by Portia Moore
“I was shocked, to say the least,” Mr. Scott looks down guiltily. “I had such high hopes that things were about to change.”
“Have you seen him today?” I ask Mrs. Scott.
“He kissed me on the cheek while I was making breakfast and said he had to get to work. I should have known it wasn’t him when he didn’t steal any food.” She lets out a joyless laugh.
He always leaves before I wake up. Actually each of them do.
“Lauren, you should go get some rest before your big night. You look so tired,” Mrs. Scott says worriedly, and I realize I completely forgot about my hair and makeup appointment.
“I’m going to look like a zombie tonight—a stressed out zombie.” I laugh to keep from crying.
“No, it’s going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine,” Mrs. Scott reassures me taking me by the arm. “It’s one o’clock now. Go lie down until three and when you wake up, I’ll have everything you need to get ready here. I promise,” Mrs. Scott sounds so confident and sure that I immediately feel better.
When I hit the bed, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sleep with so many thoughts running through my head, but somehow my eyelids feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds and sleep hits me like a truck.
“Hey, sleepy head. Time to wake up.” I open my eyes to see Hillary and Angela sitting beside me.
“What time is it?” I feel groggy and could sleep a thousand more hours.
“Time for you to hit the shower so we can make you glamorous.” Hillary grins with her five-pound beauty box at her side and a Red Bull outstretched to me while Angela waves her blow-dryer and flat irons at me.
“You guys are the best,” I say feeling myself tear up.
“Get all your crying out now because once I put your mascara and lashes on, I’ll have to kill you if tears wet them.”
I gulp down my Red Bull in between showering and putting on lotion and when I’m done Angela starts on my hair.
“Did I tell you I met my next one night stand?” Hillary asks, eying the size of her butt in my full-length mirror.
“Grow up Hil,” Angela playfully scolds her.
“Oh no if you saw him you wouldn’t say that. He’s so hot, and he’s an artist. He’s so broody and looking for a release.” She falls back on my bed and pulls up his picture on the phone. She shows it to Angie.
“Yeah, he’s cute but why does he have to be a one night stand?” Angie asks and Hillary smacks her lips.
“It’s an expression,” Hillary says defensively.
“What about Aidan?” I thought they seemed to be getting closer, so I am surprised that Hillary is looking at other guys, actually I’m not.
“Ugh, we’re not together. We’re just having fun and until he says otherwise, I am on the market,” she giggles. “What about you and Mikey,” Hillary teases Angela, and she smiles bashfully.
“We are hanging out,” Angela says while wrapping my hair around the curling wand.
“Hanging out or having fun?” Hillary says dramatically.
I close my eyes and take in the moment, remembering the days where we’d help each other get ready for dates, and had sleepovers after boys broke our hearts. Well, what I thought was heartbreak then. Nothing compares to what I’ve felt with Cal. The lows are to the bottom pits of the earth, but the highs are like the most coveted spot in heaven.
“Thank you for being here,” I tell them. Angie kisses my cheek and Hillary tosses a pillow at me.
“Watch the hair!” Angela scolds her. For a small moment in time my mind isn’t on all that’s happened between me and my husband—the lies, secrets and hidden agendas—it’s just on me hanging out with my girls before one of the most exciting nights of my life.
Collin
“Here is your suit for tonight and the files you requested.” She hangs up the suit on my door and then sets the folder on my desk.
“Jennifer, what are these?” I ask looking up at my assistant and going back to the files in my hand.
“You asked for them, sir.” She smiles awkwardly at me. She’s pretty in the old-school movie star way—not thin as a rail but shapely, big doe eyes, and full lips—but I question if that was one of the sole factors of her getting this job.
“I asked you?” I reiterate. I notice her gulp.
“Yes, this morning.” She crosses her hands in front of her, the half-smile disappearing. I pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s the second time I’ve lost time, little moments stolen from me like taunts. First was the paper taped to my computer monitor that said “your time is running out,” and now this.
“What are these exactly?” I flip through what looks like personal documents, electricity bills, and a birth certificate.
“They were delivered by courier Mr. Crestfield,” her voice is wavering, and she’s nervous or uncomfortable, but it’s me that should be. When my eyes land on the name, I drop the file from my hands. It’s Clayton Rice’s life on my desk.
“Cal.” I mutter.
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Nothing Jennifer. Will I see you at my wife’s opening tonight?” I change the subject, and her smile widens.
“Yes. We’re all very excited. I’ve never been to a gallery opening before.”
“Good,” I tell her, and she nods before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
I pull out the bottle of pills from my drawer and eye them. The combination I took earlier was wrong. It only made me tired and more susceptible to transitioning. I should up the count of the Naltrexonel. I pick up the phone.
“Jennifer, can you page Keelan Fexler?” He’s one of the chemists I’ve been working with. I take the file Cal ordered earlier and toss it in the shredder. I check the time and see I have about two hours before I need to head to the gallery, so I hop in the shower and change into my suit, and realize that Fexler still hasn’t made his way up here. I grab the phone.
“Jennifer, did you have Fexler paged?” I ask feeling the veins in my head begin to throb.
“Yes, but…”
“But what?” My patience is becoming thinner and thinner, and the line goes dead. I pick up the phone to call back but get a busy signal. I stand up and head to the door and Dexter Crestfield Sr. walks through.
“Collin…” He’s wearing a menacing smile. “My son,” he adds with condescension.
I smile back.
“Your brother revoked your privileges to our chemist and pharmacy staff,” he explains. He looks me up and down and gives me an approving nod.
“Excellent choice for Lauren’s gallery opening.” He smiles like a game show host. He walks past me and sits behind my desk. “I’m a little concerned, Collin.” He leans back in my chair.
“Concerned about what?”
“That you don’t have things under control.”
“I have everything under control. Granted, there have been some small mishaps,” I admit.
“I don’t do mishaps, Collin. I’m too old for them now. I like results, and I do not like mistakes or miscalculations. They bore me, irritate me, and I’m not someone you want to do either of those things to.” His hard face cracks into a smile.
“There hasn’t been a miscalculation or mistake seeing as I’m the one here. There is a reason for that, and if you help keep me here, you won’t have anything to fear.”
He sits up halfway in my chair.
“You remind me so much of your mother. Out of all of your comrades, you remind me of her the most,” he says with a sinister smile, and I clench my teeth.
“She was so beautiful. She could have easily gone to Hollywood or New York and made a fortune off her face alone. The second I laid eyes on her I knew she had to be mine and I just hoped that the brain she had matched the body.” He chuckles.
“Are you done,” I ask him pointedly. His smile fades into a flat hard line.
“You’ll sit. Right now.” His tone doesn’t go above a whisper but would make a lesser man flinch. He points to the chair in front of my desk
. I press my lips together and adjust my suit before sitting. As long as I get what I want at the end of the conversation, I can appease him. He can pay for this later.
“You know I didn’t realize something was off with her until… well, I won’t get into the vulgar details with you. That would be tasteless.” He snickers and his eyes survey my face waiting for a reaction. “She seemed to be fine with us seeing each other when time allowed, and she understood being arm candy, but then a part of her didn’t, and then you came along.”
“As much as these tales of your youth are probably worthy of a best seller, I have somewhere to be,” I remind him.
“You know I think I have misled you, Collin. I may have given you the distinct impression that I owe you something—that you are in control—when in fact, it is the very opposite.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“Having you committed would be too simple,” he says casually.
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
“If I felt that you were any danger to yourself and Helen agreed with me…” he trails off.
“You’re not talking to Christopher, Dexter. You’d have to have more than that.”
“Impatient, just like Isabella.” He shakes his head.
“You have been coercing my staff to give you medication. You threatened one before slamming their head into a metal counter,” he says, and I feel my heartbeat speed up.
“I didn’t do that,” I retort, and he smirks.
“Really… are you sure? Because I don’t think you remember as much as you should…” he trails off and stands from my chair and walks to the window.
“Let’s say you didn’t. You don’t think I could persuade one, two, or three of my employees to agree to state otherwise? That I don’t have judges in my pocket?” He turns toward me, wearing a grin. “You are documented as suffering time loss and blackouts. Which means that you are not aware of all that you do. You don’t think that I couldn’t have Helen agree with how I see your condition?” He laughs.
“Having you committed would be generous, Collin. It would be better than you getting into one of those luxury vehicles you love so much and the brakes giving out. A strange man cornering you in an alley with a gun to swipe that fifteen thousand dollar watch off your wrist and his finger slips and pulls the trigger.”
My throat is tight, and my body feels heavy, my thoughts become hazy.
“You see this game that I play with those who think they’re smarter—a step ahead of me. I let them think that they’re a step away from a checkmate and then… I knock the board over.” He leans down in front of me, so we’re face-to-face.
“You’re lucky that you’re blood. Don’t feel so down on yourself. Better men than you have lost to me, and will continue to. Your own brother has his game that he thinks will put him on top but he will lose as well and the world will continue to spin. You don’t get this far in life with what I have and what I’ve built by not having your finger on the pulse of every area that you need to. I’ve learned to see the big picture. Young men like yourself only see a small cutout.”
He touches my cheek like how a father would a loving son.
“You know I really loved your mother… she just…she didn’t understand her place—couldn’t accept it—even after all of my convincing.” He lets out a short sigh. “Oh well. That’s all in the past right, my boy?” He pats me on the back before making his way to the door.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I have a present for you.” I turn toward him and he tosses me a pill vial. I fumble before catching it, and he leaves out of my office . It looks like he was never here, but his presence is everywhere, infecting the air, infecting me. I quickly close the door then I’m frozen. Stuck in place. I try to think but I can’t because all I hear is sinister laughing. I quickly open the bottle and pop four pills.
Lauren
He’s not here yet. In the midst of all the exciting chaos my thoughts are on him, and they shouldn’t be. Everything is going to be fine. Tonight is about enjoying this night, my accomplishments—something I’ve worked so hard to bring together. Well, that’s what Raven has told me since the minute I walked in my pale face hidden beneath foundation, concealer and highlighting powder. Hillary did an amazing job. My face looks like those girls on Instagram—flawless. My hair is effortlessly chic after Angie created perfect loose waves. The black dress I’m wearing seems especially made for me—hugging and hiding all of the right places. Tonight the gallery is packed. The music fills the air as people admire each painting. Cameras are flashing as a few newspaper reporters are here. The crowd is a mix of the young, vibrant, and the sophisticated, which I attribute to my artist’s social media followers and the strings that Dexter pulled for more traditional press. I’m dreaming, and it’s perfect except my leading man is missing.
“Smile honey, you look like you just swallowed a condom,” Hillary whispers in my ear. “There are so many people dying to meet you—make your rounds and thank everyone for coming and upsell your artists work. I’ve sold five and I’m killing you,” she says tightly into my ear. She takes my arm and we make our way around the room. I’m surprised at how good Hillary is at this. She’s charismatic—reserved with the women and the right hint of flirtatious with the men. She’s knowledgeable of each piece and who the artist is. She’s done her homework and stepped up in ways I didn’t imagine she would when I hired her because she was in between jobs. In the moments I was falling apart, she was pulling things together.
“Ian, Lauren and I just wanted to thank you for the turn out you pulled in tonight. I’ve asked several people about how they heard of the event, and they’ve all said they follow you.” Hillary gives him an award winning smile, and he smiles back modestly.
“Your work is amazing and one of my favorites,” I tell him honestly. His latest works are photographs of abandoned buildings, but the way he captures them, they speak to people—men and women of all different ages. I’m guessing it’s why he has over a million followers on Instagram.
“I may have brought some people here, but your work is what everyone is talking about.” He laughs.
“My work?”
“It’s brave to reveal something so incredibly personal. You could see the pain, the loneliness, the fear, and the joy from it.” The noise around me is drowned out, my heart beats hard in my chest, and it feels like the world has slowed down. I look at Hillary who has a nervous grin plastered on her face.
“Hillary, you didn’t.” I gulp down my multiplying nerves.
“It’s such an amazing piece, Lauren.” She pleads urgently, gripping my hands. Ian looks between us, sensing some tension. My thoughts are clumsily trying to form words, but the words aren’t making it out of my mouth. I scan the room to see where she put it, but I don't see it.
What did she name it? What was the description with it? I haven’t even shown him the piece yet, and now it’s out for all of these people to see. I walk away from Hillary and make my way through the gallery. I didn’t see it during my initial walk through. It’s almost six feet and I wouldn’t just miss it.
“Honey, it’s amazing. You did such a fantastic job.” Raven stops me. She looks beautiful, her hair is shorter than it used to be and cut into a stylish bob. She is wearing a dark grey oversized sweater and black skirt, but I can’t even voice a compliment out loud to her because my mind is on one thing—finding the painting, hoping that maybe no one noticed it, and praying that my name isn’t associated with it. Maybe she just mentioned it casually to Ian while flirting, and he’s just being nice.
“Have you seen a piece by me?” I ask nervously.
“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s the talk of the night. I didn’t think that you would be so open with what’s happening but…” Her words fall on deaf ears.
“Upstairs, it has to be upstairs,” I mutter to myself before moving through the myriad of people holding champagne flutes and engulfed in their own conversations. My heart starts to beat out of my
chest when I see it. It’s in its own section with over a dozen people surrounding it. The caption near it says—
Shattered Pieces by Lauren Scott
My heart stops.
“What do you think it means?” I hear a man’s voice say.
“Who cares he’s hot,” a woman’s voice adds.
“It’s the same guy, isn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“No, they all look so different.”
“Of course it’s the same guy.”
“Triplets you think?”
“Maybe she has three lovers.”
The voices eventually all meld together, except one.
“What is this?” His voice brings everything to a screeching halt. My heart has fallen over on itself, and I turn to look at him nervously. His eyes are wide, his stare hard on the picture. I gulp down my nerves. His presence causes silence amongst the onlookers, and I’m not sure if it’s because they recognize it’s him from the painting or his aura alone causes no questions to be asked, only actions to be taken. It makes me want to crawl in myself and hide. He looks amazing—dressed in an impeccable black suit, not a hair out of place, but something seems off. His face is like stone, relaxed, but his movements are quick and rushed as he walks towards the piece and looks around at the small crowd of people surrounding it. He stalks toward me, grabs my arm, his grip deadlocked on me.
“How could you do this?” His voice is hoarse and desperate.
“I-I didn’t mean for it to be on display like this...” I tell him quickly.
“Do you know what can happen if people find out about this?” he asks, his grip tightening even more.
“You’re hurting me, Collin.” I attempt to snatch my arm away.
“There’s a reason we see one doctor, a reason that this has to stay under wraps.” His teeth are gritted, and he pulls me closer to his chest. His eyes are locked on mine and there is fire behind them. I feel myself shaking. I’ve felt many things for this man in the years that I’ve known him—anger, joy, love, disappointment, desire, but fear has never been one of the emotions until now.