by Heather Gean
“What?” I should’ve recognized the person on the cover instantly: a pale face adorned with aviator sunglasses and an obviously bad hair day with curls blowing everywhere. It wasn’t until I realized that I had the same navy suit jacket with the quarter-length sleeves that I knew it was me. I repeated the curse word that had just slipped from Liz’s mouth. I snatched the magazine from her hands. A candid picture of Ashley was positioned right beside mine directly under the caption “A Joint Appeal to Their Match Made in Washington.” It had only been a week and a half since I had filed my appeal, and I had yet to tell Ashley about it. I guess he would know now, but unfortunately so would the rest of the country.
“Do you think people will believe this?” My heart was in my throat.
“Dude, I dunno. People believe a lot of shit.” She took the magazine back from me and began flipping frantically through it.
The cashier coughed to grab my attention. I mindlessly put a few more items on the conveyer belt while carefully watching Liz’s reactions. “It doesn’t say who reported in, but I’ll bet someone at the DML sold the story. At least it’s short.”
“What does it say?” I braced myself for the worst. The beeping paused and I realized that I needed to put the rest of the groceries on the conveyer. I did so at super sonic speed exactly opposite of that which the cashier was moving with.
“It is really short. ‘Sources tell us that billionaire Ashley Schroeder and his new fiancé Rainy Clarke have filed a joint appeal to their government-issued marriage. The Schroeder family publicist assured our reporters that this is merely a rumor, but how happy is this happy couple? The Plaza would not confirm if the reservations for their wedding scheduled to take place in December have been canceled. The next few months will reveal if the marriage system can save high profile relationships or if the inability to maintain a relationship runs in celebrity blood.’”
“That wasn’t very short!”
The cashier told me my total in her monotone. I rifled through my purse and pulled out some cash then searched for a few pennies to even out the change.
“Oh my God!” Liz shrieked. I nearly dropped the penny I held in between my fingers. My heart nearly flew right out of my mouth. How I even had enough room to breathe I wasn’t sure.
“What?!” My voice was high and squeaky.
“Kate Donovan is pregnant by Jimmy Allen!” I rolled my eyes with a sigh then elbowed Liz in the arm.
“Don’t mess with me like that.” I stole the magazine from her. “And don’t read that trash.”
“They’re right about you. Imagine what else they’re right about?” She had lowered her voice, but I still nervously looked over my shoulder at the cashier who was still counting out my change. I couldn’t trust anyone anymore.
“Just shut up.” I tried to put the magazine back on the shelf, but Liz took it away from me again.
“We’ll take this, too,” she said to the cashier. My face fell into one of my hands. I shook my head and tried to keep it down as I loaded our bags back into the cart.
“You are such an embarrassment.”
“Pfftt. I’m not the one on the cover of a tabloid.” She dodged my evil stare by sticking out her tongue at me. I wanted to get back to the safety of my apartment as soon as possible.
“That’s you?” the cashier asked. It was the most excited she had sounded since we had been in line, and even that tiny shred of interest in her eyes was dull.
I laughed an extremely long, nervous laugh that reminded me of Monica Radella. “I’m just a normal person. Why would I be on the cover of a tabloid?” Liz rolled her eyes at me to let me know I wasn’t being as smooth as I thought I was. The cashier was now looking at me as if I was insane. I spun on my heel and pushed the cart for the door. I thought of fashioning myself a mask by cutting eyeholes in one of the brown paper bags holding my groceries. Just call me brown paper bag girl.
~*~
After spending at least a half hour rifling through my closet, I settled on a dressy casual look including jeans that nearly covered my flats, a low-cut white, silk camisole trimmed with lace, and a fitted gray jacket with quarter-length sleeves, making sure to avoid the navy suit jacket I had been wearing in the tabloid photographs. I hooked some dangly earrings through my ears. It was the first evening of Artists’ Weekend, and I wanted to look nice. I had never received an RSVP from Van, but I wanted to fancy up a little just in case. I knew it was wrong, and I would deny to the last breath that Van was the reason for my special attempt to look sexy. Though I couldn’t expect to see him, I would definitely see Piper McMahon, who was crashing on my couch for the weekend. I gave my thankfully flawless curls one final tousle before grabbing up my things and heading to the exhibit.
Wes was holding a cocktail and looking rather pleased when I entered the gallery. “Why so happy?” I asked him.
“You need a drink for me to tell you this.” My mind instantly began to race.
“It’s bad?”
“No, stupid, it’s great. We need to toast.” He snagged me a martini from the nearest casually dressed server. Once I had the drink in hand, he broke into an even more ecstatic smile. “The museum just received a huge donation.”
“From who?” I was so thrilled that I couldn’t take a drink.
“Your fiancé! We have enough money to add a second exhibit if we want. I was thinking--”
“Wait, Ashley made a donation?” The sweetness of the moment was gone. That’s when I felt like I needed to take a drink.
“One-hundred thousand dollars.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Who gives a crap? This is huge!” I passed my drink to Wes’ free hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I hate gin.” On that simple lie I wove through the thin crowd. I wanted to disappear right into the artsy folks and the sophisticates trying to impress dates on a Friday night, but that was not easily accomplished.
“There’s the girl of the hour!” an Irish accent called out. Piper was armed with a tape recorder and a martini. “How are ya?”
I feigned a smile. “I’m great! I’m so glad you could make it.”
“He would not have let me miss it! I have gotten so many good interviews. You have to promise me one.”
“He who?” As usual with Piper, I was still a few sentences behind.
“Van, silly. You think he would miss a chance to show off?” I straightened up a little. So he had shown up after all. I smoothed the front of my jacket. “I already have so much incredible material that I am thinking of taking the rest of the evening to enjoy myself.”
“Please enjoy yourself. You came all the way down here, and I plan to show you a good time.” Piper’s enthusiasm made me want to smile. She swept her bangs to the side before allowing one of our artists to catch her eye. She winked one of her black-lined eyes at me and bid me farewell as she slunk off after him like a lioness after her prey. I found myself still smiling at her oddities moments after she had disappeared.
“Well, look who it is,” another recognizable voice jested. Tonight was a night of surprises. Van Sherman stood behind me with his arms folded loosely over his chest. The smile that had settled onto my face did nothing but grow under Van’s amused stare.
“I should say the same. You never RSVPed.” I hooked my thumbs into the edges of my back pockets to keep myself from being visibly awkward in front of him. The few feet between us were faintly scented with Van’s unique and tantalizing scent.
“I apologize. I wasn’t sure I would be free this weekend.” The way his head was slightly tilted to one side left his dark hair falling across his eyebrows. Something about the simple, white button-down shirt he wore was amazingly sexy. I slowly blinked away the tinge of guilt.
“I’m glad you could make it. You deserve to get a little praise. Your piece is…” Van laughed at my loss of words.
“I know, it’s different.”
“What does it mean?” I asked him like I was admitting my own ignorance. H
e didn’t criticize my vulnerability, but he shrugged his shoulders and licked his lips.
“What doesn’t it mean?” I shook my head at him with a small smile. Before I could accuse him of avoiding my question, a tall girl with raven black hair appeared beside us.
“Van Sherman,” she said knowingly. “Well, damn. Who knew?”
Van offered her a polite smile. “Hey, Elsie.” That triggered my immediate interest and attention. So this was Elsie. She looked artsy enough, with multiple facial piercings and tattoos snaking down her arms. She also looked exactly like someone Van would date, or so I assumed. My defenses went up against my better judgment. “Rainy, I would like you to meet Elsie Sappho. Elsie, this is Rainy Clarke. She’s the exhibit coordinator.” Instead of shaking my hand, she nodded at me.
“What’s up?” she said as a salutation. I smiled and returned the gesture.
Van took the initiative to fill the conversational gap. “This is the girl that got my piece here before your deadline.”
“Kudos.” I kicked myself for sounding so ungrateful. “That was such a life saver.” I reprimanded myself for sounding so dorky. Ugh, why was I speaking?
“It was nice to get the thing out of my apartment,” she said. “It made room for a doghouse.”
“Oh, you got a dog?” Van asked.
“No, I just liked the way it looked.” She glanced over her shoulder as if she was looking for someone. Though I was suspicious of Elsie’s intentions, she was incredibly likable. She was straightforward and informal. Her mouth always hung in a half-smile; her tongue always seemed to be pushing against the hoop in her lip. “I have to catch up with Alex. Gotta make sure my designated driver doesn’t hit up the bar.” She nudged Van with her elbow. “It was good to see you, man.” She gave me a second nod. “It was good to meet you. Great exhibit, by the way.” Within minutes of her arrival on the scene, she disappeared into the crowd. Except for the awkwardness left hanging around after her departure, it was a semi-pleasant experience.
Van shifted his weight and acted as if nothing unusual had just occurred, and maybe it hadn’t. “How do you two know each other?” I asked as casually as possible.
“We went to high school together up in New York.” I nodded in acceptance of his response.
“Were you close?” I knew I was fishing in shark infested waters. “I mean, she brought your sculpture all the way to Memphis for you.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Why did she move down here?”
“For Alex.”
“Husband?”
“Girlfriend of four years.” I needed to learn not to make so many assumptions. Most of the jealousy I had for Elsie dropped away.
“The government denied her marriage request?” I knew they had a tendency to discriminate in those types of cases.
Van shrugged. “I guess so.”
“One year earlier and they could’ve gotten married old school.”
He looked down at his feet and gently kicked the toe of his shoe against mine. The smile we shared warmed my soul. Something about Van made my heart feel too big for my chest. I just wanted to hug him.
“I’m surprised at the number of reporters here,” I said, changing topic. Van glanced around at the multiple individuals with notepads or tape recorders. “It should be good publicity.”
“I guess you’ve had enough of publicity lately?” The words stung me, but the sensitive tone with which they were delivered was like smoothing aloe over a burn. He responded to my uneasiness. “You didn’t deserve what happened.”
“Which part? The part where Ashley filed an appeal behind my back or the part where they put me on display to make money?” Van looked at me as tenderly as he had looked at me the night he drove me home from the bar, like some sort of rare, beautiful, broken creature. I crossed my arms across my chest.
“Both. You deserve better.”
“I figured you would be on Ashley’s side.”
“Are there really two sides to this? You both want out of the engagement.”
Piper meandered back up with her tape recorder in hand. “Aha! You two, I demand interviews.”
The next two hours progressed successfully. The visitors replaced themselves every twenty minutes or so, so there were always fresh eyes among the crowd. Compliments flooded in from all angles. All of our artists were making valuable contacts. Piper seemed to be having a fill day. I loved how art could bring people together.
By the close of the exhibit that evening my head was dizzy from an empty stomach. Piper and Van followed me out into the parking lot, dragging behind them suitcases they’d stored at the front desk in the museum to load into my trunk. The night air was damp against my skin. There was always something surreal about the humid summer nights of the South. It was strange seeing Van with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, cast in the hazy glow of the streetlights. At only ten o’clock, I couldn’t bear to let go of the night just yet, so I invited the two of them with me to grab some food.
The hole-in-the-wall bar was just beginning to buzz with people as we ordered from our booth in the corner. It was geared toward an older college crowd so the beer was cheap and the music was live. “This place is wonderful!” Piper exclaimed as she scanned the menu. She had been thrilled since she found out that she could not only shell her own peanuts but throw the hulls onto the floor.
“Rainy, I think you should get inked this weekend. You need to add a little color to your skin,” she said, changing the subject in her usual habit.
“I’m not sure about that.”
Van’s eyes seductively locked into mine. “C’mon, Rainy. Your body is a canvas.” The way he said it nearly took my breath. His tiny comments like that had been toying with me throughout the night. The boy had nerve. My cheeks burned as I finally broke the stare and looked back down at my menu.
“What are hushpuppies?” Piper asked. I laughed at her.
“If you don’t know then we need to order some.”
The cover band was just taking the small platform stage in the opposite corner. I had seen them in the place before; they were actually pretty good. The crowd loved them because they took requests, mostly rock, but they had attempted others. The goofy lead singer tapped the microphone with a huge grin before introducing the line-up. “We’ll play anything we know if you let us know. Until then we’re just going to rock out.” A little feedback was followed with opening chords to a song with a southern rock sound.
“I saw that you made your celebrity magazine appearance as well as your tabloid debut. Congratulations,” Piper said. “Are the rumors true? How are things with you and Ashley?” Van was now completely engulfed by his menu.
“Is this on the record or off?”
Piper laughed. “This is friend to friend.”
“I can’t confirm or deny anything.”
“Spoken like the truly famous,” she said as she raised her beer to me.
After I drank my one-beer limit and soaked it up with the tons of bar food we had ordered, I settled back into my seat. Things were picking up around the bar. Piper, who was at least six beers ahead of Van, who was at least three beers ahead of me, could not stop talking about the harmonica / guitar player in the cover band. She was not only completely enamored with him, but she sent him a drink during their five minute break. He and Piper had been trading flirty stares all night. “Listen,” I warned her, “don’t bring any creepy guys back to my apartment.”
Piper smiled mischievously at me. “I can promise you that, but I reserve the right to bring home at least one sexy one. I expect you to do the same.”
“I’m not making any promises.”
It was only seconds later that Piper excused herself outside for a cigarette. Once she was out of sight the band started back up again. Van and I were sitting at the cozy table in comfortable silence.
“Would you dance with me?” he asked.
“Right now?”
He leaned forward a bit. “Oh, c’mon
. It’s just a dance. If I requested a song, would you dance with me?”
“Depends on the song.” I generally didn’t dance in bars, or in public, but I wanted to be close to Van.
“What if I request a song for you? Will you dance with me then?” He was now on his forearms, leaning across the table towards me. I found myself doing the same, leaving only half a foot between our faces. My heart sped up as his eyes traced across my smile. When I agreed he disappeared for a few minutes, leaving me to my own frantic thoughts. What did I think I was doing? What did he think he was doing? That night in New York when we had been so close, he made it clear that we needed to keep distance. Dancing was definitely the opposite of keeping distance.
Van returned to the table and took my hand in his. My heart jumped at his command. A few fast, opening guitar notes rang out through the bar. A few random people cheered. “You ready?”
“What is this?”
“Mississippi Queen. You said you’d never heard it.”
Van led me up near the band by my hand. That touch, that connection, only made me want to be closer. I was fighting every urge I had. After all, it wasn’t safe for me to be in public anymore.
Van spun around and tugged me into him with one quick motion. My chest pressed against his, and I couldn’t tell if it was his heart or my heart that was pounding so hard. His free hand rested against the small of my back. Within seconds a few inches of space formed between us. I wondered if he was having second thoughts or if I was misinterpreting his actions altogether.
“This song reminds you of me?” I asked.
“I had them change a few lyrics, but somewhat,” he admitted. His brown eyes looked down on me tenderly, or maybe it was just the low-lighting in the bar that made me think they did.
Van moved me in perfect time with the music. Every now and then in one smooth motion he would pull me a little closer. The temptation building between us was stifling. “Does Ashley know you’re here?” My guilt had forced it out. Surprisingly, Van never missed a beat.
“Does it matter to you?”
“Does it matter to you?” I returned. Van smiled as if he had just been checkmated.
