Time-Lapse

by Heller, JB

  “Bee, tell me you haven’t set me up here,” I say with a calmness I don’t feel. Her eyes lift to mine for a brief second, and it’s all I need. “Motherfucker! Why would you do that?”

  She straightens her shoulders and twists her torso so she’s facing me, then she pokes me in the chest with her pointy, red-polished nail. “First, don’t you ever speak to me like that again,” she says. “And second, you know damn well I would never do anything to hurt you. So, you can wipe that accusatory look off your face right now, mister.”

  I swallow. Again, I know she’s telling the truth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

  The glare that’s honed in on my face right now could quite possibly kill. “You’re damn right you shouldn’t have,” she fumes. “I didn’t make the connection until I’d already fallen in love with the gallery. I went to five different possible venues, and this one was the best fit. When I’d booked in the viewing, I didn’t even think about the name of the hotel.”

  Raising a brow, I ask, “But you did realize and booked it anyway?”

  She exhales. “Yes.”

  “Why?” I almost plead.

  “Because the venue is perfect for this exhibition. It’s kind of like coming full circle, don’t you think? I mean, she is the center of this show. It’s almost poetic that it should be shown in her family’s legacy.”

  As always, Bee has a good point. Artistically speaking, it is the perfect venue. But personally, I sigh. “I get it, but I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

  Bee reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance. “You can. It’s time.”

  I swallow thickly and nod, even though I’d much rather throw myself in front of a bus right now.

  When we arrive at the hotel, I can’t help but laugh at the irony. Bee booked me into the Mr. Mysterious suite. I bet she has no idea that’s what El used to call me. It brings back memories of the notes she used to slip me, addressed to that very name.

  I can see her handwriting clear as day in my mind. I’ve read and reread those notes a pathetic number of times over the years, trying to convince myself that I could one day be worthy of her affection.

  But I’m not there yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be.

  What if I see her and she’s every bit as amazing as she was back then? Will I be able to walk away again? Will she even let me near her? Surely, she hates me. She should. Or, at the very least, she should not want anything to do with me after what I did.

  Oh fuck, what if she’s met someone? My heart starts pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.

  I lock myself in my suite. I don’t want to go down to the gallery any sooner than I have to. I don’t want to risk running into anyone I used to know. I have no idea how I will respond to seeing someone from my past. And I’m not particularly interested in finding out.

  So, I stay in my room and decide draining the mini bar would be an excellent use of my time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bianca Markham strolls into the gallery like she owns the place, examining the placement of each piece. I watch her carefully, trying to gauge her thoughts. From what I can tell, she’s pleased. When I approach, she’s looking at a piece that caught my eye when the boys were setting up. “This is one of my favorites,” I say when I’m a step away.

  She turns her face to me. “Mine too,” she says while holding her hand out to me.

  I take it and shake it firmly. “Nice to see you again, Miss Markham.”

  With a slight eye-roll, she says, “Call me Bianca, or Bee, please. Miss Markham makes me feel old.”

  Smiling, I nod. “Okay, well it’s nice to see you again, Bianca. How was your flight?”

  “Not too bad. Hadley was being difficult, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  I frown. “Is everything alright? He’s not unhappy with the exhibition, is he? He hasn’t even seen it yet.”

  Bianca holds her head high as she glances across the gallery. “Walk with me, Eliza. You don’t mind me calling you by your first name, do you?”

  Shaking my head, I tell her honestly, “No, I’d prefer it, actually.”

  “Good,” she says as she begins strolling around the set-up. “To answer your question, no, Hadley isn’t unhappy with the exhibition. It’s more about this place bringing back memories he’d rather not dredge up. But I’m afraid I didn’t give him much of a choice. He needs to deal with his past. It’s holding him back.”

  I had gotten the sense that Hadley was more than a client to her when we had exchanged emails, but this sounds awfully personal. Deciding to just cut to the chase, I ask, “Is there anything I can do to make his stay any easier? I want this exhibition to go as smoothly as possible. We have a lot of influential people attending tomorrow night. If it means I have to kiss his ass for a couple of days to keep him happy”—I cringe. Being a kiss-ass is not in my nature, not anymore—“I’ll swallow my pride and do it.”

  Bianca grins. “I was hoping you would say that.”

  I’m not sure I like the way her eyes are gleaming. And I’m sure my nervous smile tells her just what I’m thinking, since she quickly pats my shoulder and says, “Oh, don’t worry, Eliza. I’m sure it won’t be too difficult to keep him in line. In fact, I think you’re just the person for the job.”

  After I show Bianca around and receive her approval of the layout, we part ways for the day with plans to meet tomorrow morning for an impromptu shopping trip to get dresses for tomorrow night’s opening. I was planning on wearing the little black dress that I wear to most of these events, but Bianca insisted I need something with more wow factor. And since she needs to pick up an outfit as well, she suggested we go together.

  Closing the door to my office, I find my brother waiting for me. He smiles when he sees me. “Hey, you didn’t tell me it was Hadley you’re doing this next exhibition for.”

  Frowning, I take a seat across from him. “Didn’t I?” I shrug. “Since when are you into photography anyway?”

  His grin turns coy. “It’s a recent development.”

  “Oh, so what you’re saying is, your new squeeze is a fan, and you need tickets for tomorrow night’s opening?” I quip.

  Ben winks. “You got it, chica. So can you hook me up?”

  I pretend to mull it over. “You do know this event sold out in a matter of hours, right? I’m not sure how I’m going to come up with extra tickets.”

  He takes the bait and sighs. “You’re going to make me kiss your ass, aren’t you?”

  Shrugging, I give him my best innocent smile. “I wouldn’t say that, but payment by way of macadamia lattes delivered daily for the next two weeks would suffice.”

  He claps his hands together as he gets to his feet. “You drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Dress nice. Like, in-a-suit nice!” I call after him.

  Someone is pounding on my door. And I’m in no shape to answer it. We’ve only been here for… maybe three hours, and I’ve already cleaned out the mini bar and started on the bottle of gin I had room service deliver.

  The pounding continues. “If you don’t open this door right now, I’m letting myself in!” Bee calls.

  I should have known it would be her, but in my current state, thinking coherently isn’t exactly my forte.

  Seconds later, she comes stomping into the living area where I’m presently sprawled across the plush gray couch. Her eyes narrow dangerously. “You’re drunk?” she asks, her tone full of disappointment and accusation.

  I grin and nod. “Yep.” The nodding was a bad idea. Now my head is spinning. Or is it the room that’s spinning?

  Next thing I know, Bee is in my face, clicking her fingers right in front of my nose. My eyes cross, trying to focus on them.

  “Oh my God, you’re fully tanked. How did you get this drunk so quickly? Did you start drinking as soon as we got here?” she asks.

  Again, I grin and nod. “Yep.” D
amn it. I shouldn’t have nodded again. I frown as everything shifts around me and my stomach clenches.

  Bianca’s lip lifts in disgust. “Really, Huxley? Since when do you drink? In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been drunk, what, three times? And that was in the beginning. You haven’t touched a drop in years. What are you doing?”

  She’s talking too much. I lift my hand and press my pointer finger to her lips. Well, I was aiming for her lips, but I get her nose. Close enough. “Shhh,” I say.

  Then, I start thinking about the word ‘shhh’. Is ‘shhh’ even a word? It’s more like a sound than a word.

  My pondering is interrupted by Bianca shoving my hand away from her face. “Jesus, you can’t go anywhere like this. I was going to take you to get a decent suit for tomorrow night, but I’ll just do it myself.”

  I scrunch my nose. “A suit? What for?” I’ve never worn a suit in my life.

  With her hands on her hips, Bee looks down at me. “You are wearing a suit tomorrow night, and you’re not going to argue with me about it. Understand?”

  I attempt to give her attitude right back to her and roll my eyes. Bad idea. My stomach curls again, but I swallow it down. “Whatever. You’re not my mom. You can’t make me.”

  I’m proud of my comeback until a wave of anguish washes over me. My mom never made me do anything. She didn’t care enough to even try being a mother. This time, when my stomach rebels, I don’t have the strength to stop it. I jump to my feet and dash to the nearest sink—the kitchen—and empty the contents of my stomach.

  The smell of rancid alcohol hits my nostrils, and another wave of nausea washes through me. I smell like him after a binge. The knowledge that I’m behaving like him, turning to drink instead of dealing with my emotions, causes my stomach to revolt again.

  Resting my head against the sink, I take a few deep breaths to regain my bearings.

  “Feel better, big guy?” Bee asks from somewhere behind me.

  “Not really,” I tell her. “I feel even worse, actually.” And I’m not referring to all the alcohol I’ve consumed this afternoon.

  She sighs loudly enough for me to hear her then says, “Well, I’m going to get you a suit. You should have a shower and sleep it off. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, she leaves me hunched over the sink.

  When I think I’ve regained my equilibrium enough, I straighten and turn on the tap to wash away the vomit coating the sides of the stainless-steel sink. Then, I take Bee’s advice and head for the shower.

  I crank the hot water in the luxurious black-and-gray marble shower and step in under the spray. The pressure is amazing, and I rest my forehead against the wall as the water cascades over my tense shoulders.

  The shower is just what I need. It clears the fog that still lingered in my brain from throwing up. I need to sort my shit out, or I could end up turning into my father. And I’d rather die than be anything like him.

  That’s all I’m sure of by the time I step out of the shower and wrap a heated towel around my waist. I need one of these towel warmers at my place. I think that every time I stay at one of these fancy hotels. So that’s two decisions made by the time I walk out of the bathroom.

  I don’t bother putting clothes on when I get to the master bedroom. Instead, I flop down across the soft gunmetal-gray quilt atop the king-size bed and swiftly fall asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Oh my God, now I remember the other reason I don’t drink. I can’t handle it. Booze is like poison to my bloodstream. Whether it’s two drinks or two dozen, I suffer the same godawful monster hangover.

  My skull is throbbing so hard I can feel it pulsing in my eyeballs. I thank my lucky stars that I purged myself of the alcohol last night, or I’d be in even worse shape than I am now.

  Rolling out of bed as slowly as possible, I shuffle to the bathroom and fill a glass with water, knock it back, then wash my clammy face with cold water. It helps a little, but not as much as a couple of Tylenols will.

  Returning to the bedroom with a second glass of water, I locate my duffel and search for the little bottle of painkillers I threw in there just in case I made some bad decisions. What can I say? I know myself that well.

  After swallowing the little white pills, I lie back on the bed and try to think of a proactive plan of action. I can’t spend the rest of my time here locked in my room, afraid I might run into El.

  I figure breakfast would be a good first move, so I pick up the phone on the bedside table and dial room service. The girl who answers has a high-pitched, sugary-sweet voice. I imagine she thinks she sounds appealing, but I’ve always preferred a huskier tone.

  When I hang up, all I can think about is El. I want so desperately to hear her voice again. I’ve never come across another woman with one like hers. Every woman I’ve been with since her has been seriously lacking. But I expected nothing less.

  From the first time I was with El, I knew that no other would measure up.

  She was everything to me then, and she still is now. For me, nothing has changed.

  I need to see her while I’m in town. I have to lay my eyes on her, even if it’s just for a minute. I need to see how she is, see if she’s changed at all.

  Jesus, I’ve missed her. And now, knowing she’s within my reach again, I’m filled with a sense of purpose I haven’t felt in the longest time.

  I roll off the bed, but this time, I land with a bounce in my step. I throw on a T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts then sling my satchel over my shoulder and head out the door, deciding to get breakfast on the go.

  I strum my fingers on my thigh as I wait for the elevator to reach the ground floor. I’m out the doors as soon as they slide open and making my way toward the exit.

  I never spent much time in the city when I lived out here, so it’s all new to me, and I’m eager to explore. As I’m walking down the street, I come across an old building with a French Provincial feel to it. I pull my camera out of my satchel and focus my lens on the edge of the building where it butts up against a sleek modern atrocity.

  The contrast between the new and the old captures me completely. I wonder if I would have fully appreciated the beauty of the old building had it not been right next to the monstrosity that is modern architecture.

  Just as I’m about to lower my lens, I catch a glimpse of an older woman on her tiny terrace, watering a couple of potted plants. One has outgrown its pot and is now entwined with the wrought-iron railing.

  I smile to myself and take the shot before she notices me. Her aged hand is wrapped around the handle of the watering can that she’s probably been using since she moved into that apartment.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed since I left the hotel. I get so absorbed in my pursuit of these little moments of beauty that I forget to keep track. My cell ringing in my pocket snaps me out of it. Letting my camera hang around my neck, I reach for my phone.

  “Hey, Bee, what’s up?” I ask.

  “Are you kidding me? You better not have run off, Huxley!” she yells into the line.

  I frown. “What? No, why? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m standing in your suite, and you’re not. What the hell? Where are you?”

  Glancing around my surroundings, I try to figure out where I am. “I’m in a park, not exactly sure where. I went for a walk.”

  “Well, you better get your ass back here. It’s already five, Hux. You need to get showered and ready. I’ve hung your suit in your room. Please tell me you brought decent footwear.” She almost groans that last part.

  I spot a taxi rank on the street and start for it. “Okay, I’m getting in a cab now. I’ll be back soon. Stop stressing, I’m a dude. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes—if that. See you soon,” I say then hang up.

  She’s going to pitch a fit when she realizes I only brought a couple of pairs of Chucks. But if I have to wear a damn suit, I’m doing it my way.

  Ten minutes later, the taxi pulls up in front of the hotel. “
There’s some fancy exhibition here tonight. You going, kid?” the old man driving asks me.

  I grin at him in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, kinda.” I hand him some cash then slide out.

  Getting out and about with my camera and the fresh air has eased the tension in my body, but opening the door to my suite and being greeted by a pissed off Bee in the middle of the sitting room has it rising again.

  “You hung up on me!” she bites out.

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, and? It’s not the first time, and we both know it probably won’t be the last.”

  She releases a deep sigh then rolls her neck until it cracks. I hate it when she does that. It’s disgusting. “Will you just go get ready, please?” She glances at her watch. “I should already be down there. Meet me in the lobby in twenty minutes, Hux. Twenty.” She eyeballs me as she reiterates the time.

  “I can find my way to the gallery myself, you know. I know you like to treat me like a child, but I’m not. I’ll see you down there soon. Go socialize or whatever it is you need to do before I get there.” I start moving down the hall toward my room then pause. “Oh, and you look amazing, Bee.” I shoot her a wink over my shoulder and catch her smile just before I walk out of view.

  That woman stresses too much. She’s going to go gray before her time.

  When I get out of the shower, I’m pleased to see that the suit Bee bought for me is a simple, fitted, navy two-piece with a white dress shirt to go with it. She also bought a tie, but that shit ain’t happening. I’d feel like I was being strangled all night. No thanks.

  I roll the sleeves of the jacket and white shirt up my forearms as far as they can comfortably go and opt to leave the jacket open, then I slide on my black Converse and tie the laces before tucking the bows inside. I know Bee isn’t going to be impressed with how I’ve dressed it down, but I’m not now, nor will I ever be, a suit-wearing man.