“So will you listen to me now?” she asked.
“I’m listening,” I confirmed.
Her smile faded. “About John. Give it a chance even if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Is that your way of saying I should have a relationship?”
“Who cares what you call it? John has feelings for you and so do you.” Her firm look made me close my mouth. “If you let yourself. And if the only reason you’re not letting him in is because of things that have happened in the past, that’s not a good enough reason. Trust me. Be open to it.”
Open to it. Well, there was a new concept. “You know I’m not very good with that.”
“Yes, I know, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. What’s the alternative? Turn into an eccentric old artist?”
I coughed.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Had she been talking to John? Or maybe my potential to turn into an embittered, lonely artist was a shared view. Great.
“Do what you’ve always done and get what you’ve always got,” she continued, matter-of-fact. “Unless of course you’re happy with how things are.”
Happy. Not that long ago, Christa had asked me if I was happy. I’d never given much thought to it before. Now I was beginning to see that was because I hadn’t allowed myself to try for happiness.
“What about John’s post-divorce issues?” I asked.
Cate rolled her eyes. “Stop looking for excuses.”
Damn. She was on to me.
“Hang out with John. Have sex,” she advised.
“Well, when you put it like that …”
“Good!” Cate clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “Can we get back to work now because I’m freezing!”
*
“Scarlett Wong?”
“Yes?”
I usually regretted answering numbers I didn’t recognize, but it was work hours and I was struggling to focus anyway.
“My name is Sandra Benton. I’m the Director at Doherty Galleries.”
I sat up straighter in my seat even though she couldn’t see me. “Hi, Sandra. How can I help you?”
Doherty Galleries was one of the better known private contemporary galleries in Sydney. I’d never had any contact with them before. Renowned for only showing the cutting edge of the art world, you didn’t call them, they called you.
“I recently came across a review of your New York show in Contemporary Art magazine.” Her voice was clipped and business-like, some might say bordering on pompous. “This prompted me to talk to a few of my contacts in New York. They were all impressed. I’d like to talk to you about exhibiting some of your work with us.”
Holy shit. Breathe, Scarlett. Fucking breathe. “I’d certainly be open to that.” I gave myself an invisible high five for my apparent calm.
“Excellent. Then let’s set up a time to talk. I’m assuming, of course, you have a portfolio of your work you can bring to discuss with me?”
“Of course.”
Somehow I managed to get through the remainder of the discussion without falling off my chair or saying something inappropriate. As soon as the line went dead, I knew exactly who I wanted to call. I didn’t even spare a thought to obsess about the implications of what it meant.
I dialed John’s number.
Chapter 27
I’d liked work a hell of a lot better before I knew I was going to be fired.
Sure, I hadn’t loved work, but I didn’t hate it either. Now I was in dangerous limbo territory. I had a job to do, but I’d be damned if I was going to do it too well. I was perverse like that.
Unfortunately my contrary nature was displaying itself to my co-workers. I was short with them. Sarcastic – alright, more sarcastic – and increasingly cynical about the advertising industry as a whole. At this rate, John’s prediction would come true decades earlier than his original forecast.
After a particularly tedious and frustrating internal meeting, I stalked down the hall to the elevators. I was on my way to find a coffee that wasn’t the tasteless, dishwater variety available in the staff kitchen. I’d just hammered the down button with my index finger when I became aware of someone else’s presence behind me.
I looked over my shoulder. “Ruby. Hey.”
The petite redhead gave me an uncertain smile.
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to bite your head off. It’s only the morons I’m having a hard time with at the moment.”
Ruby blew out a breath. “You and me both.”
I studied her more closely. Her alabaster complexion appeared paler than usual and there was the hint of dark circles beneath her eyes. Huh. Tony must be working her hard. Or harder than usual. The occupational hazards of working in advertising truly sucked.
The doors opened and we stepped inside. There was no one else in the elevator.
Ruby cleared her throat. “Uh, Scarlett?”
“Mmm.” I was still deciding which cafe would sell a coffee strong enough to improve my mood.
“When you got back from New York, did Tony talk to you?”
I swung around to face her, my pulse instantly spiking. “Why?”
“About New York.” She was clasping her hands together so hard her knuckles were white. “I think I might, I mean I’m pretty sure I might have maybe let slip – not that I meant to let it slip, of course – the fact that you were at the art show in New York.”
Holy shit. I narrowed my eyes at her. “And how would you have known that?”
Ruby’s eyes dropped to study the floor. “I overheard you.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I caught her by the elbow and ushered her to a quiet corner of the foyer.
“Overheard me?” I hissed. “How? When?”
Her expression turned sheepish. “Late one night when you thought no one else was here. You were laughing about Aunt Cindy’s death.”
“Oh.” Even I was aware that didn’t sound good.
She started twisting her hands together again. “I kind of gathered that there was no Aunt Cindy. And then the day you were supposed to return from Aunt Cindy’s funeral, I bought a Contemporary Art magazine—”
“And you saw my review.”
She nodded. She looked so distraught. The sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks were practically neon she was so pale.
“How did Tony find out?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine she’d gone around the office broadcasting it.
Her green eyes glowered. “Garry.”
I raised my brows. Things were starting to fall into place.
“He saw me reading the review. The bastard snatched the magazine right from under my nose. I begged him not to tell Tony, but the stupid dickhead acted like he’d just won the lottery.”
I bet. I sighed. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is! I only bought the magazine because I was interested to see how your exhibition was going. I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have brought it into the office—”
“Ruby. It’s cool.”
She blinked. “It is?”
I shrugged. “Well, not completely. Tony did have a talk to me when I got back.”
The poor girl was close to tears.
I figured I might as well just put her out of her misery. “He told me to finish the health services campaign and then after that we would discuss my position.”
Ruby’s hand flew to her mouth, which was rounded in horror. “Oh my God! Oh no! Oh shit.”
“Ruby. Calm down,” I instructed. “It’s alright.”
She shook her head at me fiercely. “No. No, it’s not alright. Oh my God! Because of me you’re going to lose your job!” Real tears filled her eyes.
She’d obviously worked at Shout long enough to understand what Tony’s version of “we’ll discuss your position” entailed. I glanced around the foyer. This was no good. We were in full view of everyone coming and going. If someone from the Shout offices saw us the gossip would be all over the place.
“Come on
.” I tugged her by the elbow, indicating she should follow me to the exit. “Let me buy you a coffee.”
Ruby sniffled and followed me. By the time we were waiting in line at a coffee shop around the corner she appeared marginally calmer. I ordered us both lattes and pushed her toward one of the more private tables in the corner.
She sat down opposite me. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett.”
“I was the one who invented Aunt Cindy and then got on a plane to New York. It was a risk I was prepared to take.”
Ruby’s green eyes brightened a bit. “The show sounded awesome. Did you have to pinch yourself?”
“I’m still pinching myself,” I admitted.
“That’s so cool.” She grinned and took a sip of the latte. Then her face fell. “Except the part about not having a job in a few weeks. That totally sucks and I’m so sorry.”
I waved a hand at her. “Who knows? Maybe it’s for the best.”
Ruby’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “Are you alright?” she asked carefully.
I laughed. A loud, genuine laugh that echoed around the cafe so that several of the other diners looked over at us. “You know what? Apart from the morons, I’m pretty damn good.”
*
The next couple of weeks were busy. When I wasn’t working, I was spending time with John. Admittedly a lot of this time consisted of being in bed with John. It was probably this fact that meant I’d slipped into a genuine sort of relationship arrangement with him without consciously being aware of it. The first time it hit me was when we were having dinner at his parents’ house again. Looking around at his family talking and bickering happily was when I realized that this was what people who have relationships do.
“You were quiet tonight,” John said on the ride home. “Everything OK?”
“It’s happened, hasn’t it?”
John frowned but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What’s happened?”
“This is officially a relationship,” I announced.
John’s lips twitched and I had the urge to kiss him.
“See!” I pointed at him. “See what you’re doing right there?”
“What am I doing?” I got the distinct impression if he hadn’t been driving in the rain he would have raised his hands in surrender.
“Making me want you,” I said with more than a hint of annoyance.
“My God, you’re practically in love with me,” John drawled.
I glared at him. “You know I care about you.” We still hadn’t entirely resolved the I love you situation. Namely John loved me and I was a hard ass bitch who was out of touch with her emotions. The concept of a relationship was enough of a hurdle, let alone the idea of falling in love.
John reached over and squeezed my leg quickly. “I know. It was a joke.”
“I know.” I sighed. “The thing is, I’m OK with it.”
We stopped at a set of traffic lights and John turned to face me. “Let me get this straight. You’ve just acknowledged that we are definitely in a relationship together and this is OK with you?”
“Yes.”
John blew out a long breath and turned back to the steering wheel. The lights went green and he concentrated hard on the road.
I looked at him in disbelief. “You’re not going to say anything?” I asked.
“Honestly? I don’t want to ruin it.”
I punched him in the arm.
“Ow!” He shrugged his shoulder, probably to make sure I hadn’t caused permanent damage. “I’m happy about it, Scarlett. What do you want me to say?”
“That you won’t be proposing marriage anytime soon?” I joked, then shut my mouth. Whoops. Where had that come from?
John’s forehead creased. “Is that your way of fishing for more information about my divorce?”
I paused, then answered. “I guess.” I hadn’t appreciated that I was doing it until the words had come out of my mouth.
He sighed and focused on the road. It was undeniably winter and added to this sad fact, it was pouring, and heavy sheets of rain pounded the windshield as we drove.
I decided I’d already said too much so I watched the lights blur against the glass from the rain. Reds, greens, and whites merged together on a canvas of black.
“Elise and I started dating in high school. We were in the same year and pretty much inseparable.”
I twisted in my seat to stare at John. He was actually going to talk to me about it, although he wasn’t attempting to meet my gaze. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on the road ahead.
“Once we graduated,” he continued, “we went to the same university. Different courses – she did teaching – but we were always together whenever we could manage it.”
That sounded suffocating, but I kept my mouth shut.
He shrugged. “It seemed like the obvious thing to get engaged, so I proposed in our last year of university. Looking back now, I can see that’s when things started to change.”
“Why?”
“I asked too soon. She wasn’t ready.”
“But she said yes?”
“She did. Elise is …” He paused, like he was trying to find the words. “Impressionable. She looked up to me.”
I bit my tongue.
John shot me a look that told me he knew what I was thinking. “Yeah, I know. Fat chance of you looking up to me, but the point is, it wasn’t a balanced relationship. She started to put what she thought I wanted ahead of what she wanted. I didn’t recognize that until it was too late.”
“Until you were married, you mean?”
“Yeah. When we were younger, she told me she wanted to travel. Maybe teach overseas. Then when we got engaged she stopped talking about it. Her focus became the wedding and then she started talking about kids—”
“Jesus.” I hadn’t meant to interrupt but I couldn’t help it. “You were only in your early twenties.”
“I know. The thing is, she changed herself based on what she thought I wanted, not what I really wanted,” he explained.
My head was starting to hurt.
“Sure, I’d like kids – someday – but I want to travel too. I’d like to spend a few years getting some experience overseas.”
“You would?” I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised.
“You bet. You only live once, but as soon as we got engaged Elise seemed determined to skip the living part. She equated marriage with responsibility. Instead of taking a job she really wanted, a challenging role in a more disadvantaged school, she took a job closer to home that didn’t inspire her. Then she started talking about trying for a baby.”
I felt the breath constrict in my chest. “What did you say?”
“I told her I wasn’t ready.”
I released the air pushing against my lungs with a quiet whoosh. Now wasn’t the time to examine why I was relieved at his response.
“She started to resent me.” His tone was flat and emotionless.
“I’m so sorry, John. That must have been hard.”
“What was hardest was that it suddenly felt like I was married to a stranger. She changed and I didn’t know who she was anymore.”
“Did you try to talk to her about it?”
“Not until it was too late. After she asked for a baby, I distanced myself. It was the wrong thing to do.”
“I’d say you’re being hard on yourself.”
“Maybe.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Anyway, that’s when she decided she didn’t want to be responsible after all.”
“Did she ask for the divorce?” I asked gently.
He grimaced. “Not exactly. Although I pretty much figured out it was over when she slept with my best mate.”
Chapter 28
When we arrived back at my apartment the memory of our conversation about Elise hung between us, and I gave John his space. It was so strange to see him like this. He was shuttered, when usually he was transparent. He fell asleep with me tucked against his body, while I lay awake listening to the steady so
und of his breathing, thinking.
And I didn’t like the thoughts I was having.
His divorce had been two years ago but his body language deceived him. He’d been hurt badly and his controlled description of events was nothing like the open, passionate man I knew. I wasn’t stupid. I recognized the signs because I’d seen them in myself over the years. He wasn’t allowing himself any feelings over his divorce or his ex-wife because feeling anything would hurt too much. So he opted for pushing it into the past where he thought it belonged. The only problem was, as I’d recently learned, the past had a way of coming back to bite you.
*
I couldn’t believe my exhibition at Doherty’s was tonight. The past week had gone by in a blur. Somehow I’d managed to get the health services campaign launched without a hitch, which was surprising since it involved working with Garry. In the past I would have been plotting my revenge but now I couldn’t care less. I’d been too busy preparing for my exhibition at Doherty’s.
As it turned out, doing nothing had been the best revenge strategy possible. My distracted state of mind at work was deeply unsettling to my co-workers. They were used to my sharp tongue. They didn’t know what to make of the new Scarlett. Particularly Garry. He started being nice to me, probably because he was worried I was planning something. It allowed Garry to stew in his own guilt and me to focus on what really mattered: my art.
Tonight my artwork was being included in a collective exhibition on modern portraiture that Doherty’s was promoting throughout July. It had all happened so quickly because another artist had dropped out at the last minute. My pride wasn’t hurt in the least knowing I was the backup. Doherty’s was the real deal, no matter how it came about.
Since I’d been focusing on preparing for the exhibition, my time with John lately had been limited. I missed him. Fortunately I didn’t have time to dwell on whether this had something to do with the L word or not.
“Crap,” I muttered, looking at the clock on my computer screen. I should have left the office half an hour ago if I wanted to be ready for John to pick me up. He was driving me to the gallery. I was secretly hoping he’d be wearing that all black suit ensemble again.
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