She faced me. “I know what that’s like. Some weeks see me in at least three different countries. It’s nice but sometimes I never feel quite relaxed, like you would at home.”
I recalled how she’d dreamed of travelling. I was genuinely happy she got to travel. I would have asked more in relation to that if not for the looming questions in my mind.
“When did you get here?” I asked.
“This morning. My friend came with me. Her name’s Georgie, she’s kind of like the sister I never had.”
Sounded like the friend she never really had too. Lana used to keep herself pretty much to herself and those she had as friends were more like acquaintances.
Just girls she spoke to from school or whose parents worked for mine. She never really got close to anyone though.
“That’s nice. And… me. How’d you find me?” I would have thought she’d go back to the mansion.
“Same way you found me… I have my ways.”
I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of my mouth. “Lana D’Angelo has a big office in LA. Her own fashion house. I just looked up the address on Google. Pretty certain that wasn’t how you found me.”
Again she brought her hands together. “No… I got a private investigator.”
“Didn’t know I was worth all that trouble, and man you worked fast. You know my parents still live at the same place, you could have just gone there.” I smirked without humor.
“No,” she breathed. “I just… wanted to see you. I just wanted to know where you lived. It felt better this way to just see you.”
“How long will you be in town?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured I’d come see what was happening and then decide. I’d like to stay for the whole investigation. However long it might be. I have my work covered back in LA, plus I’m sure many would agree I’m due a vacation.”
Since no one knew how long this investigation could take or anything really about it, her length of stay could be anywhere from a week to a month. Or more, or less.
I looked at her and couldn’t believe this was what happened to us.
Her standing over there by my painting and me here not touching her. After the first time I kissed her, I couldn’t keep my hands off her, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think about anything else besides kissing her again and tasting her sweetness. Raw honey and wild strawberries, that was what she tasted like.
“I’m going to make that tea.” I gave her a curt nod and she could tell I wasn’t okay. It was in her eyes. At least it seemed like she still knew me in that way.
I went to the kitchen, made the tea and tried for less tension when I went back out.
We sat in the sitting room near the fireplace I was hoping to start using. I didn’t use it last year because I couldn’t get into the feel of the place. I didn’t really think I could justify a fire either, with the weather moderately warm.
This area of the house always reminded me of my parents’ place. They had a room just like this, but more conservatory style. Amelia called it the summer room. Every evening she used to get the two of us and make her sweet tea and some kind of pastry.
I could cook but I wasn’t the kind of guy to bring out the baking tins so that part was lost on me. The tea though reminded me of her. She used the time to check on us and made sure we were okay.
Mom was always doing something for the million and one charities our family sponsored and Dad was always busy. Most evenings never saw them at home. Weekends were filled with socials and parties. It gave me room to get up to all manner of shit.
“So,” Lana began, her voice breaking the silence. “You became an attorney.”
I nodded. “Yeah, seemed like the thing to do. Fall in line.”
“You did good. I always knew you would, and I’m sure with your creativity you still paint the most amazing pictures.”
“I don’t paint anymore,” I informed her.
She looked taken aback by that and probably displayed more emotion in relation to that than anyone else ever had.
Dad asked me about it but like with everything he was very careful with what he said. Mom was happy about it, happy when she realized I’d stopped. She never said as much, I could just tell.
“Why?” she asked.
“Too busy.” No point telling her that I lost my inspiration with her departure.
“To paint?” She looked at me in disbelief.
“A lot changed when you left Lana. I changed too. There was stuff I had to focus on, things like painting took up too much time.”
“Oh... I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. There are a lot of sorrys in this house tonight.”
The tension came back and weighed heavily on me. It was hard to just sit here and not ask even one of the million questions that swirled through my mind.
Her hands tensed around the cup handle and she set it down.
“Maybe I should go… I don’t want to upset you, and being invited into your home is more than I’d hoped for.” She stood up and I stood too, but not before slamming down my cup.
“What did you expect by coming here?” I narrowed my gaze at her.
“I don’t know… I don’t… know. I was just hoping we could talk.”
“Talk? About what? I have so much to say to you, and I feel like I can’t say it without ripping into you for leaving.”
“Ryan all I can do is apologize.”
“Apologies like the one you’re trying to give me are usually accompanied with an explanation. Even some shit like: I’m sorry I left I had this to do, I’m sorry I left I had other plans, I’m sorry I left I never really loved you.”
“No.” She gasped. “That wasn’t it, that wasn’t why.”
“Then tell me, tell me the reason. Lana, you just disappeared and no one knew where you went. You just disappeared on me months after your mother died. For all I knew the grief could have gotten to you so bad that you did the same thing she did.” I didn’t mean to say that but it just came out. Of course that had crossed my mind. For a time I believed it. I felt the only thing that could have kept her away from me was death.
“I can’t explain, and I knew what it must have looked like to you. I had my reasons for leaving but it was never because I didn’t love you, or want the plans we had. Being with you would have been what I wanted most.”
“You say that to me now, but I find it hard to believe.”
She blew out a steady breath. “Ryan, sometimes things happen and you have no control. You do what’s best, you do what you can, you do what you have to whether you want to or not.”
There was something in the way she said that, that got to me.
“Maybe me leaving was for the best, for you… look at you,” she added. “You did good. You did really good working with your father. I’ll bet you really made your parents proud of you. I just hope… hope. I hope we can still be friends.”
Friends?
I just stared at her. She hung her head down and saddened filled her eyes when I didn’t answer.
I felt like an idiot as she pressed her lips together and I watched her leave. Leaving me like she was never really there. Just like the figment of my imagination that would fade away.
Her leaving was never for the best, not for me. Not once did I think that. All that talk and still no explanation.
No reason why.
I would have accepted if she said she left because she was grieving over Amelia and wanted to start afresh, but she never said that.
Fuck. I would have even accepted if she said she didn’t love me, but she said it wasn’t that.
So what was it then?
Why couldn’t she just give me a straight up answer?
And friends…
Really?
The problem about that was, we were never friends. That wasn’t us.
Never started that way and never ended that way either.
I’d never been a friend. That was always clear.
&
nbsp; Chapter 7
Lana
Eighteen years ago…
“Tell the truth, looks bad doesn’t it?” Mr. O’Shea asked tilting his head to the side.
He looked at the two shelves he’d just put up for me. I was certain they were supposed to be straight and not lopsided. Also, that the hinges were supposed to go under the shelf, not on top, and quite possibly they weren’t supposed to rock from side to side.
I however was far too happy to care what my new shelves looked like.
I was just happy to have them.
“They’re perfect,” I bubbled, clasping my hands together.
He looked to me and tapped my head the way he used to when I was little. I was a few months away from my seventeenth birthday and he still did the same.
“Such a sweet girl, pretty sure your mother told you not to lie though.” He smirked. When he did that he looked exactly like Ryan.
A tamer version of him with the good natured vibes of someone like Cary Grant, or Frank Sinatra when he was in Singing in the Rain.
God, listen to me, I blamed Mama for her classic Hollywood obsession.
Conrad O’Shea was actually more like my fairy godfather. A fairy godfather minus the wings and the magical dust.
And no, I wasn’t lying. I did think the shelves were perfect.
“They are perfect. Just what I need.” I gave him a bright smile.
He looked like he didn’t believe me.
“Sweet girl, just let me know if they fall down. I think I should have gone with a carpenter.” He frowned as he looked over at the shelves and brought his hand up to dark mane of hair. “In fact I think I’d prefer to get someone in to remodel the room for you.”
“That is far too much. I like it just the way it is.” I nodded with excitement while he looked around the attic with his lips upturned.
He’d given me the attic as a working space. It was a sort of present for winning the new talent competition in Belle Magazine and having my dress featured in their last issue.
I was still running around in heaven with delight. It was the first thing I’d ever really achieved. Mama bought me a sewing machine and I had massive plans. Seriously massive plans.
“Lana, I have to admit you have some strange taste. Room looks awful. Just terrible. When I said you could have it I meant I’d fix it up for you. As it is, it’s little better than something from that creepy movie Ryan loves.”
I laughed. “Friday The 13th?” I couldn’t believe that’s what he meant but it was.
He nodded. “Yup, the one and only.”
I was so excited when he said I could have the room up here that I did my own tidying. Sure it might not be all that, and there was still a lot to be done but it worked for me. He put the shelves in thinking it would help, and it did.
I loved that he was so kind to me and always had that fatherly presence. It was what I imagined my own father to be like.
“You guys still up here?” Mama asked, walking in. She carried a feather duster and the smile on her face was infectious. She was so proud of me.
“Yes, Amelia please tell our girl she needs a better office than this,” Mr. O’Shea said, when Mama slipped her arm around me.
She laughed. “You know how grateful we are. It’s more than we could hope for. A whole room just to sew in.”
“You know I’ll do anything… for both of you.” He nodded and there was a twinkle that sparkled in his eyes as he looked from me to her.
“Yes… apparently.” Came Kathy O’Shea’s voice.
She stood at the door and while she smiled, the disapproval was in her eyes.
When she looked at Mama and me she gave us what I called a fake ass smile. Phony as hell and cold. Fake.
I may have chided myself for comparing people to Classic Hollywood actors, but I didn’t think I would be wrong in associating Kathy O’Shea with Blanche Dubois from A Street Car Named Desire. People were always telling her how much she’d looked like Vivien Leigh, who’d played the character.
It was actually true. Kathy didn’t just have the same striking appearance she came with the Blanche Dubois accent too because she was from the high society of New Orleans. Her arctic personality, however did not match her beauty.
Her old stuff was up in here, nothing grand in particular. Just a few boxes here and here that were moved down to the basement. She never even came up here and as far as I knew didn’t have any plans for the room, it was just evident from her attitude that she didn’t really want me having it.
“Apparently, even when I listed the plans I had for the room,” she added.
Mr. O’Shea gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, even so. I just thought the room could be put to better use than for storing old newspapers and magazines.”
Mama tensed next to me. She’d always tensed up, almost standing to attention when Mrs. O’Shea was around. I hated that she felt she needed to do that.
“Okay, dear.” Mrs. O’Shea said cutting off any further comments from him. When she looked back to me that smile returned. “Well anything to support talent. It’s nice to see magazines like Belle giving the young people of today a chance to shine.”
“Thank you Mrs. O’Shea. Maybe I could make you a nice shawl to wear to the festival.” That was me always and ever the girl who tried, even with people who didn’t like me.
She tilted her head to the side and regarded me with a softer, kinder smile. “That would be lovely dear. I’d like that.” She returned her focus to her husband and the tautness in her expression came back. “Conrad, we have dinner with the Pederson’s at seven, best not to hang out here too long. I don’t want to be late.”
With that she walked away, leaving behind a tension even though my attempt probably lessened the pull of the atmosphere.
Mama looked to Mr. O’Shea, worry on her face.
“Conrad, if this upsets your wife, you really mustn’t give us this room,” Mama said and I died a little inside.
He shook his head. “No, don’t mind her. You know what she’s like. Don’t even worry about it.” He smiled down at me. “Lana, enjoy your room. Don’t unpack too much, I’ve decided I’m going to get that carpenter after all.” He looked around the room and smiled wider. “We can have a work station over there for your thinking space, some rails over there and a couple of mannequins.”
I gasped in surprise and deep gratitude. Instinct made me rush to his arms. It was the thought of the mannequins. That was the cherry on top. I hugged him, it was the first time I’d ever hugged him. He hugged me back and tapped my head.
“Vogue.” He smirked pulling away. “Dior, Chanel, Armani, Versace. Show them how it’s done kid. The Lana Connell way.”
Inspiration swept over me and I experienced that pride in myself that I longed for.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” I gushed.
He straightened up and looked at Mama. “Don’t work too hard Amelia.”
She nodded.
One last smile at the both of us and he left too.
“I’m proud of you Lana,” Mama said. “I really am. You’re going to be somebody big one day. This is just the beginning.”
“Thank you for everything. Without you I wouldn’t even have this dream.” I was going to wait to tell her my plans but right now felt like the perfect time. When we talked about college she’d just assumed I’d go somewhere I could study fashion design. She never knew I was aiming for a specific school like Parsons and I wouldn’t dare tell her because of the expense. I’d only ever talked about it in passing because it was the best. I never told her I dreamed of going there. Things had changed with this new found recognition I’d received. It might really be a possibility now.
“You are very welcome my girl. I’m grateful for you too.”
“Thank you. Mama, I’m going to try and apply for the summer school at Parsons,” I chirped with excitement.
“What!” Her hands flew up to her cheeks.
“I just have to do a collection, s
omething inspiring and creative. Applications close in March. You need to have won some award to apply and now that I have, I have a shot.”
She squealed with delight and we both started jumping up and down and screaming. Screaming like I’d actually gotten accepted. The thing was if I got into the summer school, I’d have a shot at getting in to study there the following year. Or, maybe even a scholarship.
“Oh my God girl you are full of surprises.” She hugged me hard and held me there. “Well done Lana. You got this.”
I think I did.
I really thought I might have a shot so I was going to try.
My attempts to try began the following day at five a.m.
I got up and cleaned the library and the hall. I had a rigorous schedule set out that left no room for error.
That meant focus, focus, focus. And, it also meant ignoring the shadow that had been lurking around me for the last couple of weeks.
The shadow a.k.a Ryan O’Shea.
I hadn’t spoken to him properly in several months. Not since that day I went to thank him for the fabric. That was September last year. It was January now.
He didn’t even join Mama and me for our usual suppertime sweet tea. It was like he’d decided he was too old for that and had better things to do. He’d stopped just before he did his SAT’s. Mama made up the excuse that he must have been studying, but we both knew Ryan never studied a day in his life. Unlike people like me the guy didn’t need to. He aced everything and aced his SAT’s without blinking.
When I did see him it was in passing, a glimpse in the corridor at school, out on the field playing football, or sitting in the quad with Tiffany either glued to his lap or his mouth like she was a permanent extension of him.
That part…. God …ugh, I always felt like giving myself a kick up the backside because during all the other times I’d glimpsed him I’d always felt his eyes on me, watching me. He just never talked to me. I didn’t know how to explain it.
My work was a much needed distraction and so wonderful to get lost in.
I made my sketches all that week when Mr. O’Shea got the carpenter in to revamp the room. It looked like something from one of the high end dramas I’d seen Mama watching, where the women were lady bosses and had their own offices.
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