by Alexa Riley
When I look over towards the door I came in, I see a row of actual chairs, complete with a table with books on it. God, I’m in idiot.
I take a seat and pull out my phone. There’s nothing new from Fritz, so I send him a text telling him I’m going to need a hug after my first day is over. I stuff my phone back in my bag and reach for a magazine in front of me. They’re all on art, obviously, and I take the opportunity to read about a new experimental art with electric current. The images of electricity searing the canvas are actually really beautiful. Before I know it, I’m finished with the article and I hear the loud click-clack of heels headed my way.
I hastily put the magazine on the table and straighten it before I stand up and meet the woman coming towards me. She’s tall and slender, maybe in her late forties or early fifties. Her jet-black hair has no gray, but it doesn’t look like she dyes it. It’s away from her face and braided in a knot at the nape of her neck, revealing a strong jaw and blood-red lips. Her dark-rimmed glasses hide her eyes, but I’m not brave enough to meet them with my own yet. She’s wearing all black, and that covers almost every inch of her skin. Her sweater is high necked, and the sleeves are long enough to cover the backs of her hands. Her trousers are wide legged like mine, but so long they cover her feet. I hear the click of her heels, but I can’t even tell what her shoes look like.
“You must be Blair.” Her Spanish accent is thick, but not at all warm.
“Yes, and you must me Ms. Marsh,” I say, extending my hand.
“Lilith,” she corrects, but not in a friendly way. Almost like she doesn’t like her last name. “Marsh is my ex-husband’s last name and keeping it pisses off his new wife. Follow me.”
She turns and walks without waiting to see if I’m behind her. I grab my bag and quick-step to keep up with her long legs. I’m trying to process all that she said but don’t have time to, as her long strides are hard to follow. She’s so statuesque and reminds me of Catherine Zeta Jones. I open my mouth to ask her how long she’s run the gallery, but she begins talking over my attempt.
“You’ll be running the shipping and receiving of the gallery. We feature a new artist each month unless we’re commissioned for longer. Those will be approved by me directly, and I’ll let you know ahead of time. You’ll be in charge of maintaining the gallery calendar, which installations will go in what order, et cetera.”
She’s talking a million miles a minute and I suddenly feel like I should be writing this down.
“Why are you not writing this down?” she says as if reading my mind. She stops dead in her tracks and I almost bump into her as she gives me a sharp look.
I take my phone out of my bag and open up the notes app and start typing what she said. Lilith sighs and then begins to walk again.
“Your everyday tasks are simple. You’re to inspect all received crates for damages and keep the warehouse organized. If I need to find something I better be able to.” She glances back over her shoulder to look at me, and I duck my head. “When each feature artist is finished for the month, you will be the one to supervise and inspect the art being packaged and then sign off on all shipping crates. You alone will be in charge of this.”
Lilith stops short, but this time I’m paying attention and stop with her. I’ve got my phone at the ready for more instructions and she nods, like she’s somehow happy I didn’t bowl her over.
“The only time I’ll be involved is if there’s a problem, so let us both hope that I don’t have to monitor you too closely.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
We make a few turns, and I’m wondering just how huge this building is if we’ve walked this far and she’s talking about a warehouse. My feet are already protesting the low heels, and I’m wondering if I should have worn running sneakers instead.
“This is where you’ll spend the majority of your time,” Lilith says, as we reach a large door. It’s completely white like every other inch of this building, but has a silver handle. “This wall here opens for larger crates to be maneuvered to the gallery floor.”
She indicates to a wall and I can just make out the lines where it could possibly be two large doors. She pushes on a small section of the wall beside the door and a keypad appears.
“You code is 0925,” she says, entering it, and the silver handle clicks.
She opens the door and walks through, and I rush in behind her, not wanting to miss anything. I’m typing as fast as I can when I walk into the warehouse and look around. If my jaw wasn’t attached it would probably hit the floor. This place must be the size of a city block. It’s like the scene from Indiana Jones where they hide the lost ark among hundreds of crates. I’ve never seen so many wooden boxes before.
“Good lord,” I say quietly, but it must have not been quiet enough. Lilith looks back at me and her eyes travel up and down my clothes. I guess I pass muster because she doesn’t look disgusted by what I have on.
“You’ll need to bring a change of clothes every day. When you have to be on the floor you’ll need to look presentable. But when you’re back here, I imagine you’d ruin what you’ve got on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, making more notes.
“This place has been neglected since we opened. I don’t have time to do it myself and I don’t trust it to Gemma,” she says.
“Who?” I ask, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing when Lilith rolls her eyes.
“The ray of sunshine on the front desk.” She turns around to face me fully this time as if coming to her final appraisal. “From what Fritz tells me, you’re perfect for the job. You’re a quick learner and take initiative.”
I preen a little as his appraisal.
“All I need is someone who is organized and will take orders. I don’t want someone looking to have my job in a year like Gemma, and I don’t want someone who’s trying to fuck her way to the top of the society pages.”
She gives me a pointed look as if asking me if I’m either of those, and I shake my head no. I do have a ton of ambition in life, but it’s certainly not taking over as curator of an art gallery. And though I love Fritz, his social standing in the community was never the reason I fell for him.
“Good. All I ask is you do your job and don’t screw it up.” We exit the warehouse and she takes me down another white hallway to a small office. “This is your office. You should have everything you need. If you have any questions about the art, ask me. If you have any questions about how to use that computer, ask Gemma. She’s not happy you’re here, but she’ll get over it.”
She motions for me to go in, and I do, moving behind the glass desk and looking around.
“The scheduling files will be emailed to you, but you’ll also receive a folder of paper orders each week. I’ve got several clients that prefer to handle things privately, so some information will be handled that way.”
“Got it,” I say, feeling somewhat confident that I can handle this.
“Blair, I need to ask one last thing of you,” she says, tucking her hands in her trousers and stepping closer to the desk.
For a moment I think she’s going to ask me for a kidney or something because she’s so serious.
“My clients are investing tens of millions of dollars with me. So you’ll understand this job is about absolute discretion.”
“Of course,” I say, already assuming that.
“So if you are at an event and you hear the name of a buyer, or someone mentions this gallery, I need you to keep silent. Anonymity is very important to this gallery and to me. Fritz said that I could trust you, and I don’t trust easily.”
I think for a moment how to ease her mind and decide to go with honesty.
“Lilith, I don’t have any friends. And I don’t mean that as in I have one or two. I mean I have zero. College wasn’t a game for me and I focused on that. Fritz is the only person I have left within five hundred miles, and past five hundred miles there’s no one I care to talk to.” I give an ironic laugh. “Even if I thou
ght about telling someone, I couldn’t. And this job means more to me than sewing circle gossip.”
Lilith nods and I see a smile pull at her lips. “All right. I’ll leave you to it,” she says and turns to click her way down the hall.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and flop down in my seat. I can actually feel the stress sweat in my armpits, but I think I might just have made it through my first ring of fire.
Chapter 3
Blair
I wiggle my toes inside my heels, praying for some relief. This morning I made the walk to work just fine, but after running around in these shoes all day I had to take the bus home. My apartment is only a little over a mile from the art studio, but my feet are dead. Bringing two sets of clothes to work makes sense now. There’s no way I could last in that warehouse on heels all day. I need to dig through my closet and find some sneakers.
I’m still in awe of the art studio and how big it is. I barely even made a dent in some of the inventory Lilith had me go through. The place is chaos. I’m not sure how someone with a personality like Lilith has let it get so bad. My only guess is because she’s too busy to have time to deal with it. Which is true. I watched as orders came and went as fast as I could find them. I had no idea an art studio could be so busy, but it was.
I open the to-go container I got from the restaurant next to art studio and sneak a French fry out, popping it into my mouth. I have to bite back a moan. I’d been so busy today that I’d forgotten about eating lunch altogether. But I noticed no one else ate lunch either, so maybe that’s just the way it is. I’m glad I indulged in a second coffee this morning to hold me over. I don’t function well when I don’t eat. It’s a feeling that takes me back to a place I hated.
Tomorrow I’ll pack a few snacks in my purse in case I’m running around like crazy again. I was too scared to ask for a lunch break. If I was told to take lunch, I would, but I wasn’t going to go be the only person talking about food. I was lucky to have this job to begin with. I’m already trying to prove that I’m worthy of having the position and that I didn’t get it only because of Fritz. I want Lilith to see me as an asset. And as strange as it sounds, I want her approval. To feel like I’m needed and actually helping.
At the reminder of Fritz, I pull out my cell phone. When I don’t see a text from him, I’m not sure if I should worry or not. When I was in school we could go days without texting, but normally he’d let me know he was working. Today was kind of a big deal to me, and I haven’t heard a peep from him.
I know Fritz can’t always be here when I need him, but he usually makes some kind of effort to let me know he’s thinking about me. Maybe I’m just needy. I hate that. My mama was always needy of men. She always had to have one around. She went from one boyfriend to the next.
When I moved from the dorms to my new apartment he was too busy to help, but he sent over a few moving people to help me. Not that I needed a ton of help. I didn’t have a lot of things, but it was still sweet of him to find a way to be there for me. Even if he couldn’t be there in person.
I put my phone back in my purse thinking I’ll text him when I get home. Standing up, I grab my food and start to exit the bus. When I get to the door, a woman steps on, frantically looking through her purse.
“I can’t find my pass,” she pleads, a look of panic on her face.
“Sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to get off,” I hear the bus driver say to her.
I watch the dark-haired woman’s eyes water. I shake my head at how dismissive the bus driver is to her. She’s in a waitress uniform, and from the looks of her she’s heading in for her evening shift.
“I can’t be late. Plea—”
“Off now. You’re blocking other passengers,” the driver snaps, cutting her off.
The woman turns, and I dig into my purse and pull out a five-dollar bill.
“Wait.” I place my hand on her shoulder. She turns to look at me. She’s probably my age and she looks as tired as I feel. “Here.” I slip the money into her hand.
She looks down and I can tell she’s not sure if she should take it or not.
“Just pay it forward,” I tell her, giving her hand a squeeze before stepping off the bus.
“Thank you,” I hear from behind me. I give her a smile over my shoulder before continuing on towards my apartment. I never understand how people can be so mean to one another.
I really hope my roommate Roxy isn’t home tonight, but I have a feeling I’m not going to be that lucky.
I really should have met Roxy before I moved into the apartment. Then maybe I would have known that Roxy is a man and not a woman like I thought.
When I found the apartment online I thought I’d struck gold. The price was affordable and close to my work. Not to mention it had a small gym and even a pool. The pictures of the place looked amazing and I knew I could never afford a place like this on my own. Not to mention it was in a safe gated community.
The ad said that Roxy played violin and would sometimes practice at home and was in a band that traveled often for gigs. I thought hearing a little violin wouldn’t be so bad. And as a bonus, I’d have the place to myself from time to time.
I was oh-so wrong. I should have looked them up first. Roxy plays the violin in a death metal band. I didn’t even know that such a thing existed, but apparently it does. And let’s not forget the singing he does with it, or as most people would call it, screaming. Also, he hasn’t traveled once since I moved in. Which is not shocking, because who would book his band for a show? They’re terrible. Or at least to my ears. It also doesn’t help that I can’t stand Roxy. He’s a jerk and rude most of the time. It doesn’t help that he’s a slob. I thank the heavens that he at least hires a cleaning person to come in every other week to clean up after him.
“Johnny,” I call out to the guy who is always sitting on the bench outside of my apartment gates. “I got us dinner at some fancy place,” I tell him as I make my way over to where he’s sitting.
Johnny is probably in his late sixties if I’m to guess from the gray hair and wrinkles on his face. He’s the only friend I’ve made since I moved into my new place. I bring him food at least once a day. I love cooking when I have the extra time, it’s not a problem. This is the first time I’ve ever really had a kitchen that’s actually stocked. I may have gone overboard a few times, but Johnny seems to enjoy it.
“One day at that art studio and already too fancy for fast food?” he teases me.
I laugh. “To be honest there wasn't a fast food place close enough for me to walk to. My feet are dead.” I drop down onto the bench next to him. He gives me an easy smile. Johnny is always smiling, and it lights up his whole face. It’s contagious. It helps that he’s so easy to talk to. I spend more time with him than I do with my own boyfriend.
“I’ll eat anything.”
“Okay. Well, the place might be fancy, but I can’t understand their menu, so I acted like I was ordering for children and got us stuff off the kids menu. I think it was a French place. It was crazy busy and I thought if it was so busy it must be good. All those thoughts disappeared when I saw the menu.”
Johnny bursts out laughing and I pull out the containers. “Chicken fingers or cheeseburger?” I give them a little shake.
“Chicken,” he says, and I hand it to him.
We open the boxes and start eating. I tell him about my day and he tells me about his. I always worry about him. A few times I’m pretty sure he slept out here. He always tells me he gets into a shelter at night, but I’m not so sure he does. I’ve stopped asking because I know it makes him uncomfortable. I may not be able to do much for him, but I can always get him a warm meal. It’s the least I can do for a man who fought for our country. Johnny can talk for hours about his time in the Army. I love listening to his stories. He reminds me of a grandpa that I never had.
“I better get inside. I need a hot shower and my bed.” I stand, and a yawn leaves my mouth. I glance up at the window of my li
ving room. The light is on, so I’m guessing Roxy is home. Lovely. I hope that he’s at least alone tonight. His bandmates are creepy. They like to stare a little too much. I hide out when they’re around, not even going out to the kitchen. I’ve got a mini fridge in my room to keep stuff for when I get hungry and I’m barricaded in.
The women he brings home aren’t much better. I’ve tried to make small talk with a few of them, but they ignore me for the most part. I walked in on him having sex on the sofa over the weekend and that image will forever be branded into my brain. He lost his shit on me after the girl left. Not that they stopped going at it when I walked in. Nope they kept on going, like it was totally fine. I stood there shocked for a good ten seconds. It was like a train wreck and I couldn’t look away. All those years in college and I never walked in on two people doing it.
The girl he was with asked me if I wanted to join in. That’s when I came back to reality. I shook my head then ran to my room. Roxy started calling me a voyeur after that. I naïvely had to look up what that meant. I’m still a little unsure if he was pissed I walked in on them or that I hadn't joined them. From the look of the women he’s been with, I’m so not his type in any way.
“Roxy’s home,” Johnny says as if reading my thoughts. “You let me know if he’s giving you trouble again.” My eyes meet Johnny’s dark blue ones. I swear the man has a sixth sense sometimes. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. I smile at him. At least someone cares.
“Nothing can be worse than last weekend.” I let out a forced laugh.
I try to lighten the situation, because I don’t want Johnny to worry about me. I told him everything that happened, and I might have dumped more on him than I should have. But my roommate is super crappy, and I don’t have anyone else. Fritz is too busy, and I’m still kind of upset that he didn’t mind my roommate was a man. When I asked Fritz about staying with him only for a few days while I tried to find another place, he looked at me like I was crazy and I didn’t bring it up again. So I moved in with Roxy and tried to make the best of it.