by Ally Sky
Ben Storm: No. What are you listening to tonight?
He’s not saying much. What’s he hiding?
Talia Blum: Sam Cooke. “Bring it on Home to Me.”
Ben Storm: Once again, you surprise me…
Talia Blum: What did you expect? Brittney?
Ben Storm: Maybe…
Talia Blum: “Baby thinking of you keeps me up all night…”
Ben Storm: Something like that.
Talia Blum: That’s also on my playlist.
Ben Storm: Not surprising.
Talia Blum: What are you listening to?
Ben Storm: Backstreet Boys.
Talia Blum: Really?!
Ben Storm: No.
Talia Blum: Very funny.
Ben Storm: I’m not listening to anything.
Talia Blum: Why not?
Ben Storm: I’m still at work…
Get a life! Oh well, I’m going to get into gear very soon. If only to save him from the obscene habit of working late into the night.
Talia Blum: You’re not serious.
Ben Storm: Someone is delaying me.
Talia Blum: Go home, before someone comes to pull you away, and you never know how that may end
Ben Storm: I may just stay here…
Ah. He’s playing again. I don’t buy it.
Talia Blum: Go home.
Ben Storm: You’re all talk. You don’t even know where my office is.
The things he doesn’t know…
Talia Blum: LOL. If that helps you sleep at night.
Ben Storm: Seriously?
Talia Blum: A little research. Don’t worry…
Ben Storm: Not worried. Petrified
Talia Blum: You’re a big boy. You can handle me. Now, please go home.
Ben Storm: Ok.
Talia Blum: Good night, my little workaholic
Ben Storm: Good night, beautiful.
I log out and stare at the screen. He called me beautiful.
No one has ever called me that before. There’s no way he could mean it. And if he does, he needs to see a doctor urgently. Once again, I have a silly smile on my face.
Now, where’s that link to the website? I think it’s about time I looked up his address—you never know when I might need it.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face, dreaming of late night surprise visits to his office when no one else is around.
Persistent rays of sunlight penetrate the curtain. I forgot to close the shutters yesterday and I’ve just woken up. It’s eight thirty. Danny and John must be leaving around now and I don’t feel like bumping into anyone. I’m just going to lie here, in my bed, with my laptop, and dream some more about seductive green eyes and charming smiles…
It’s a quarter past nine when I get out of bed and into the shower. The house is quiet. After the shower, I select a pair of grey trousers and a long-sleeved black blouse that covers up the scars and put on a pair of high-heeled black shoes.
I have to get out of the house for a bit. I put on some makeup in the bathroom, take my bag with the laptop, and go out to the café around the corner, where I sat with Ben. At least the coffee is decent.
I order a cup of weak, foam-free latte, exactly as I like it, and settle with the large mug under the shade of their umbrella. I manage to avoid the sun, which has finally emerged after days of nonstop rain.
I open my laptop, light up my first cigarette of the day, and wait for my blog to come up. I take a deep breath and try not to choke on it when I see there are thirty-one new messages waiting for me. What the hell is going on? How many people read my stupid blog? I go into my blog administration to find out exactly how many people have read it.
What? No way. There must be a mistake with the numbers. 1,632? No. There must be a software fuckup or something…
Good luck…Good luck…Dump him…You’re better than him...
I smile when I read that.
Response from Dana T: Men are hard to get. Why do they insist on being like that? If he wasn’t into you, then I’d understand. But he is. It’s obvious. So why is he so stubborn?
She thinks he’s into me? I carry on reading.
It’s obvious he likes something about you. He’s still around, right? Now you need to remind him what it is and make sure he doesn’t forget it.
My phone rings, startling me, I’m not expecting a call. I haven’t even had a chance to think about that last response. I take the phone out my bag and stare at the screen, but don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I answer hesitantly. Who could be calling me?
“Talia? Hi, this is Sarah Gibson, from Storm Buildings.” Her voice is friendly. Sarah from Storm Buildings? When did Danny find the time to talk to her?
“Hi, yes, I assume Danny has spoken to you,” I reply.
My heart is pounding. I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or fear. This woman is my chance to do something other than waitressing.
“Yes and, the truth is, I was thrilled to hear about you. I want to know when we can meet.” Meet? Already? That was quick.
“I’m available anytime,” I stammer. Anyway, I’m just sitting in a café, thinking about ways to seduce your boss.
“How about coming down to my office around two o’clock? We can have a quick meeting.”
Today?
“I’d love to!” I reply, smiling at my coffee.
“Great. Do you know where we’re located?”
“Yes.”
I know. I saved a picture of their address, which appears on Danny’s business card, on my phone.
“Excellent! Sharon knows I’m expecting you so I’ll see you at two.” She hangs up.
Sharon, Storm Buildings’ secretary, who’s trying to get the man with the green eyes. Well, I have news for her—he’s my man now.
I put my phone back into my bag and a ghost of a smile touches my lips when I consider the possibility I might bump into Ben in his office. My imagination runs wild, thinking of the images that played around in my head late last night, when no one was around...
At a quarter to two, I stand in front of a beautiful office building on Exhibition Road in South Kensington. My heart is racing like crazy as I go up in the elevator to the fifth floor and enter a huge hall. In front of me is a large, white reception desk, with Sharon sat behind it. She looks up from her computer screen and smiles at me. I smile a fake smile back at her. I don’t like her. She has plans that don’t fit in with mine.
“Talia Blum. Sarah Gibson is expecting me,” I say formally.
“Hello, Talia, I think we met in the park, right?” She smiles widely.
Yes, we met in the park, and your hand constantly stroked your boss’ muscular arm. Who happens to be the most amazing man in the world. Oh, and he’s mine.
“Yes, we met in the park,” I reply coolly. “Sarah Gibson?”
“Second office to the left.” She looks confused. Maybe she can’t understand my coolness toward her, I don’t care—as long as she stays away from Ben. I turn left into a long hallway. One of these doors must lead to his office and it’s quite possible he’s there right now.
I wonder if he even knows I’m here.
I stand in front of a small sign on a door Sarah Gibson. Interior Design and I knock twice.
“Come in!” she answers from the other side and I enter, closing the door behind me. Ms. Gibson gets up and extends her hand to me.
“Hello. I’m Talia Blum.” I smile nervously as we shake hands.
“Sarah Gibson. Pleased to meet you.” She smiles warmly, sits down, and indicates the chair in front of her desk.
I study her. She has black, shoulder-length hair, which frames her pale face. It looks as though she’s never spent a day in the sun. She’s thin, and I try to guess her age—maybe forty? She’s so heavily made up, it’s difficult to guess.
“So,” she takes a breath. “I understand Danny explained to you what the job is all about.”
“Not really.” I’m still very nervous
. “I’d love to hear more details from you.”
“No problem,” she smiles. “Look, the thing is—I need someone to be my eyes and legs in the city. My ability to walk around galleries and exhibitions is limited. It takes too much time, which I don’t have. We try to establish contacts in the city so we can be up-to-date when something of interest happens. This way we hope to be the first to receive an invitation. And this is where you come into the picture. The idea is for you to go around galleries, hand out business cards, let me know what you think about the exhibitions you see, and if there’s something you think will interest me. You’ll be in the know when something important is happening. We like to send a small gift when there is an important event, you know, that sort of thing. It’s not complicated, right?” She smiles at me.
“No, not complicated.” I smile back, slightly self-conscious. “But how am I supposed to know what you’re looking for? After all, I don’t really know what your taste is.”
“Danny thought you’d be suitable, and the truth is, after seeing Ben’s latest acquisitions, it seems we have the same taste, and I was curious to meet you,” she explains and I pull a face. Acquisitions? What is she talking about?
“I’m not so sure I understand,” I mumble.
“Ben’s latest acquisitions.” She turns to her computer and starts typing. “Art in glass. He said you went to Camden Town.” She turns the computer screen toward me, and on the screen there are three familiar pictures: a red vase, a mirror surrounded by mosaic, and a lamp with rays of sunshine scattered all over it.
He bought them?
“I don’t believe it…” I mumble in shock.
He bought them. Why? And why didn’t he say anything to me?
“I thought you chose them.” My reaction surprises her.
“Something like that,” I stutter, while trying to calm the tremble in my voice.
“Danny told me you paint.” She surprises me yet again, while I’m still trying to wrap my head around what she’s just showed me.
“Yes…” I’m still mumbling. “It’s just a hobby, for fun.”
He bought them?
“Listen, I would love to sit and explain some more to you. Thing is, the girl who was here before you left suddenly, which has left us in a bit of a bind,” she complains. “We’re missing out on a lot because we’re out of touch with what’s happening out there.” She takes out a business card and gives it to me.
“This is a gallery on Brick Lane. Do you know where that is?” I nod. I love Brick Lane.
“Excellent. I need you to get there today. The exhibition there is closing this evening, and I want to know what you think about it. And most importantly, I’d like you to introduce yourself and exchange a few words with the owner of the gallery. His name is Gary.”
Today? Now?
I take the business card from her.
“How do you feel about jumping into the deep end?” She smiles again.
“Sounds fine,” I answer hesitantly. I can do this.
“Great.” She heaves a sigh of relief. “And we still haven’t discussed your salary.”
She takes some documents out of her drawer and we peruse them. A basic salary, comfortable working hours, and I won’t have to work as a waitress. Sounds perfect to me. I sign straightaway.
“Do you drive?” Her question surprises me.
“No, I mean yes, but…” I stammer.
“I see. It means driving on the other side of the road. No problem. Keep the cab receipts or whatever you use. We’ll sort it out. You don’t have to drag yourself on the tube if you don’t want to.”
I actually like the tube.
“Will you manage?” She’s checking me out.
“I think so.” I smile and she gets up to say goodbye to me. We shake hands again and I leave her office.
My thoughts are rambling through my head. He bought them. Why? When? I don’t understand. His office is only several doors away, but I can’t just knock on his door. Anyway, I need to hurry to Brick Lane. How am I supposed to concentrate now? Okay, forget about it for a moment. You’ll have enough time to find out more later.
It’s six thirty when I arrive home. John and Danny smile at me from the kitchen table.
“Where’ve you been?” Danny looks up from his plate. I’ve been so busy I forgot to tell him I was going out.
“Brick Lane. Sarah sent me to visit a gallery.” I fill him in on my visit there.
“Great! Did you have fun?”
“Yes.” I give a half smile. As soon as I managed to stop thinking about those damn pictures on Sarah’s computer.
“Do you want to eat?”
“No, I ate something on the way,” I reply. “I’m going to change my clothes.”
I sit on my bed, pull out my phone, and type a message.
18:40
I hope you have a safe and protected place to put your glass.
Why didn’t you say anything?
I change into my black tank top and cargo pants and go down to the basement. What do I feel like listening to?
The system starts playing Meredith Brooks’ ‘Bitch’ and I open my box of colors. This job has come at the right time. My paintings are piling up along the wall of the basement and I need new canvases. I take out the yellow and orange colors. The stereo plays the same song over and over as I start to paint.
I give the paintbrushes a rest, and the canvas fills up with the engravings my fingernails make, lines of confusion and anger. Standing in front of the canvas, my body remembers what I’m trying to forget. The celebrations, the heartbreak, the highs, and the lows. God help me in the abyss...
The door to the basement opens. I assume it’s Danny, coming to ask me something, or tell me to turn the music down, or just to say good night.
“What’s the time?” I ask without turning around. I’m too preoccupied with my painting.
“Nine.” A familiar, compelling voice answers out of nowhere. I freeze and stop breathing for a moment. I don’t turn around.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised by his visit to my Holy of Holies.
“I came to take my painting.” I hear his voice from the edge of the stairs. I swear he’s smiling. What’s he smiling about now?
“How are my glass pieces?” I inquire, irritated.
“Amazing, don’t you think?” He walks to the stereo and turns down the volume.
“I never asked you to do that,” I complain, my heart refusing to calm down.
“Are you mad about something?” He seems amused by my reaction.
“Why didn’t you tell me you bought them?” I angrily etch shapes on the canvas.
“I didn’t know I have to update you about every purchase I make.” I can still hear the amusement in his voice.
“You can be so annoying.” I turn to him in time to see the smile spreading over his entire face.
“Why are you angry? So? I bought them?”
“Why?”
“Because they’re an excellent find. Why do you think?”
“I have no idea.”
“Stop looking for a meaning in everything. It’s just a few pieces of glass.” He laughs. Is he laughing at me again?
“I would be careful if I were you.” I raise my dirty hands threateningly.
“A little paint never killed anyone.” He carries on mocking me.
“Come on, let’s see how brave you really are.” I challenge him, not knowing that’s exactly the invitation he’s looking for, as he strides toward me without hesitation. My heart pounds wildly, rage mixing with excitement. Before I can say a word, he’s standing in front of me in his white T-shirt and faded jeans.
“Well?” he teases, challenging me to wipe my dirty hands all over him. I lift them up but he’s quicker. He grabs my wrists, lifts them above my head, and holds them forcefully. Then he presses his body against mine and pushes me until my back sticks to the painting, sliding in wet paint.
“You didn’t expect that now, did
you?” He smiles slyly, green eyes gleaming.
I’m seething with rage because of the mess, the painting that is now completely smudged, and the entire situation, which he finds amusing. I try to free my hands from his strong grip, but his leg pushes me into the painting and I can’t move. The situation infuriates me.
And damn, really turns me on.
Damn him. What’s this damned game he’s playing?
“Very funny.” I squirm, my heart almost exploding in my chest. He only tightens his hold. The smell of his aftershave is inviting and the touch of his fingers on my skin is driving me crazy.
“What’re you going to do now?” he whispers, and warmth creeps from the top of my thighs and settles into my panties.
“If this is your idea of ‘being friends’, then you are fucked up,” I hiss and catch him looking down at my cleavage. Unabashedly. My tiny tank top barely covers a thing and I know that he can see my bra.
“Hey!” I call out loudly. He raises his eyes to stare at me, and grins devilishly.
He presses his mouth against my ear and whispers, “It’s so annoying when plans fall through.”
I swallow. All I want is to close my eyes and for him to kiss me already.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” I murmur nervously. He’s not playing fair.
