by J B Heller
What am I supposed to do about that? I left, I walked away from the only good thing in my life. I thought it would bring us both peace. I thought it would relieve some of the guilt I carry, but it hasn’t. Not even a little.
What it has done is increased my resentment towards him.
And the more time that passes, the more I fear I’ll never be more than the person he turned me into.
This exhibition will be the death of me.
My eulogy will read- Eliza Quinn, died age twenty-two from extreme stress induced by incompetent staff.
“You can’t put it there, it’s the centre of the entire exhibition,” I tell Lorenzo, the incompetent staff member that my eulogy will be referring to.
“How do you even know that? It’s still sealed,” he says with a roll of his, what I’m told, are mesmerizing, chocolate brown eyes.
I’m about to bust a valve when my big brother walks in holding a tall macadamia latte and a brown paper bag that I’m assuming holds a toasted to perfection spinach and feta roll. The tension begins to drain from my body the closer her gets, and the aroma of the coffee reaches my nose.
I take a deep steadying breath and return my focus back to Lorenzo, “Because it’s my job to know. Now wheel it over to the centre platform, carefully.”
He walks away, pushing the trolley holding the centre piece and muttering shit about me under his breath.
“Tough day?” Ben asks when he reaches me.
I don’t answer immediately, instead I take the latte in his outstretched hand and take a deep inhale, then a fortifying sip of the caffeinated nectar of the gods. The remaining tendrils of tension uncurl, then slip away, as my body hums with satisfaction.
Ben raises a brow, “You really should see someone about your substance abuse problem.”
I cradle the coffee between my breasts, “Don’t listen to him baby, I’ll never leave you,” I tell the cardboard cup.
Shaking his head, he frowns down at me, “Pathetic, you have more feelings towards that inanimate object than you do towards anyone of the male population who isn’t me, dad, or Grandfather. Hell, at this point I’m pretty sure Mum wouldn’t even mind if you brought a chick home.”
This again? I drop my head and breathe in the only scent that calms me these days, “Ben, I’m twenty-two, not thirty-two. And even if I was, it’s still a perfectly acceptable thing in this day and age for me to be single. I’m a strong willed, independent woman. For some reason, men find that intimidating instead of attractive. That’s not my fault. I’d say it’s theirs.”
Before he can say anything in response, I continue, “As for bringing a woman home, I’m not opposed. I haven’t met any that float my boat, if you know what I’m saying, but sure, I guess it could be an option.”
Touching the lid of my cup to my bottom lip I think it over, it’s not such a bad idea. The last guy I slept with was less than stellar. In fact, it was downright disappointing. I think Hux spoiled me all those years ago. Nobody has ever taken me as high as he could.
Just thinking about him deflates my caffeine induced high. I miss him. I’ve missed him every day for the last five years. The months after he left were some of the darkest I’ve ever experienced.
I do the only thing I can to shut down my current train of thought before I sink into the abyss that is missing Huxley Haines. I repeat the mantra I’ve been using since he left to remind myself of what I am. You’re stronger than one boy. You are a fucking dolphin in a sea full of catfish. You’re a catch, damn it!
Straightening my shoulders, I look back at my brother as if I didn’t just have a mini pity party for myself right in front of him, then tilt my head to the side, “There better be a spinach and feta roll in that bag.”
He snorts and hands over the bag, “What can I say, I’m an enabler.”
I smile up at him, “And that’s why I love you,” I say with a wink, “You didn’t bring anything for yourself?”
“Not today, I ah, I have a date actually.”
My eyes widen, “You do? With who? Do I know her? Is she pretty? Will I like her?”
Ben laughs at my line of questions, “Umm yeah I do, her name is Cleo, no you don’t know her, she’s smokin,’ and I hope so.”
“Good, now you may go.” I dismiss him with a quick peck on the cheek and start making my way toward the elevator that will take me to my office.
Once I’m back in the confines of my office, I sink down into the plush couch that faces the window and eat my lunch while I pull up my emails on my laptop. I have a new one from Bianca Markham, the chick I’ve been liaising with for the last three months organising this exhibition.
She’s flying in tomorrow afternoon with the photographer, Hadley, but he won’t be present when she comes to look over the layout before opening night on Friday. I suppose that doesn’t really matter, I was looking forward to meeting him after seeing his work, but it can wait till Friday.
I’ve only met with Bianca once before. And that was when she booked our gallery for the exhibition. She was super friendly, and had a way about her that made it impossible not to like her.
I shoot a reply back to her confirming the Mr. Mysterious and the Miss Orderly suites, as she requested when she found out that each of our suites have names.
My Grandparents are quirky to say the least, it wasn’t at all normal to give your rooms names instead of numbers when they decided to do it in their first little twenty-four room motel. Now they own their own chain of hotels across the country.
The Quinn Plaza hotels are a staple in most major cities. But only the suites carry names now, since each hotel has a minimum of 350 rooms. Not even my grandmother could come up with that many names.
With my reply sent, I pulled up my music app on my laptop and set it to play on random as I relaxed for a few minutes before getting back down to the gallery to keep an eye on Lorenzo.
I can’t believe she talked me into this. I never thought I’d go back there. Yet here I am, shoving clothes into my duffle getting ready to go to the one place I swore I’d never return.
“You ready yet? Taxi will be here in five minutes to pick us up,” Bee calls from the lounge room.
Grumbling under my breath, I grab an extra pair of Converse and throw them in my bag. I left packing to the very last second in an unnoticed, and frankly pathetic, display of rebellion. Bee doesn’t care though. Hell, I could have refused to pack anything at all and she wouldn’t have cared. She would have just forced me to go shopping when we arrived.
Throwing my duffle over my shoulder, I drag my arse down the short hallway and dump it on the floor next to her suitcase.
Bee throws me a water bottle out of the fridge then takes the handle of her girly luggage and wheels it to the door, holding it open to make sure I follow her out, she then locking up behind me.
I don’t say anything as we ride the elevator down to the lobby, and I still refuse to talk to her as we check in for our flight and wait for it to be called up.
“You going to continue giving me the cold shoulder all weekend?” Bee asks from her seat directly across from me in the waiting area.
Glancing towards her I mutter, “Maybe.”
She rolls her eyes, “This is for your own good, Hux. Believe it or not, I only have your best interests at heart.”
I know she does. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “I know,” I say while watching a plane take off through the huge plate glass windows that surround the terminal.
Once we board, my nerves are nearly uncontrollable. I’m actually doing this. I’m going back.
My knee is bouncing, making my seat jostle and the person in the seat beside mine eyes me, “You afraid of flying?” she asks.
I swallow, “It’s more the destination than the means of travel,” I tell her honestly, while opening and closing my fists in my lap.
She seems to understand, and nods, “I hear ya, but I’m sure if you’re on this plane right now, there’s a damn good reason for it.
”
I shrug, “Work, and a pushy agent.”
Bee speaks up from the other side of me, “I’m sitting right here, and unlike you, I’m not ignoring you. I can hear every word you’re saying. It’s time to pull up your big boy panties and man up, Huxley.”
I frown, “My big boy panties?”
She nods, “Well, you’re behaving more like a girl than any I know, so yeah, your panties.”
Shaking my head, I turn back to the woman on my opposite side, “See, pushy. And mean.”
The woman smiles, but doesn’t say anything else.
I try to relax during the flight, but the closer we get to my old stomping grounds, the more wound up I become.
“Why don’t you look up that girl you told me about?” Bee’s words hit me like a sledgehammer.
My head whips around and I glare at her, “Why would I do that?”
She rolls her eyes, “Because you love her.”
My glare intensifies, “Yeah, and I can’t have her. So why exactly would I torture myself by trying to find her again after all this time?”
“Who says you can’t have her?” she says in that matter-of-fact tone that grates at my nerves even more.
“You know why, so drop it, Bee. I’m not doing this.” Just as I finish speaking the plane begins its descent, and my hands wrap around the arm rests and squeeze for dear life. This is it.
We make our way through luggage claim without any hassles, and in less than half an hour since landing we’re getting in another cab to take us to the hotel. When I hear Bee give the driver the name of the hotel, my heart leaps into my throat. “Did you just say we’re going to Quinn Plaza?”
Bee settles back in her seat, “Yes, why?”
My mind is racing a million miles a minute. That’s Eliza’s family’s hotel. Jesus, what if I run into her? Holy shit, what if I see her again and it all comes back? I’ve worked my arse off to forget her. Doesn’t mean it worked, but I’ve tried.
My anxiety is at an all-time high. Fuck! What if she hates me? She’d have every right to. It would kill me, seeing her and not being able to touch her. Not a day has passed in the last five years that I haven’t thought about her.
I’ve almost googled her more times than I can count. I still have every single picture I ever took of her. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any of them. They were all I had left of her. Hell, this whole exhibition, oh fuck!
I look at Bee sitting next to me, checking her emails on her phone, “Bee,” I say firmly.
“Hmm,” she mumbles without taking her eyes off her phone as she taps away on the screen.
Bianca Markham is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. There is no way she organised this exhibition at Quinn Plaza without knowing the connection to Eliza. I’d only spoken about her once or twice, but I guess I said enough for Bee to know exactly how I felt about her and what she means to me.
“Bee, tell me you haven’t set me up here,” I say with a calmness I don’t feel. Her eyes lift to mine for a brief second, and it’s all I need, “Motherfucker! Why would you do that?” I spew.
She straightens her shoulders, and twists her torso so she’s facing me, then pokes me in the chest with her pointy red polished nail. “Firstly, don’t you ever speak to me like that again,” she says, “and secondly, you know damn well I would never do anything to hurt you. So you can wipe that accusatory look off your face right now, Mister.”
I swallow, again, I know she’s telling the truth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
The glare that’s honed in on my face right now could quite possibly kill. “You’re damn right you shouldn’t have,” she fumes, “I didn’t make the connection until I’d already fallen in love with the gallery. I went to five different possible venues and this one was the best fit. When I’d booked in the viewing I didn’t even think about the name of the hotel.”
Raising a brow, I ask, “But you did realise, and booked it anyway.”
She exhales, “Yes.”
“Why?” I almost plead.
“Because, the venue is perfect for this exhibition. It’s kind of like coming full circle, don’t you think? I mean, she is the centre of this show, it’s almost poetic that it should be shown in her family’s legacy.”
As always, Bee has a good point. Artistically speaking, it is the perfect venue. But personally, I sigh, “I get it, but I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”
Bee reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance, “You can do this. It’s time.”
I swallow thickly, and nod, even though I’d much rather throw myself in front of a bus right now.
When we arrive at the hotel I can’t help but laugh at the irony, Bee booked me into the Mr. Mysterious suite. I bet she has no idea that’s what Eliza used to call me. It brings back memories of the notes she used to slip me addressed to Mr. Mysterious.
I can see her handwriting clear as day in my mind. I’ve read and reread those notes a pathetic amount of times over the years. Trying to convince myself that I could one day be worthy of her affection.
But I’m not there yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
What if I see her and she’s every bit as amazing as she was back then? Will I be able to walk away again? Will she even let me near her? Surely, she hates me, she should. Or, at the very least, not want anything to do with me after what I did.
Oh fuck, what if she’s met someone? My heart starts pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.
I end up locking myself in my suite, I don’t want to go down to the gallery any sooner than I have to. Actually, I don’t want to risk running into anyone I used to know. I have no idea how I would respond to seeing someone from my past. And I’m not particularly interested in finding out.
So, I stay in my room, and decide draining the mini bar would be an excellent use of my time.
Bianca Markham strolls into the gallery like she owns the place, examining the placement of each piece. I watch her carefully, gauging her thoughts. From what I can tell, she’s pleased. When I approach, she’s looking at a piece that caught my eye when the boys were setting up, “This is one of my favourite pieces,” I say when I’m a step away.
She turns her face to me, “Mine too,” she says while holding her hand out to me.
I take it, and shake it firmly, “Nice to see you again, Miss Markham.”
With a slight eye roll she says, “Call me Bianca or Bee, please. Miss Markham makes me feel old.”
Smiling I nod, “Okay, well it’s nice to see you again, Bianca. How was your flight?”
“Not too bad, Hadley was being difficult, but nothing I can’t handle.”
I frown, “Is everything alright? He’s not unhappy with the exhibition, is he? He hasn’t even seen it yet.”
Bianca holds her head high as she glances around the gallery, “Walk with me, Eliza. You don’t mind me calling you by your first name, do you?”
Shaking my head, I tell her honestly, “No, I’d prefer it actually.”
“Good,” she says as she begins strolling around the set-up, “To answer your question, no, Hadley isn’t unhappy with the exhibition. More like this place bring back memories he’d rather not dredge up. But I’m afraid I didn’t give him much of a choice. He needs to deal with his past. It’s holding him back.”
I got the sense that this Hadley was more than a client to her when we had exchanged emails, but this sounds awfully personal. Deciding to just cut to the chase I ask, “Is there anything I can do to make his stay any easier? I want this exhibition to go as smoothly as possible, we have a lot of influential people attending tomorrow night. If it means I have to kiss his arse for a couple of days to keep him happy,” I cringe, being a kiss arse is not in my nature, not anymore, “I’ll swallow my pride and do it.”
Bianca grins, “I was hoping you would say that.”
I’m not sure I like the way her eyes are gleaming, and I’m sure my nervous smil
e tells her just what I’m thinking, since she quickly pats my shoulder and says, “Oh don’t worry, Eliza, I’m sure it won’t be too difficult to keep him in line. In fact, I think you’re just the person for the job.”
After showing Bianca around, and receiving her approval of the lay out, we part ways for the day with plans to meet tomorrow morning for an impromptu shopping trip to get dresses for tomorrow night’s opening.
I was planning on wearing the little black dress that I wear to most of these events, but Bianca insisted I need something with more wow factor. And since she needs to pick up an outfit as well, she suggested we go together.
Closing the door to my office behind me, I find my brother waiting for me. He smiles when he sees me walk in, “Hey, you didn’t tell me it was Hadley you’re doing this next exhibition for.”
Frowning, I take a seat across from him, “Didn’t I?” I shrug, “Since when are you into photography anyway?”
His grin turns coy, “It’s a recent development.”
“Oh, so what you’re saying is your new squeeze is a fan and you need tickets for tomorrow night’s opening?” I quip.
Ben winks, “You got it, chica. So, can you hook me up?”
I pretend to mull it over, “You do know this event sold out in a matter of hours, right? I’m not sure where I’m going to come up with extra tickets.”
He takes the bait and sighs, “You’re going to make me kiss your arse, aren’t you?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I give him my best innocent smile, “I wouldn’t say that, but payment by way of Macadamia lattes delivered daily for the next two weeks would suffice.”
He claps his hands together as he gets to his feet, “You have a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Dress nice, like in a suit, nice!” I call after him.
