“Bugger! So it all starts again, does it?” Wilson bit out behind me. I froze. Pain lanced through me, and I spun on him. His face was like granite, his eyes icy, his jaw clenched. His arms were crossed and his stance was wide, almost as if he were bracing himself for my comeback.
“What do you mean, Wilson? What am I starting again?” I kept my voice low and contained, but inside I was quaking.
“You know exactly what I mean, Blue.” Wilson's voice was harsh and his words clipped.
“Oh, I see,” I whispered. And I did. It was written all over his face. Revulsion. He didn't see a glamorous woman on her way to a classy exhibit. He saw a tawdry teenager with a sordid past all dressed up for a night on the corner.
“I'm reverting to my slutty ways. That must be it.” I raised one thin eyebrow disdainfully and held it there, waiting for him to correct me. He just glared back and was silent.
I pivoted in disgust and yanked the front door open.
“Blue!”
I didn't turn, but I paused, waiting for an apology.
“I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself. If this is the road you want to go down, I won't come after you.” Wilson's voice was hard, almost unrecognizable.
I shook my head, unable to speak. Where had this come from? What had I done to make him go all parental and self-righteous on me? I wanted to scream at him, scratch his eyes out, and tell him what a jerk he was being. But I didn't want to be that girl anymore. In spite of what he thought, I wasn't that girl anymore. So I turned and leveled a look at him.
“I guess the dye is cast . . . huh?”
I turned and walked out of the building, my spine stiff, but my chin quivering. If he watched me leave, I didn't know. I looked neither to the right nor left, but drove away looking straight forward. I did not cry. I did not curse. I just drove, stone-faced, to the hotel.
Tiffa had told me to go to valet parking and I did, refusing to be embarrassed by my dumpy old truck. I stepped out of it like I was royalty and dropped my keys in the valet's hand with a comment to make sure he didn't “scratch my baby.” The man was good at his job, and he didn't even bat an eye. I was grateful for his ability to hide his real feelings and vowed that tonight I would hide mine just as well. It was a talent I had let get rusty.
I swept through the door and asked the first official looking person I saw where I could find the art exhibit. He directed me to the elevators and instructed me to get off on the gallery floor, marked with a G next to the button. Panic bubbled up in my chest, and for a moment I considered leaving. Just kicking off my heels and heading for the door. I gritted my teeth and stepped onto the elevator, along with several other people in formal attire. I stared at myself in the mirror, trying not to see what Wilson had seen. My pleasure in my appearance had been crushed into tiny, vicious shards. My reflection stared back at me defiantly. My eyes looked too big in my face, and the pink in my cheeks had been leached out with the joy I no longer felt. What had I been thinking?
Tiffa descended on me as soon as I stepped out of the elevator. The room beyond was soft with strategic lighting and carefully placed art. A huge painting of a weeping face took center stage. The tears were so lifelike they shimmered wetly in the lights.
“Blue! You look wonderful! Smashing! Where is Darcy?” Tiffa looked beyond me to the elevator doors that were firmly shut. “He is going to die when he sees your pieces on display! I can't wait!” She squealed girlishly, and I felt a wash of intense affection sweep over me. But like the tide, the wave of love was yanked back into the sea of my disappointment as my thoughts were focused once again on Wilson.
“I didn't tell him.”
“Yes, luv, I know. I invited him!” Tiffa whispered theatrically. “I told him he had to come tonight. I said there was a brilliant new artist whose work he had to see. I sent him tickets and everything. Did he bodge it up then?”
You could say that. I felt pretty bodged up. “I don't know what Wilson's plans are.” My voice sounded flat and cold, and Tiffa's eyebrows shot up. It wasn't quite true, but I didn't elucidate.
“Hmm.” Her eyes scoured my face. She pursed her red lips in contemplation. “He bodged it good,” was all she said. Then she looped her arm through mine and pulled me forward. “Come see how we've arranged your pieces. They are breathtaking, Blue. I've already had a slew of people ask after them. You are already a hit.” I let myself be pulled along and vowed to forget Wilson and the way he had looked at me. I was “a hit.” Tiffa said so, and I was going to do my best to enjoy the moment, surreal as it all was.
'Bird Woman' filled an entire corner. She was elevated on a black platform. The lighting overhead turned the wood into liquid gold. For a moment, I saw the sculpture as others would, and my breath caught in my throat. There was only the hint of a woman in the dramatic sweep of wood and the suggestion of outstretched wings. It was the reason I hated to title my sculptures; the title limited it. I didn't want to do that. I wanted people to interpret what they saw without influence from me.
A few people stood around it, studying it, turning their heads this way and that. My heart pounded so loudly I thought it would shake the room and its precious contents. Tiffa glided toward the man who seemed most enamored by the woman encased in wood. She reached out a graceful hand and touched the man's sleeve.
“Mr. Wayne, this is the artist.” She slid her other hand down into my own. Mr. Wayne turned toward us. His silver hair was slicked back from his face. It was an interesting face, more suited to a mobster than an art connoisseur. He was powerfully built, and his black tuxedo fit him well. He seemed surprised by the introduction, and his mouth curved as his gaze met mine.