‘Fine! I’ll go paint in my room!’ and he got up, passing the front door as it rang; he stopped to answer, caught cold by the sight of Sofia for the second time that week. Even Konrad turned from his documentary, casting Nick a look that burned to the core.
‘Hi, Nick.’ she said softly, running a finger through her hair, ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
‘Do you wanna go for a drink?’ he offered, excited at the prospect of leaving the flat.
‘I’d rather not if that’s okay.’
‘Sure, of course… well, come through.’ he stepped aside and gestured the way. As he followed Sofia to his room like a lovesick stalker he turned to Konrad, who communicated his immense disapproval through a variety of facial tics, flared nostrils and vengeful thoughts.
Chapter 17
Dig & Dirt
‘You wanted to see me?’ Lucy said at the front door.
‘Yes, yes, come in.’ Konrad replied, ushering her into the living room. She looked around, noticing the apartment bereft of life.
‘Isn’t Nick about?’
‘No, he’s been out all morning.’ Konrad closed the door and turned to her with a serious air, ‘I want to speak to you about last night.’
‘Oh.’ she said, stumbling to take a seat on the sofa and staring at Konrad with trepidation.
‘Things have taken a dramatic turn and I thought you should be made aware.’
‘Okay…’ she said pushing for him to get to the point.
‘It’s pretty big.’ he forewarned.
‘For god’s sake, Konrad!’
‘Okay, okay!’ he prepared himself. ‘It’s happened, the concert’s going ahead!’
‘Drama queen! You had me going there! That’s great news, Corsica must be ecstatic?’
‘Of course, she called me last night.’ he said, his eyes sparkling as he recalled their lengthy chat – he allowed himself a moment’s reflection. ‘Her team met with English Heritage who run Kenwood House and hold the Live by the Lake concerts – they want a full weekend of performances!’
‘A weekend festival? You’re kidding?’ she said, excitement boiling inside.
‘The current promoters pulled out after making losses last year and the organisers are left without a programme.’
‘Konrad, if an established company failed to sell tickets what chance have we got this late in the day?’
‘That’s what I said!’ he answered proudly, confusing her.
‘I thought you wanted to do it?’
‘I do.’
‘Are you nuts?’ she said, anxiously pacing and biting her nails, ‘This is all beginning to sound very risky…’
‘After I spoke with Corsica she explained they screwed up because they tried to make it too big. They booked star names to the event for the first time and failed to attract numbers; it’s not that kind of setting, it’s traditionally low-key. They had 20,000 people over three nights, which isn’t bad – they just misjudged the scale.’
‘And what are we trying to do?’
‘Something Worldbeat.’ he said like a visionary having a creative outpour – he even clasped his forehead with his fingertips and narrowed his eyes, ‘Authentic live music from up and coming world acts – like that reggae band who made a name at the Tenerife festival, or some of the better bands you got signed – there’s enough credibility to be involved and world music is so broad that we can have anything we want. Plus with Corsica organising it and still officially in hiding there should be plenty of media interest when she pops up to announce it!’
Lucy considered the prospect a moment, ‘Okay, starting to sound more feasible. When’s she going to announce it?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘It’s already way too late to organise properly, we really can’t afford to delay…’
‘Lucy, don’t worry. It’s the first thing she’ll do when she re-enters the public eye; right now she prefers to start the ball rolling without any attention or unnecessary stress and see how things go. English Heritage gave us ten days to decide.’
‘That’s a good idea.’
‘There’s a kicker to all this too…’
‘What?’ she answered suspiciously.
‘We’re using English Heritage to attack the City of London Corporation!’ he announced proudly.
‘What!’
‘Kenwood Estate is managed by English Heritage, the rest of the heath is controlled by the London Corporation who recently allowed commercial development to go ahead. We’re basically throwing muck at the whole gluttonous affair from our safe corner under the full glare of locals and world media!’
‘To what end?’ Lucy asked.
‘To raise awareness that this is going on; to gain support in having it stopped…’ he paused, struggling to swallow an emotion lump in his throat, ‘…and to positively alter Corsica’s public image and make that bitch cool!’ he said, unwisely miming a slam-dunk for effect and nearly yanking his arm from its cast. Lucy considered his words, if not his unflattering corporal expression.
‘From a PR perspective that could really work in her favour!’ she mused. ‘If done right, she could make an enormous statement; at worst she’d still be respected for having gone this route rather than take the easy path – as long as she’s able to cover any financial losses…’
‘She wants you to be her assistant and help book acts, you definitely interested?’ Lucy’s face lit up and he read between the lines, ‘You want me to call and tell her you’re on-board?’
‘Of course!’
‘Great, I guess you can start when you like.’ he said taking his phone, ‘I’ll get Corsica to contact you later with details.’ He called up Corsica’s number, ‘This is going to be a while I imagine.’ he said with an apologetic grimace, Lucy looked at him blankly. ‘Can you let yourself out?’
‘Oh! Sure…’ she said realising her unsubtle eviction and got to her feet. She looked across at Nick’s vacated corner of the room; his easel bare, his pots and palettes empty, and an idea formed. She watched Konrad fussing angrily with his phone trying to redial, ‘Konrad, where’s the key for the storeroom?’ she asked, nibbling her fingernails.
‘Dunno, Nick has it normally.’ he replied, thudding commands into the phone with his chubby fingers. ‘Although I think we keep a spare up there.’ he gestured to a rack by the front door with a dozen keys of nondescript shapes and stages of corrosion.
‘Do you know which?’
‘Hello?’ he interrupted, shouting into his phone, ‘Hello, can you hear me?’ he turned to Lucy, ‘It’s a terrible reception where she is.’ and before she could humour him with a generic response he returned to hollering hello down the line, ‘Can you hear me? Hello? Oh, excellent, you’re there…’ and he wandered off to his bedroom leaving Lucy alone in the living room with a bunch of keys nagging at her loudly; she scanned the apartment one last time then took them from their hooks and made her way to garage level.
Although none of the keys had tags referencing an appropriate door, their storeroom was easy to recognise thanks to the many liberal statements stickered on its front; Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, CND, their slogans all contributed to covering nearly every square inch. She began trying keys in the lock; third time lucky and she was in. She flicked on the light and was pleasantly surprised by the long ample space, simply painted in white from the floorboards up – remarkably pristine, she thought, considering the entrance and owners. It’s only contents were groups of white bed sheets with jagged corners of neatly-stacked frames protruding through the revealing material.
‘There must be hundreds here.’ she gasped, taking in the piles of paintings and considered care gone into their organisation and upkeep. She noticed the large canvas from the cemetery propped against the wall to her right and gently lifted the corner of the covering sheet; she made out the black outline of a woman’s elegant ankle, swathes of red falling behind her, almost touching the nonexistent floor line. ‘That’s a dress!’ she c
alled to no one in particular and revealed a larger portion of the painting – clearly showing the principal body of red to be an exaggeratedly-flowing gown, tightly-hugging the outlined torso of the voluptuous lady in motion. ‘That’s my red dress!’ she shrieked excitedly and pulled the sheet away completely, standing in silent awe at the imposing image bursting from the canvas into her heightened consciousness. A tear welled in her eye, unfortunately not due to art appreciation as the situation might dictate, but due to a sickening sensation that gripped her insides. ‘It’s Sofia.’ she said, her esteem crumpling to the floor like the white sheet she’d pulled away to reveal the harsh reality illustrated before her. She reached for the nearest row of stacked canvases, whipping away the covers and flicking through each painting, drawing and illustration; then she moved to the next, frantically skipping through the artwork, her heart breaking a little with each scene. ‘They’re all Sofia.’ she said aloud, finally stopping her frenzied stock-check and accepting they were all the same theme. ‘Beautiful woman…’ she said sadly and stared at the blank wall in a daze as her insides crumbled, then she fell to the floor as if shot by a sniper, sobbing into the very bed sheets she wished she’d left well alone.
It was hard for Lucy to eat dinner with Nick, watching him eat every forkful hoping it’d be his last, but she maintained a considered interest and laughed in all the right places while snorting subtly during tender moments. She studied his charming patter and attractive individualism – qualities she found adorable but currently despised – waiting for the right moment to bring up the paintings.
‘More wine?’ he asked as he poured her glass full, ‘You’re a bit quiet tonight, everything alright?’ He sensed the tinge of something unpleasant in the air.
‘Yes, Nick.’ she answered, ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘That’s great – and great news about the concerts, eh? Konrad was telling me.’ He nabbed a potato from Lucy’s plate and ate it in front of her with a cocky grin; she swallowed the temptation to lean across and retrieve it from his windpipe with her fork.
‘So what have you been doing today?’ she asked with semi-interest.
‘Erm, been out painting most the day.’
‘That’s good; you’re really in a flow aren’t you?’
‘I know. I haven’t worked this much in years!’
‘So what subject have you been working on today?’
‘Oh…’ he said surprised, she’d never pressed him for details before, ‘Nothing specific, I’ve been playing with abstract themes lately.’
‘Have you? That’s really interesting.’ Lucy’s fake flattery made Nick uneasy. ‘Can I see some finished pieces?’
‘Soon.’ he stalled, ‘They’re still mostly in-progress.’
‘Are they? A collection of half-finished abstract interpretations of nothing in particular?’ she asked, beginning to bite at his barefaced audacity. ‘It’s okay, you can show me one of the better pieces and I’ll appreciate it’s not 100%.’
‘Oh no, I don’t think…’
‘What about that big one from yesterday?’ she said, recognising the panic in his voice, ‘That’s an interesting one you said was nearly finished – you used lots of red on that. I kind of hoped you painted me in my red dress from our magical night?’
Quickly losing his appetite, Nick laid down his cutlery and stopped eating, ‘I did, babe; at least it will be when it’s finished.’
‘Wow, so it is of me?’ she feigned, he answered with a smile. Lucy’s insides felt like a sack of wriggling snakes; they slithered through her body and strangled her self-control. She jumped to her feet, her chair scraping on the floor, and towered over the table, ‘You bloody liar!’ she cried into his terrified face.
‘What?’ he griped, tensing his body and edging his chair away. Lucy’s anger softened and her shoulders relaxed as the red mist swarming her brain dissipated into a heavy blue gloom. She carefully turned and repositioned her chair at the table, taking her seat and raising her eyes to meet his.
‘It’s Sofia. I already know.’ she said calmly. Nick was unable to contain the realisation hitting him like a tsunami; his mind raced, his pores seeped and his throat tightened like he was hanging by a noose.
‘How could you possibly know?’ he whispered after an awkward pause one might describe as epic. Lucy was about to explain that she took the storeroom key and peeked at the paintings but was beaten by his need to confess, ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been feeling terrible all day…’ emotion trembled through his body, ‘I can’t believe it happened.’ Lucy sensed they were talking at cross purposes and waited for him to continue, concerned by the colour fading from his face by the second. ‘But I promise you it won’t happen again.’ he said with a tear dropping to his plate and feebly outstretched his hand on the table hoping Lucy might take it in her own. The opposite was always far more likely, especially as she digested the likelihood that he wasn’t talking about the depicted Sofia in his artwork but the very-real Sofia in recent life. While he openly sobbed she searched for things to say to get more information, even though she was painfully aware she probably knew the answers; she decided on short vague questions and hoped for detailed openness.
‘How?’
‘I saw her last night.’ he blubbered like a man confessing under torture.
‘Why?’
‘She’d split up with her boyfriend; wanted to talk…’
‘Where?’
‘Here.’
‘And?’
‘Well, we talked…’
‘Then?’
‘Jesus, Lucy!’ he said dropping his head in his hands, ‘You can guess the rest.’
‘Can I?’ she said looking down at the top of his head, ‘What if I’m a bit cloudy?’
‘What?’ he replied, peering through his fingers like a criminal behind bars.
‘What if I need specifics?’ she asked, fearing she was losing control of the situation.
‘Luce, I… I don’t…’
‘What if all this time – while I’ve been talking, you’ve been talking – what if, right? What if it wasn’t really about the same thing?’
Nick lifted his head like a baffled meerkat, ‘Lucy, I’m not following…’
She waved him away, ‘Okay, okay. Let’s be totally clear here…’ she took a deep breath, ‘You’re talking about sex, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ his voice trembled.
‘With who?’
Nick appeared confused; ‘Sofia.’ he answered like it was painfully obvious. Lucy absorbed the confirmation she’d so fervently fished for and felt a peaceful resolve set in. She stood, collected her bag from the backrest of her chair and calmly walked to the kitchen door.
‘I came here tonight to tell you I’d seen your paintings in the storeroom.’ she said, straightening the strap on her shoulder, ‘I was going to suggest help, because you’re obviously still perversely obsessed and I couldn’t be with someone who wanted to be with someone else to that degree, but learning what you just told me, learning that you actually went…’ she stopped to fight back the surfacing disappointment for the man she’d only recently come to love, ‘…with the person you obsess over to that degree. That, Nick, that is unforgiveable.’ and she walked out leaving him lost in the deepest silence he’d ever known.
Chapter 18
Lists & Schemes
Amanda rolled her eyes as she tried to study case files at the living room table, the excitable mumbles and muffled laughs from the kitchen disturbing her concentration. She slipped off an elegantly heeled shoe, admired its beauty a moment, then threw it hard against the kitchen door – interrupting the light-hearted get-together on the other side.
‘We’ll have to keep it down.’ Lucy said, ‘My sister’s a bit tetchy today, think it’s her time of the month if you…’
‘We know what you mean.’ Konrad snapped back. ‘And if voice-volume is a problem then why meet here?’ Lucy lowered her head and without word Corsica knew; Konrad, lacking such empa
thetic senses, glowered for a suitable response, ‘Well?’
‘Because I’m never stepping foot in your apartment again nor do I ever want to see your room-mate!’ she said with enough bite to remove Konrad’s thirst for detail. ‘Now let’s finish up otherwise my sister will be in here brandishing a blunt instrument.’ Konrad looked at her sceptically. ‘I’ve seen it before!’ she warned.
‘Don’t worry, we’re nearly done, plus Corsica needs to get back to her aunt’s.’
‘Yes, and thank you for all your work; I can’t believe how well things have started!’ Corsica beamed, suspending Konrad’s concentration for a fantasy-filled interlude; he gazed besotted like a student admiring a hot teacher. ‘Three confirmed and several interested – that’s amazing!’
‘Persuading a band manager you threw a plate at was particularly impressive.’ Konrad said, returning to the conversation.
‘He’s not stupid; he knew a good opportunity when he heard one! These people don’t have principals when it comes to money and exposure!’
‘Plus you convinced Basil Brown’s Booty Town!’ Corsica said. ‘I heard they did really well covering for me during my elevator-awakening!’ she gave Konrad a playful wink.
‘They didn’t need much convincing when I said we wanted them to close the festival on Sunday night!’ Lucy said proudly.
‘So we have one headline act plus Sacred Simplicity and Loaded confirmed – all we need are twelve fresh newcomers spanning every international genre and we’re good to go!’ Konrad said inappropriately, drawing sharp looks from his optimistic counterparts.
‘We have five weeks, a great start and Corsica’s long-awaited return and announcement – we’ll fill this bill in no time!’ Lucy said high-fiving Corsica with as much girl power as she could muster. It naturally seemed like the perfect statement to end on and the group got to their feet and confidently smiled at each other.
‘If you’ve finished in there can you hurry up and get out please!’ Amanda shouted from the living room.
Sexually-clichéd contemporary R&B, void of the soul from where it originated, droned inside the small seedy club. A semi-naked blonde gyrated on a pole in the centre as other pretty employees, scattered around the near-deserted establishment, stared blankly into their mobile phones. A few uncomfortable men drank by the bar, too broken or hard-up to interact with the girls, and occasionally glanced at the pole-dancer out of considered respect. Alcohol and self-pity had enticed them from their homes, not brash hedonism, and at this late hour it was the club’s normal clientele. One other customer remained; a stressed unshaven figure with all the zest of someone carrying their own crucifix across a desert, hidden in a private room and snivelling in his hands instead of appreciating the temptress who’d led him there. She sat filing her nails, half-listening to his pitying monologue.
Double Ex: A Romantic Comedy about Lost Love & Lookalikes Page 16