The Endgame

by James, Cleary

  But slowly he had sucked the joy out of it, and now it was just a chore, another demand to be met. She turned to the open wardrobe, her eyes running over the rails of expensive, barely-worn clothes. The last thing she needed was a new dress. But there was no point in arguing. Mark would just take it as an insult and reproach her for being ungrateful. He never ceased to remind her how lucky she was, how enviable most women would consider her luxurious lifestyle. She knew he was right about that. From the outside, she seemed to have it all, and no doubt many women would envy her – but only because they didn’t know the reality behind the glossy facade. This beautiful house was a prison; her handsome, indulgent boyfriend her jailor – and her life of apparent ease and luxury was in truth little more than slavery.

  She shook her head as if to dislodge such negative thoughts. She wasn’t going to dwell on the past or wallow in regret about what she had lost. From now on she would focus on the future, keep working steadily towards that glimmer of light in the distance and trust that she would get there eventually. She just had to play Mark’s game for a little while longer, she told herself determinedly as she swung her bag onto her shoulder and checked herself in the mirror one last time before leaving the house.

  ‘Oops, sorry!’ She was coming out of the Bond Street hairdressing salon, checking a text from Mark on her cell phone, when she collided with someone. ‘Excuse me,’ she moved to sidestep them without looking up as they apologised to each other.

  ‘Lisa?’

  She looked up then, and it took her a moment to place the tall, slim girl in front of her.

  ‘Rose! Hi!’ she said as she recognised her. Rose had been in her year at art college. They would have graduated together if Lisa had stayed on.

  ‘How are you?’ Rose asked. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. How are you?’

  ‘Great! I’ve just been into Gallery Six,’ she jerked her head towards the end of the road. Lisa knew the gallery. It was in Mayfair, close to Mark’s, and almost as prestigious. ‘I’m having my first solo exhibition there next month,’ Rose beamed.

  ‘Oh, that’s really exciting! Congratulations!’

  ‘I know! You must come to my opening.’ Rose’s excitement was palpable, her eyes dancing with joy, and Lisa felt a twinge of envy.

  ‘So what have you been up to?’ Rose asked her. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t heard anything – I thought you’d be mega-famous by now, taking the world by storm. You were always the big star at college.’

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘Oh, come on, don’t be so modest – you know you were. We were all so jealous when Mark Reader zoned in on you and made you his protégé. So what have you been doing? ‘

  Lisa shrugged. ‘Nothing much. I don’t paint anymore.’

  Rose frowned, appearing genuinely shocked. ‘You don’t? So what are you doing now? Don’t tell me you’ve taken up sculpture? Everyone I know seems to be doing that lately.’

  ‘Um ... nothing. I gave up art altogether.’

  ‘You’re kidding! But you were so talented.’

  ‘Not talented enough, it turned out,’ Lisa said with a self-deprecating smile.

  Rose frowned. ‘So what do you do?’ she asked. ‘Weren’t you working at Mark’s gallery for a while?’

  ‘Yes, but not anymore. I– I’m not working at the moment.’ Lisa tried to make it sound like a temporary thing.

  ‘Oh.’ Rose’s smile faded and her eyes swept over Lisa, seeming to take her in properly for the first time. Lisa felt very self-conscious, realising how she must look with her freshly styled hair, her expensive clothes, and the designer shopping bags on her arm. Rose was casually dressed in skinny jeans and pumps with an oversized sweater, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looked young and arty, and she made Lisa feel stuffy and middle-aged, even though they were the same age.

  ‘Well, you seem to be doing okay anyway,’ Rose said with a little smirk. ‘Are you still with Mark?’

  Lisa cringed. She could tell exactly what Rose was thinking – that she had bagged a rich man and promptly given up work to become a pampered housewife. ‘Yes, I am,’ she answered with a defiant tilt to her chin.

  ‘Well, good for you.’ Rose looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement that made Lisa uncomfortable. ‘You should definitely come to my launch – and bring Mark. I’ll send an invite to his gallery, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, do. We’ll try to make it.’

  ‘Great! What are Susie and Daniel up to these days?’ Rose asked, naming Lisa’s two closest friends from college.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lisa shrugged. ‘I ... haven’t seen them for a long time.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t keep in touch? That’s a surprise. Hey, I’m meeting up with Anna and Nikki for drinks tonight. You should come. I’m sure they’d love to see you and catch up.’ Anna and Nikki were fellow college classmates.

  ‘Thanks, but Mark and I are going out tonight,’ Lisa said, surprised that she felt genuine regret. She hadn’t been particular friends with Rose, Anna or Nikki at college, but she suddenly felt it would be good to reconnect with people from that time, people her own age. She glanced at her watch. She had some time before she had to be home. ‘We could go for a drink now?’ she suggested on an impulse.

  ‘Oh, I’d love to,’ Rose said, ‘but I’ve got to get back. I’m doing some temping at a little PR company on Regent Street. Dull as hell, but it pays the bills. Sorry,’ she said with an apologetic grimace, ‘but some of us have to work for a living.’

  There was just the hint of a sneer in her smile, and the derisive way her eyes once more flicked over her body made Lisa glad she wasn’t able to join her for a drink. What had she been thinking? Rose was a bitch. She had been fiercely competitive with Lisa at art college, and there had always been an undercurrent of spite and jealousy beneath her overt friendliness. Now that her star was in the ascendant, she would no doubt love the opportunity to gloat over her former rival. It would just be depressing, and Lisa could do without that. Besides, they had nothing in common anymore. What would they even talk about? It would be awkward and uncomfortable at best.

  ‘Some other time maybe,’ Rose was saying now as she turned to go.

  ‘Yes, definitely,’ Lisa smiled. But they both knew it was a pretence. Neither of them even bothered to make a show of swapping numbers.

  ‘I’ll tell Nikki and Anna I met you.’

  ‘Yeah, say hi to them for me,’ Lisa called after her. Rose was probably dying to tell her friends about bumping into her. She could imagine them all gossiping about her tonight over cocktails, Rose laughing as she filled them in on the fact that she had abandoned her art to become a trophy girlfriend.

  She stood still in the street, almost dizzy with envy as she watched Rose walk away. She looked so young and carefree, sauntering down the street in her loping stride, bubbling with happiness about her solo show. Exciting things were happening for her, and life seemed to be opening up before her, full of possibilities. Lisa knew how it felt. That had been her once.

  She tried to shake off the feelings of bitterness and resentment as she turned to walk in the opposite direction. But the encounter with Rose had unsettled her, and she felt almost paralysed by regret. It preyed on her mind what Rose had said about Lisa being the star of their year, the one they all expected to have the big breakthrough. She had believed that herself once. Mark had believed it. She had been so excited about embarking on her artistic career, full of hopes and plans for the future, and sure that good things were going to happen for her. Having Mark’s backing gave her good reason to be confident, but it wasn’t just that. She had believed in what she was doing; believed in her own talent.

  She had been walking on air in those days when she had first moved in with Mark. It had been bliss having so much time to devote to painting, and Mark talked about giving her a show when she had produced enough work. It had seemed like it was only a matter of time. But nothing she produced was
ever good enough for him. He rejected piece after piece, and gradually he had stopped talking about her show. When she had nudged him about it one day, he had looked at her pityingly.

  ‘Oh, baby, I’m sorry,’ he had said. ‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but you’re just not good enough yet. I have the gallery’s reputation to think of. I can’t show this stuff just because you’re my girlfriend. I’d be laughed out of town.’

  She remembered how she had fought back tears, trying to be grown-up about it and take it on the chin.

  ‘Maybe next year,’ Mark had said consolingly. ‘You just need more time to develop.’

  Mark’s criticism stung, but she had told herself she was lucky to have it. He knew what he was talking about, after all. He was a star-maker. She just had to do better. So she had thrown herself back into painting, working harder than ever, determined to produce work he would be proud to represent.

  Her show never materialised, but finally he had accepted a couple of her paintings for the gallery. He hadn’t been overly enthusiastic about them, but he said he would give them a chance and it would allow him to test the market. Lisa had been proud of them, and thought they were the best work she had ever done. She hoped they would sell, and Mark’s faith in her would be justified. Sometimes she felt that he held her to higher standards because he was wary of letting his feelings for her colour his judgement. So she had been optimistic as she waited anxiously for some objective feedback.

  But as weeks passed without a sale, she became increasingly despondent. She saw Mark’s faith in her dwindling, and it undermined her confidence in what she was doing. She had tried to keep her spirits up and persevere with her work. One day, when she had been feeling particularly low and on the verge of giving up, she had dropped into the gallery to look at her paintings to cheer herself up. It had been one of the proudest moments of her life when she had first seen her art hanging on the wall in Mark’s gallery. Having her paintings for sale in such a prestigious space – not to mention the hefty price tag attached to them – had felt like a huge achievement, and a real validation of her work. It had made her feel like a proper artist, and she had gone there that day to remind herself of that.

  She cringed now, recalling her dismay as she walked around the gallery and found her paintings were no longer on display. She had gone around twice to make sure. Mark had never said anything to her about removing them, just mentioned occasionally that they still hadn’t sold. She had left the gallery feeling embarrassed and more despondent than ever, and that night she had confronted him about it. Again he had given her that pitying look. They weren’t selling, he had explained, and he simply couldn’t afford to give up the wall space to them any longer.

  She had felt dazed. ‘When?’ she had asked faintly. ‘How long have they not been for sale?’

  ‘Just the last couple of weeks,’ he had said, looking shamefaced.

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ She had felt like an idiot. She had been taking pride in Mark’s endorsement, when in fact he had already given up on her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just didn’t have the heart to tell you. I know how hard you’ve been working, how badly you want this.’

  That was when he had told her that she would never make the grade as an artist. With her confidence already at an all-time low, it had been easy for him to persuade her that she should give up.

  ‘It’s just making you miserable,’ he had said. ‘I hate seeing you so unhappy.’

  She had decided he was right. It was making her frustrated and depressed, and for what? She was banging her head against a brick wall. If Mark didn’t think she was good enough, she had to accept that it was never going to happen for her.

  They had talked for hours that night, making new plans. He had been kind and sympathetic as they gently dismantled her dreams. It was decided that she wouldn’t go back to college and finish her degree. Mark insisted that she didn’t need to work, that he would continue to support her financially, but when she made it clear that she meant to get a job, he offered to take her on at the gallery. It was the ideal solution, and Lisa tried to feel happy about it, but inside her heart was breaking.

  The next day Mark cleared out the studio he had built for her at the top of the house and hired an architect to convert it into a gym. When she came home from a shopping trip a few days later to find all her paintings gone, Mark calmly told her he had thrown them in the skip. Shocked that he would do such a thing, Lisa had howled in protest and automatically ran outside to rescue them. But it was too late – the skip had been collected while she was out. Mark had been contrite when he saw how distraught she was, but explained he’d thought a clean break would be best for her.

  ‘I never wanted to be the one to shatter your dreams,’ Lisa’, he’d said soothingly as he held her, while she felt like her heart was being ripped to pieces.

  Her stomach still heaved now at the thought of her paintings being destroyed; tossed out like garbage. They may not have had much objective worth, but they had meant something to her. They were a part of her, and she still felt an aching emptiness and an almost overwhelming sense of loss when she thought of them.

  Damn Rose, she thought. She’d stirred up all sorts of feelings that were better left alone. Lisa blinked away tears as she hailed a cab, feeling her buoyant mood of earlier evaporate as she headed for home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Even on a busy Friday night, the atmosphere in Locale was hushed. Lisa’s heels sank into the thick carpet as the maitre d’ led them to their table, the plush furnishings muffling the sounds of conversation. Waiters moved between the tables with balletic grace, accompanied by the gentle tinkle of glass and silverware, carrying out their tasks with calm, unobtrusive efficiency. Mark loved this place. Everything about it appealed to his ego, from the eye-watering prices on the menu to the professional staff who treated him with just the right balance of friendliness and deference. There was an air of exclusivity about it that pleased him. Mark hadn’t grown up with money, and being a regular at a place like this was proof that he’d arrived.

  ‘You look amazing, Lisa.’ He took her hand across the table when they were seated. ‘Every man here wishes he were me,’ he said with a self-satisfied smile, his eyes flicking around the elegant dining room.

  She was just the icing on the cake – the perfect accessory for the man who had it all. ‘Thanks,’ she said, faking a loving smile as she opened her menu.

  ‘Don’t bother with that,’ Mark said, reaching across and whipping it out of her hands. ‘I’ll order for both of us.’

  She swallowed down her irritation at this supposedly romantic gesture on his part. ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  She hardly listened to what Mark ordered. When her starter was placed in front of her, it was a work of art, the plate decorated with edible flowers and dots of purees and jellies in jewel-like colours. It was almost too pretty to eat, and it tasted as exquisite as it looked.

  ‘Good choice?’ Mark asked, smiling at her knowingly.

  ‘Excellent,’ she nodded. ‘It’s delicious.’

  Of course she had known it would be. Everything here was always perfect – the food was sublime, the service impeccable. She looked around the elegant dining room, full of wealthy and influential people, taking in the massive brass chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling, and the important and valuable art collection that adorned the walls. She had been so impressed by all this in the beginning. Now she found herself thinking longingly of the bustling Italian restaurant she used to frequent with her college friends, where they had spent long nights filled with noise and laughter, fuelled by pizza and cheap wine. It was a good thing Mark couldn’t read her mind, she thought wryly. He’d be outraged at her ingratitude.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ Mark said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘I have to go to China next week, on business.’

  ‘Oh?’ She waited for more, wondering what this meant for her. Would he want her to go with him? Socialising
was an important part of Mark’s business – relationships with clients were forged and deals done over lunches and dinners, and he usually wanted her by his side to help oil the wheels.

  ‘It’s a damn nuisance, but there are a couple of big clients there who I’m trying to woo. It could mean millions of pounds in new business.’

  Lisa nodded. ‘It would be great for you to get a foothold in China.’ She knew Mark was excited about its potential as an important emerging market – he had spoken of it often recently. ‘What part will you be going to?’

  ‘Beijing. I’d take you with me, but I’m afraid it’s not going to be a holiday. I’ll be working twenty-four/seven.’

  ‘That’s fine. I don’t mind.’ She kept her expression carefully neutral, but her heart was racing with excitement at the thought of having some time alone.

  ‘Mr. Wong, who’ll be my host, is a bit old-fashioned,’ he said with a crooked smile. ‘He doesn’t like to mix business with pleasure, and to him, business is strictly men-only.’

  Lisa silently thanked Mr. Wong for his chauvinism. ‘How long will you be gone for?’

  ‘A week,’ Mark sighed. ‘I wish you could come. I hate being away from you for so long.’

  ‘I know.’ She covered his hand with hers, trying to look regretful. ‘Me too. But it sounds like we’d hardly see each other anyway. And I wouldn’t want to get in the way.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you when I get home,’ Mark said, with an indulgent smile.

  Lisa didn’t have to fake her good mood for the rest of the meal. She felt lighthearted, and almost giddy with excitement at the thought of a whole week of freedom. It was a pity she hadn’t saved up enough to leave yet – it would be the perfect opportunity. But she quickly dismissed those thoughts. It was too soon – she would just make the most of this unexpected time to herself and enjoy it for what it was.