Just Breathe

by Mataya, Tamara

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s been a week since our date at the zoo and my feet are only now just touching the floor. I can’t wait to see him again. I’m going to have to come up with a date as cool as the ones he’s taken me on. But what?

  “Hi, I’d like these books please.” The small boy slides his card toward me on the counter. Tearing myself out of my daydream, I scan it and then pull his two books closer. He’s taking out a book on origami and a book on hypnotism. Interesting choices. I scan the origami book.

  “Have you done origami before?”

  “No.” His gaze shyly drops to the counter.

  “It’s pretty cool, you can make all kinds of stuff. One time, a guy folded a fifty dollar bill into the shape of a tiny frog and gave it to a friend of mine. She couldn’t spend it without undoing the frog.”

  “Whoa! Did she unfold it and keep the money?”

  I shake my head. “The frog was so cool. I don’t think she ever spent that fifty dollar bill.”

  “Cool.”

  I never got the whole origami thing—especially origami napkins. You have too much time on your hands if you’re learning how to make three hundred different origami napkin options. It’s a napkin. It’s going to be scrunched up or put on someone’s lap in less than thirty seconds anyways. The best reaction you’ll get is, “Oh wow, amazing napkin,” and then they crumple it, or shake it out, and put it on their lap. Sounds like a bunch of work for nothing.

  But I bullshit lots of people at work, all in the name of drawing them out, or making a connection with them. We want them to come back, and we want to make their visits special. If it takes feigning an interest in something harmless then I’m all for it. I scan the hypnosis book and put a date slip in between two pages.

  “All right, these are due in three weeks. Have a good day.” I smile at him and he scampers off.

  Interesting choice with those two books though. I wonder if he wanted to try his hand at origami, but then worried that his product wouldn’t be that good, so he also grabbed the hypnosis book from the shelf. Maybe he was thinking, hey, if I fail at origami, I can hypnotize people into thinking that my work was awesome! “You like my origami creations. You think they are amazing. You think I’m the best at paper art you’ve ever seen.”

  Maybe I’m projecting, but I’ve seen some interesting combinations before. One guy got two books once that separately weren’t bad, but together were an unsettling combination. One was a book on serial killers, the other was a book on curing and storing your own meat. Now, I’m not saying he’s a serial killer who was planning on cannibalizing his victims after making them into people-jerky, but the only thing that would have made it worse would be if he’d also grabbed a book about human anatomy.

  The phone rings and I get it.

  “Elle?”

  “Kennedy? What’s up?” She doesn’t usually call me at work.

  “You’ve got to get straight home after work.”

  Dread fills me, weighing my body while making me feel light-headed. “Why? What’s wrong? What happened? Do you need me to come home now? I—”

  “No, sorry, everything is fine! But there’s a big thing happening at the gallery, and Nick really needs us to be there. It starts at nine, so you’ll need to hurry if we’re going to get ready and get there in time.”

  Relief pounds through me. “Gotcha. I’ll take a cab home. It’s just Jan and me, so we’ll get out of here right away.”

  “Awesome. See you in a couple hours.”

  “Bye.” I hang up and call a cab company. I keep an anxious eye at the counter, hoping no one comes to the counter before I can complete my call. A male dispatcher answers fairly quickly.

  “Hi, I need a cab to the central library please. The back door.”

  “Yeah, okay. What time?”

  “Ten after eight.”

  “Is it going to actually be ten after eight?”

  “Um, what?” What?

  “Are you going to be there ready, or is it going to be, ‘Yeah one more drink and I’ll be right over there.’ And then you don’t show up for half an hour?”

  I take the phone away from my ear to look at it, as though that might make this conversation make more sense. It doesn’t. I put it back to my ear.

  “What? I’m a librarian, so yes I will be ready at ten after eight.”

  “Oh my god, I’m sorry! This conversation must be so strange.”

  “You have no idea.”

  The dispatcher laughs. “There’s an apartment complex right across the back alley, and the young girls will call for cabs. We get there and no one’s there, so we call the number back. They say ‘One more drink and they’ll be right over.’ It’s such a time waster and happens quite a lot. Sorry about that.”

  I chuckle. “No, that’s awesome. For a second there, I was thinking that some of my coworkers were like, librarians gone wild in the back room on the weekends or something. ‘What’s that Anne getting up to when she’s here late?’”

  He laughs. “For sure. Sorry about that!”

  “Don’t worry about it. So, eight ten?”

  “Yup. We’ll be there.”

  ***

  The cab shows up on time and spirits me home with a minimum of small talk from the driver. Kennedy meets me at the door looking phenomenal. Her light blonde hair is smoothed back, adorned with a thin silvery headband. Her killer legs are showcased by the skirt that’s like a mullet—short in the front, long in the back. It’s white and looks like gathered lace. She turns to give me a view of the back. The skirt is sort of ruffled, like the collar of a fancy blouse. Her top is black velvet, super tailored, high collared. Oh! It’s like a tuxedo dress.

  “Oh my god, Ken! You look crazy-good!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes!” I kick my shoes off. “Kind of fancy though, isn’t it?”

  “Normally yeah. But it’s not just an artist’s reception tonight. Someone’s investing in the gallery, or something, supporting local artists.”

  “Ah, enough said.” We had to do this song and dance once before. Nick called us in a panic because there were hardly any people at the showing, which looked really bad, so we had to storm the castle dressed to the nines, padding the numbers. We saved the day, but it was boring as hell, other than the free snacks and champagne. But it has to be a big-time patron if Nick called us in again.

  “You should wear the grey dress.” Kennedy fumbles with a necklace clasp.

  I groan. “I feel naked in that thing.”

  “And you look fucking amazing in it.”

  “You’re biased because you made it.”

  “Of course I am. But that doesn’t make it any less true. No time to argue!”

  “Fine.” I walk to my room, and throw open the closet door, and pull out The Dress. Kennedy made it a year ago, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s a beautiful dove-grey silk, strapless top with a beaded detail in the centre of the neckline—which is a bit low-cut, but still beautiful. A thin belt nips in at the waist, making it look even smaller. The skirt gently flares out and ends just below the knees. It’s feminine, and flows, and is sexy, but the low cut top combined with the light-as-air fabric makes me feel naked.

  But it’s what we do when a friend needs help.

  Undressing, and slipping it on, I call out to Kennedy. “How much time have I got?”

  “Eighteen minutes!”

  Slipping a robe over my dress, I walk to the bathroom and plug in the hot rollers. There’s just enough time. I brush my teeth while waiting for the rollers to heat up, then I quickly wrap my hair around them. A few minutes to freshen my makeup, and then I walk to my room to slip on some heels. My hands move fast, transferring the important contents of my purse into a more fashionable clutch.

  Unwinding the curlers, I spray a little shine serum onto the gentle curls and leave the bathroom. I twirl in front of Kennedy. “Survey says?”

  “God I wish I had your build.”

  “With those leg
s and chest? No way.”

  “We’re both fabulous.” She grabs her purse.

  “I think Nick will be happy with the results.”

  “You think?”

  “Definitely. We’re representing for the Den of Iniquity.”

  “Hell yeah!” She looks out the peephole. “Cab’s here!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Art is a subjective thing, but sometimes I get the overwhelming sense I’m the kid in The Emperor’s New Clothes, looking at the naked guy, when everyone else sees glorious clothes. This artist’s work is underwhelming. There was a small crowd of people nodding and whispering about how amazing her statues are, so I wandered over for a peek.

  It looks like she covered stuffed animals in kerosene, lit a match, put them out with a rake, and then bronzed what was left. They confuse my eyes, but while I live with artists, I’m definitely not artsy enough to appreciate what she’s done.

  I understand that she’s making a statement about something arm-flailingly deep, but I just don’t get it and suspect I never will. Concept pieces don’t appeal to me—the art should speak for itself. It shouldn’t need a big story explaining it for it to be good.

  But I can’t say that. So when people ask me what I think, I just nod and say it’s very provocative, then ask them what they think. That’s what they’re going for; they don’t really care what I have to say. They just want me to ask what they think about everything so they can make a pedantic speech. Kennedy keeps shooting me looks from across the room, her face a perfect mask of pretention, matching those around her so accurately I have to keep looking away from her.

  Snorting champagne out of your nose is considered gauche.

  It’s been an hour and a half of this. The artist enters at last, running late from something or other. As we all clap and check her out, Kennedy makes her way over to me while people fawn over the artist. She’s younger than I expected, around my age, and prettier than I expected. Then again, her self-portrait was a lump of melted wax and purple painted barb-wire so I’m not shocked I didn’t have an accurate image in mind.

  “Look at her.” The venom in Kennedy’s voice surprises me.

  “Who?”

  “Little Miss Sculptor. She’s all over Nick.”

  “Well, he doesn’t seem too broken up about it.” I take in his smile as she leans into him and touches his forearm.

  “Elle!”

  “What? What’s the big deal?”

  Kennedy shakes herself and relaxes her stiff posture. “She’s using him to get shown. I mean, look around, Elle. She’s not here on the merit of her talent, if you catch my drift.”

  “Do you think that Nick and her did something, and that’s how she got her show?”

  “No. Nick doesn’t have that kind of power, you know that.”

  “Yeah, and he’s not the type.”

  “No, he’s not.” Kennedy sighs. “But it’s still annoying that she’s hanging all over him. It’s called Self-Respect, honey. Look it up.”

  “Have you eaten anything? Only you’re a tad...”

  “Bitchy?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Yeah, well. Walk with me.” She leads me toward the food table where some appetizers are set up.

  “When can we get out of here?” I whisper out of one side of my mouth, being ultra subtle. “My feet are killing me.”

  “Yeah, you’ve had a long day, haven’t you? Soon. We’ll stay a bit longer for Nick, then get out of here.”

  “Hey!” An arm is slung over my shoulder.

  “Hey, Nick.” I wrap my arm around him. “Looks like things are going well.”

  “Seriously well. Auburn is here at last. You guys should meet her, she’s so refreshing.”

  “I bet she is.” Kennedy takes another sip of champagne.

  “And we’re getting a substantial donation from a patron. The donation is earmarked for promoting local artists shows, which is awesome. Generate more revenue for them, more exposure, you know?”

  “Sounds awesome. Who are they?”

  “Another rich housewife with nothing better to do than spend her husband’s money?” Kennedy sneers.

  Meow. She’s really feeling protective of Nick and the gallery tonight.

  “No.” Nick’s tone is a bit belligerent. “His name is Jareth Williams. He’s a very wealthy something-or-other. His foundation has done amazing things for the arts in the city. Music too, not just art. You should appreciate that, Ken.”

  Jareth Williams? Oh my god! Mister I-write-in-library-books will be here in the flesh. I cannot wait to meet him. Suddenly my sore feet are forgotten.

  “Oh, I appreciate a lot of things,” Kennedy says. “I appreciate things you don’t even seem to see.”

  “Such as?”

  “When people are trying to use you to get what they want.”

  “Assuming I don’t like it. Maybe I admire that she sees something she likes and goes for it.”

  Whoa.

  “That’s not who you are, Nick.” Kennedy shakes her head.

  “Well, maybe you don’t really know me.”

  “Nick,” I start, but he kisses my cheek.

  “Thanks for coming tonight, Elle. I really appreciate it.” And he stalks off.

  “What the hell just happened?” I watch him bee-line for the artist.

  “He’s being so stupid. We’re only looking out for him, but he doesn’t want to see that.”

  “Yeah, he really took it personally.”

  “Talk about shooting the messenger.” She slaps her empty champagne flute down on the table and digs in her purse. “Come on, Elle. We’re obviously not wanted around here.”

  Damn it, no! “But Jareth—”

  “Who?” Her face is a little stormier than I’m used to. My desire to scope out Jareth pales in comparison to Kennedy’s desire to get out of here.

  “Never mind. Let’s go.” I snag another cheese puff and follow her out the door.

  ***

  She gets more sullen by the minute, but I don’t know what to say. I guess Nick was kind of a dick about her trying to warn him, but she’s definitely overreacting. She keeps sighing, which fills the cab with stale champagne breath. Maybe she just drank too much. It wouldn’t be the first time—she’s better suited to smoking pot than drinking. Having not eaten after work, except for a few cheese puffs at the art show, I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. I crack a window and lean my forehead against the cool glass.

  We pull up to the house, Kennedy pays the driver, and we get out.

  “Thanks for leaving with me,” she says as we head up the sidewalk. “I know I overreacted, but he was being such a dick.”

  “Yeah, he was. It’s cool, I’m starving anyways.”

  “Want to order pizza and have a girl’s night? Watch some bad movies.”

  I throw my arm around her shoulders. “It’s like you’re inside my head.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next night, my phone vibrates. Call ID flashes Dominic’s number, and I answer it on the third buzz, trying to seem casual.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Elle. I know this is incredibly short notice, but are you free tonight—and inclined for a late night? I know it’s presumptuous to ask, but—”

  “No, I’m free. What did you have in mind?” Squee!

  His silence says it all.

  “Another surprise.”

  “Yes. You still interested?”

  I’ll never tell him this, but I’m starting to like surprises. “Oh, I suppose.”

  “Great! I’ll pick you up at eleven tonight. Wear something warm.” His voice strokes my insides, and I resist the urge to moan.

  I wait until my hormones are under control. “Okay. See you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Maybe I should stick to texts with him—his voice does completely unfair things to me. Unfair things that I like. Give me my sin again.

  He’ll be here at eleven, which gives me just under two hou
rs to get ready. I gather some clothes and head for the bathroom. Kennedy passes me in the hallway, heading from Nick’s room. The past week since the art show has been intense, but they’re finally talking again.

  “Hey. I was just asking Nick if he wanted to smoke some buds, maybe watch a movie. You in?”

  “No, I’ve got to get ready for a date.”

  “Really?”

  “I know, it’s kind of a late one, but you know how it is.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want a quick toke?”

  “No, I’m good. Maybe later.”

  “You’re still not smoking?”

  I laugh. “Nope.”

  “Okay.” Kennedy looks a bit stunned. I guess it does sort of look like a booty call, but Dominic’s not like that. I know she likes Dominic, and he’s a cool guy. Now to make myself look presentable.

  Emerging from the bathroom, I’ve finished getting ready—and not a moment too soon. Dominic should be here in about five minutes. Ready to go, I’ve settled on a pair of Kennedy jeans, a soft stretchy tank top, and a large, thick, light blue sweater. I spent a bit of extra time on my hair—braiding it while wet, then blow drying it, so when I took the braids out, it flows in soft gentle waves. I don’t like using gels or hair sprays—the stiffness ruins it for me. What’s the point of having amazing-looking hair if it feels crusty?

  Looping a small section around my finger, I stroke it with my thumb, letting the silky texture flow through me, and calm my too-fast heart. Dominic is going to be here soon. My knees get a bit weak at the thought of seeing him again. Hearing his voice. Feeling his touch.

  The last thought nearly makes me moan out loud, so I trample down my libido, and head for the front door to put my boots on. I catch the tail end of Kennedy’s sentence.

  “—weird. But to not want any at all? So unlike her.”

  “Hey guys.” I smile, knotting my laces.

  Nick’s busy rolling a joint. “Hey, Ellie. You going out?”

  “Yup. Late date with Dominic.”

  “Kennedy said. Hope he’s not just going for a booty call.”