Bound for Nirvana

by Kendra Leigh

  “I didn’t,” he interrupted. “It could be several. If I find what I’m looking for.”

  “And what are you looking for?” The question was harsher than I’d intended, and I tried promptly to smooth out the edges. “What I mean is, are you looking to brighten up a room or reflect a certain ambience? We present many talented artists; perhaps if you haven’t seen anything particularly striking today, I could arrange a viewing for something more to your taste.”

  “I’ve seen plenty to my taste, Miss Lawson.” Something about the way his eyes swept lazily over me made me feel uncomfortable. “Yes, I’m delighted,” he muttered almost under his breath and then seemed to gather himself, turning back to peruse the images around the room. “I’m not interested in other artists. Your work is what I came to see. There is something about it that reaches out to me. When I look at it, it’s almost as if I can see inside your mind… inside your heart. These aren’t just photographs, or a means to earn a living…” his gaze halted at the yard sale picture “…this is how you purge.”

  Whoa! His words hit me in the face like a balled up fist—too direct, too invasive. The way he looked at me, the way he analyzed my photography was as if he were dissecting me, slitting open my body from top to bottom and pulling out my organs to get a closer look at how I functioned.

  “I’ll see where that drink’s gone to.” Spinning around, I strode swiftly from the room, my hand reaching to rub at the back of my neck trying to smooth the heated, prickling sensation crawling steadily down my back. Who the hell was this guy to assume he could waltz in here and have the right to tell me how I tick? God, his manner was almost aggressive.

  In the foyer, I glared at Alice who was busy on the phone. She mouthed the word sorry in answer to my hand gesture that inquired as to the whereabouts of Mr. Sloan’s drink. In the kitchen, I tipped ice into a glass and snapped the lid off a bottle of water, pouring only half over the frozen cubes. I didn’t want Mr. Sloan’s stay to be prolonged any longer than necessary.

  By the time I made it back down the hall to the foyer, he was waiting for me. “My apologies, Miss Lawson, I’m afraid I’ve been called away to a meeting.” His eyes narrowed as if he were considering his words carefully. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve just moved into a new apartment and I want your work to line the walls of my home so every room evokes a different emotion. I would like to see work from every collection you’ve created, and if necessary, I’d like you to produce some pieces especially for me. I’m happy to pay generously for exclusive rights, and of course for time incurred. It might be beneficial for you to visit my apartment; it will give you an improved understanding of what it is I’m hoping to achieve. Here is a down payment for your initial commitment.” He handed me a check and my eyes strained against their sockets as I read the amount.

  Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A down payment? Exactly how many photographs was Mr. Sloan looking to buy, I wondered. The question must have been written all over my face, because he answered before the thought had barely left my mind.

  “It’s a very large apartment. This is the address,” he grabbed an Evoke business card off the foyer desk and scrawled on the back. “I’ll be in touch. Thank you for your time today, Miss Lawson. It’s been very… memorable.”

  My brain was still trying to soak up everything he’d said as I offered him a barely perceptible nod and reached out to accept his proffered hand. But instead of the formal shake I was expecting, he drew my hand to his mouth and kissed me gently on the backs of my fingers. The gesture was completely unethical and I found myself pulling away. He nodded once, whether it was an expression of regret or simply a gesture of farewell, I wasn’t certain. And then he turned and left.

  For a long time, I sat in my office chair, my gaze swinging from the business card with his address on to the check and back again. Dominic Sloan. Who was he? He must be very successful at whatever he did, the size of his check had been indicative of that, but it wasn’t a name I recognized. He’d said he’d been called away to a meeting, but that could mean anything, I supposed.

  My cell phone began a hissy fit as it vibrated angrily across my desk. It was Jia. “Hey, I was just about to call you.” My tone was accusing, as if I’d just discovered she’d been holding out on me.

  “Well, I saved you the bother.” In the background, I could hear a lot of chatter, and if I wasn’t mistaken, her words were slightly slurred.

  “Where are you?” I asked, my concern suddenly flooding back.

  “Best bar in the world,” she giggled. “Come and have a drink with me, bitch.”

  Dylan’s eyes lit up when I pushed open the door to Paddy’s less than an hour later, and instantly an image appeared in my mind. Ethan’s hitched and disapproving brow, his lips pursed and nostrils flaring in that angry Ethan way of his. I’d tried to call him before I left the gallery to inform him of where I was going, but the call had gone to voicemail. Admittedly, I’d been relieved, not having relished the idea of telling him I was on my way to Paddy’s. Instead, I’d left him a quick message, saying simply, that I was going for a quick drink with Jia and would call him later. Then I’d dropped my cell into the bottom of my purse.

  Dylan waved and pointed over to a table in the corner where Jia and a couple of hopefuls sat slugging bourbon. No wonder she sounded hammered.

  “Here she is.” She raised her glass in the air as I approached before knocking back the contents. “She is fucking beautiful, aint she boys? Sit down, join us for a drink. Here, I got you a glass.” She slid it across the table.

  “I’ll stick with a beer, thanks,” I mumbled flatly, trying to ignore the appreciative stares of her drinking buddies. “Thanks for looking after my friend, guys, but I’ll take it from here.”

  “The hell? I aint goin’ nowhere, honey. Me and Polly Pocket here are getting along just fine.”

  Jia growled.

  “I doubt that, somehow, your wife would stand more chance with Polly than you ever would.” I nodded at the gold band on his wedding finger. He looked from me to Jia, confusion mingling with his bourbon haze. I rolled my eyes. “Guys aren’t her thing. Beat it.”

  Of course, Jia had enjoyed her fair share of illicit liaisons with both sexes, but chucking down the lesbian card worked wonders for deterring unwelcomed attention.

  “What?” The man looked livid. “Da fuck?”

  His friend began to laugh uncontrollably. “Fail, dude. I suppose sticking around to watch is out of the question?” He aimed the question at me.

  “Okay, you heard the lady,” Dylan was suddenly next to me brandishing a bottle of beer and pushing it at me. “Let’s give the ladies some space.”

  I mouthed a thank you as Dylan urged the two out of their seats and toward the bar. “No worries, Angel Cake. I’m over by the bar if you need me.”

  Nodding gratefully, I sat down in one of the abandoned chairs across from a stone-faced Jia.

  “What?” She spat the word like a grumpy teenager.

  “Well… let me see. Three things, actually.” I presented her with two fingers and a thumb to emphasize my point. She cocked her head to the side with exaggerated intrigue. “First, you’re drinking bourbon in the middle of the day while allowing some lowlife guy to hit on you without threatening to rip his dick off.” I tucked my thumb into my palm preparing to deal with misdemeanor number two. “Second…” I screwed up my face in revulsion “…don’t you just hate it when you sit down in a chair and it’s already warm from the complete stranger who sat in it only moments before? Especially when the guy is a cheating, dribbling asshole and you don’t know where his ass has been.”

  Jia cracked up into a fit of hysterical laughter, her shoulders shaking and her eyes brimming until I had no choice but to join in with her infectious giggling. As the hilarity calmed, she raised her glass and bumped it against my bottle. “I can always rely on you to put a smile back on my face, bitch.”

  I took a swallow of my beer. “What’s up, friend?”


  My question made her wince, presumably because I’d brought the conversation back around to what was troubling her. “Charley left me. I helped her move her things out today.”

  Oh! If I was honest, it was what I’d feared. There had been tension between the two on the night of my birthday, and I’d planned to challenge Jia about her lack of concern toward Charley when she was sick.

  “What happened?” I asked quietly.

  “She got tired of waiting for me to catch up.” She shrugged, the corners of her mouth turning down, like the drama was something she’d been anticipating for a while and wasn’t overly concerned about. “I got tired of her waiting.”

  I’d be lying if said I ever thought Jia and Charley were made for each other. The truth was, Charley was sweet, but not nearly feisty enough for my friend. She’d doted on Jia, hung on every word she said, but she’d also hung around limply in the shadows hoping that one day Jia would love her back. She didn’t.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But… I’m not sure you ever intended it to, long term, did you?”

  Looking down into her empty glass, she shook her head, but didn’t speak. Assuming she was trying to figure out what she wanted to say, I waited, draining my drink just as two more beers were placed on the table by a tall redheaded girl, one of Paddy’s bar staff.

  “Dylan said to keep ’em coming,” she said by way of explanation.

  I nodded. “Yes, tell him thanks.”

  “I just feel so guilty,” Jia went on, taking one of the beers and cradling it between her hands. “I was an asshole. Deserved every vicious remark she threw at me. Thing is, I think she expected me to defend myself, tell her she was wrong, and when I didn’t, she got even more upset. It just confirmed everything she said was true.”

  “Why? What did she say?”

  Jia shrugged, her impeccable fingernails picking at the edge of the label on the beer bottle. “That I didn’t love her. That I’d cheated. That I cared more for you than I ever would for her.”

  The comment slugged me in the chest. The uncomfortable thought of being cited in the breakdown of somebody else’s relationship felt a bit creepy, especially when the reason behind the conjecture wasn’t clear. I decided to ignore it.

  “You cheated, Jia? Why? Who with?”

  “I don’t know—some guy. I needed a change of diet, some real meat. Plain old veggie was getting boring.”

  “Jia, how could you?”

  “Jesus, you sound like her. Does any of that really matter?”

  “Well, not to me, no. But I’m not sure Charley would see it that way. If she wasn’t making you happy, you should have ended it, not cheated.”

  “Yes, Angel, this I know. I’ll bear it in mind for next time.” She pushed my beer toward me. “Now drink up, you’re supposed to be helping me celebrate.”

  “Celebrate? I thought I was here to cheer you up?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t down, I just felt a little guilty, but I’m over it now.” She waved her empty at the redhead and I shook my head in despair. “What was the third thing?”

  “The third thing?” I was confused for a second and then remembered I was counting down her misdemeanors. “Ah, yes, the third thing.” I paused for a minute while the redhead delivered two more beers, as well as a couple of vodka shots which I couldn’t recall anyone asking for. Apparently Jia had, because she thrust mine into my hand and clinked her glass against it before downing the shot in one. Reluctantly, I pulled a face and followed suit. “Dominic Sloan?”

  Jia shook her head, a slight furrow appearing in the smooth space between her brows.

  “The four-thirty?” I said impatiently.

  “Oh, Sloan.” A light came on. “Yes, very surreal. How did that go?”

  “How do you mean, surreal?”

  “Well, the call came out of the blue last week. Very insistent about the kind of work he was interested in seeing, no inclination toward any other artists. Basically, wanted to see as many of your prints as we could physically fit in the room. Obviously, I didn’t go to those lengths, but it still took me all week to arrange, so the fucker better have spent plenty.”

  I laughed. “You could say that.”

  For the next few minutes I told her all about the meeting with Dominic Sloan and his hefty down payment, plus his peculiar prerequisite that I visit his apartment and the way he’d appeared to dismember my psyche through the images I’d taken, diagnosing me like some freaking psychologist.

  “Eww.” She screwed up her nose. “Are you sure it’s such a good idea that you go poking around his place then? I mean, for all we know he could be some kind of axe-wielding serial killer.”

  “No, of course I don’t. I told you, I didn’t like the way he… lingered around me. You’re the gallery curator; I was going to send you.” Finishing my beer, I started on the next. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was beginning to feel quite woozy.

  “Oh, okay, I get it. So it’s alright for me to turn up dead in an alleyway, but not you.”

  “He’s not a serial killer, Jia, he’s…” I didn’t know what he was “… I don’t know, probably an architect or something.”

  “Yes, well architects can be weird. You ever hear about the one who cemented his victims into the walls of the buildings he created.”

  “That was a movie, friend—pure fiction. I’ve told you not to watch that shit.”

  “Movies influence people. Come on, it’s obvious the guy’s mildly obsessed with your work. Perhaps that’s the condition, that you’re involved personally. We’re talking a lot of money here, bitch. He’s not going to want Polly Pocket turning up to cop a feel of his ambience.”

  “You? Polly Pocket?” I scoffed.

  Brows raised, she shrugged. “Sometimes size does matter.”

  In this case, I feared she was right—well not size, but definitely the person. My personal commitment was paramount to this commission, of that, I was fairly certain. He’d said as much when he handed over the down payment—for my initial commitment. Who was I kidding? If I sent Jia to his place, curator or not, that check was going to bounce higher than the Empire State.

  “Is it Wilde you’re worried about?”

  “Ethan? No, why would I be worried about Ethan?” She threw me a look which implied my question was stupid. It was no secret how possessive and overprotective Ethan could be; after all, he made no attempt to hide it. But I didn’t find it suffocating in the way Jia sometimes made it out to be.

  The mention of Ethan prompted me to check the time. It was getting late, and he would be starting to worry. I scrambled through my purse for my cell, my heart skipping a beat when I saw several missed calls and three text messages. The first had been sent not long after I’d left the voicemail, and read:

  Ok, call me in while. Which bar are you going to? I could come and get you when I’m done x

  When I hadn’t replied, he’d tried calling and then sent another text:

  Angel, where are you going? I would rather you didn’t go to Paddy’s!

  Oh, crap! More missed calls, and then finally:

  Angel, answer your fucking phone!

  Shit!

  “I should go.” The words were leaving my mouth just as the redhead replaced our empties with another round of shots and beers.

  Jia chuckled. “I thought you weren’t worried about Wilde?”

  “I’m not,” I snapped defensively.

  “Then have another drink with me.” She raised her glass and waited for me to join her, her lips pouting petulantly. “Please. I don’t want to go home yet. It’s too quiet.”

  Suddenly, I felt sorry for her, remembering how much of a rock she’d been for both Ethan and me throughout the whole Rebecca thing. Smiling, I raised my glass, banging it into hers before swallowing the contents and silently promising to call Ethan the second I’d finished my beer.

  Almost fifteen minutes later and slightly more than tipsy, I drained the last drop.

  “So, how was
your birthday? I was crushed when I had to leave. Sorry about that.” Jia waved over to the bar for another round.

  “Oh, no you don’t. I said one more and I meant it. I have to go.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it.” She grabbed her purse. “I’ll go settle up at the bar.” She pushed to her feet, ignoring the money I was handing her. “I got it, least I can do. Your shout next time.”

  “Cool.” If I didn’t call Ethan soon, there probably wouldn’t be a next time. Digging out my cell, I stood, flinching when I noticed another couple of missed calls. “I’m just going to the bathroom.” I didn’t want the background noise of the bar when I called. She waved a hand to tell me she’d heard, and I walked off to the far side of the bar, passing the pool tables and toward the bathroom. My mind worked furiously, wondering what I could say to Ethan that while being the truth would also contain his inevitable fury.

  Suddenly there was a bulky obstacle standing in my way—one of hopefuls that had been guzzling bourbon with Jia earlier. “Well, look what we have here, Andy.” He directed his comment to his friend who was busy lining up his shot at the pool table.

  Ignoring him, I sidestepped to go around him, but he flung his arm out, his fingers curling around the top of my arm.

  “Hey, not so fast, brown eyes. Look, why don’t I give you my number and when you get tired of pussy, you can look me up and I can show you what a good time really is.”

  Just as I was about to tell him to take a hike, a hand appeared and rested on his shoulder. “Why don’t you do yourself a favor and back off, dude?” It was Dylan.

  The guy shrugged him off. “Me and the lady—” The words were knocked back into his throat as suddenly out of nowhere a fist came flying through the air, landing square on his jaw.