, not even through the first room of the gallery. Such a waste.

The bubbles pop up to indicate she’s typing.

SaintR: They’ve been having trouble with video cutting out lately. I’ll report it.

SaintR: Thanks anyway.

“Wait.” The word is out before I even think it through. “I’m already here and paid. Give me your number, and we’ll finish the tour.”

There’s nothing for a while.

“Seriously. The exhibit in the next room is closing today. It would be a pity to miss it.”

SaintR: You want me to give my number to a stranger in another country?

I walk over to a bench and drop down on it, stretching out my legs and leaning back against the wall behind me. “A stranger who had to pass a background check for this job. Plus, if you think I could find you with just a name and phone number, you’re giving me far too much credit.”

She types then stops, and I can’t help but push a little.

“Come on, live a little. If it makes you feel better, I have no interest in anything but the cash and the art. Strictly business on my end.”

SaintR: Just art?

“Just art,” I agree. “You won’t even see my face.”

Another pause, then typing.

A number comes through.