Do Not Respond

by M R Field

  Her face turns back to me, and she winks.

  “I’m sure you do, you little menace.”

  She straightens and swats at my arm. I pretend to be wounded, rubbing my arm.

  “I have fans, you know.” She curls her hand around my arm to squeeze on each word. “I might seem tiny, but I have legitimate people who love my work. Annette, a curator friend of mine, has been selling pieces of mine and might have a friend in Canada who could be interested. Imagine that!” Her eyes light up, and I clear my throat. Now isn’t the time to confess about my art-buying habits. I look around for Annette, wondering how much time I have to tell her before we run into each other. My time is running thin.

  “I also have a client who apparently likes my collection. Not sure how big their house is, but they like my art a lot. There’s about ten of my pieces on their walls. Their house must be massive!” She beams, her face turning to check out some pieces next to us. “I’m putting the proceeds toward my funds to go and visit Odette for a holiday. If that Canada person likes me, I could tie the trip together.”

  My gut tightens. What is she going to say when she finds out what I do? What would she think if she knew I bought her canvases to gift to clients? Or to brighten up a nursing home? It would probably look like a fucking tax break, but I don’t even keep the receipts.

  My fingers curl across her back, and I force myself to relax them. She surely won’t be happy that my father’s old golf club has one of her sunset beach paintings in the bistro. The unease curls itself around my insides, catapulting to my chest to kick-start my heart into overdrive.

  “Can’t believe someone thinks I’m cool.” She sighs, and I clench my jaw. Will she think she is a failure since it’s me buying them? She’s far from it. Letty’s my inspiration. Every part of her is amazing and so fucking talented.

  “That’s fantastic.” I look down at her bright eyes, her smile coating my uncertainty like a warm blanket. Let that smile still be there when she finds out … but I doubt it will.

  My doubt is pierced abruptly when a high-pitched squeal sounds near us.

  Bernadette and Elliot come closer to us, and I watch Letty’s mouth pull to the side as her eyes slide over to me, a tinge of embarrassment colouring her cheeks. I shrug, and she turns that look of mortification back to her mother, who’s teetering on her heels, her green dress clinging to her thighs. She makes her way haphazardly over to us, her arms waving in the air. We knew they were coming, but not at that decibel.

  “Letty Bear!” she yells, her arms continuing to slap into the air as though she’s afraid we’ll not see her. Kind of hard when she’s barely five feet away.

  “They’re not the fans I’m talking about.” Letty’s cheeks redden. “Oh, hell.”

  She steps closer to me, and I place my hand on her waist.

  “I think all the bets are going to run into overdrive, with us being here now public news.” She bites her lip, and I chuckle, bringing her closer to me. No use hiding our affection.

  “It’s okay.” I squeeze her hip, as she relaxes under my touch, her eyes meeting mine. “I’m sure the photos she took in secret will be uploaded online shortly, so they can scrutinise us and swap cash.”

  I smile, and the lines between her brows loosen as she rubs her lips together. I know that look. It says, Mum is going to be so embarrassing, as well as, Bet Mum’s taken at least ten pics by now. I’d kiss her to make her chill more if I knew for sure how she’d react to us being so public.

  She tenses just as hurricane Bernadette reaches us and pulls her into her embrace, while Elliot strolls casually behind her, his hands in his pockets. He releases one to shake my hand, and he holds onto my hand for a moment as his chin tilts toward the art pieces on the nearest wall.

  “Have you seen half the stuff in here? My eyes are burning from the lack of ingenuity. I should get my marketing guy in here to show the gallery staff how to at least sell it better. I honestly don’t see the appeal.”

  “Feel free to write on the Post-It Notes,” I say, gesturing to the closest ones and letting go of Letty’s hand. “You could probably leave your marketing guy’s card there, too,” I joke, but Elliot’s shoulders pull back as his eyes trace the room.

  “I think you’ve got an idea there.” He presses his lips together and squints, as he looks around at all the coloured notes.

  “Oh, hush!” Bernadette admonishes, as her hand reaches forward and pulls my shoulder toward her, her other arm still draped over Letty as she crashes the three of us in an awkward hug. “You two are just too damn cute!”

  Bernadette’s lips brush against my cheek, as Letty breaks free from her smothering. My cheek is sticky from her bright lipstick, and my hand itches to rub it off. You wouldn’t be so keen to rub it off if it were Letty’s, you schmuck. Bernadette’s eyes brighten in mirth, as she stares at my cheek, and her hand raises to my face, but Letty’s hand shoots out across hers and clamps around it.

  “I have a tissue, Mum. You need to relax,” she hisses, lowering her hand to lift her bag, shuffling through it to then pluck out a tissue. I take it, stare at my reflection in the glass on the portrait beside me, and wipe the lipstick from my face.

  “The resemblance you have to that portrait is uncanny.” Elliot’s voice wavers, as a laugh escapes his lips. I brush the last part of lipstick off, and my eyes focus on the painting behind the glass. A gorilla on a swing. Well played, old man. I tuck the tissue in my pocket to dispose of later.

  “Oh, look at that!” Bernadette leans forward to stare at Letty’s face. “Ode mentioned on Skype this morning that you were complaining about a nasty rash on your neck and saying you needed to put some papaw on it. Looks like it’s all gone.”

  “Oh, that bitch,” Letty mutters quietly, as a deep blush crawls across her skin, her hand rubbing across the base of her neck. It clicks. The hickey.

  “So, we might keep walking this way to see the rest of the pieces.” I curl my fingers around Letty’s elbow to guide her back to me. Her heels click slightly as she shifts toward me, barely standing upright by my quick grasp.

  “Yes, of course.” Bernadette steps back, motioning with her hand to let us through. “We’ll see you two lovebirds later on.” She gives us a big wink, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was having a mild stroke.

  I give a quick nod to Elliot, then we shuffle past them, increasing our speed as each step takes us farther away.

  “Oh, fucking hell,” Letty groans by my side. “How does my mother combat against the vilest criminals in this country, yet act like a Stepford Wife out of the courtroom?”

  “She’s not the only one who has us fooled. You’re forgetting about my mother.”

  “No,” Letty teases. “Not little ol’ Judy. She would never jest so badly.”

  I raise my eyebrow at her. “You are speaking about the same mother who manipulates me on a regular basis? Parker misses out, as he’s too busy gallivanting across the globe.

  “Still not half as embarrassing as my mum,” Letty challenges.

  “Nope, I’m afraid. When your mum tells all the girls at your sixteenth birthday to avoid your bedroom due to a flea infestation just so I wouldn’t muck around….”

  “I remember that! Now, I actually get it.” She laughs and shakes her head. “With how they reacted just now, you would think that I was their sixteen-year-old virgin daughter going on a first date.”

  “Not after your performance in the photocopy room.” The words tumble out of my mouth, as her eyes move to mine. A sly smile glides across her lips.

  “Thank you.” She tips up onto her toes and kisses me on the jaw, only to move her lips to my ear. “You just made me forget the tonne of awkward my mum dished out back there and the ten ways in which I wanted to hurt my sister. Now my mind is on other things.”

  My fingers itch to take her away, but before I can drag her to the nearest corner, her eyes hit the wall behind me, and a radiant smile breaks out across her lips. She rushes over, a
nd I find three bolsters, each with a different carved steel seashell. Each shell is roughly the same shape, but it’s not until I’m closer that I can see a carving on the inner lid.

  In front of each shell are three simple title cards reading Desolate, Adequate, and Exultant, with a larger card on the wall behind reading Rediscovery: A journey back home. I glance back down to Desolate’s sculpture, which is of two figures, a male standing to the edge of the shell, his back to the female, who faces him.

  Letty stands by my side, and I feel her eyes on me. My skin is tight as I move to take a glimpse of the next shell. The figures both stand facing each other, much closer, each with an arm reaching out to touch the other. The figures are simple silhouettes, yet I feel a connection. The last shell shows both figures in a tight embrace, their faces close to each other, noses touching. Gentle swirls surround their heads, and I marvel at how beautiful her etchings are in the steel. The tops of the shells are polished.

  “How did you do this?” I reach forward, grab a Post-It Note, the pen near it, and begin writing a few words. I want to ask her if they’re us. Why are the words getting stuck in my throat?

  “Dad’s new angle grinder and a scriber. It was super pointy and sharp, so I couldn’t make any mistakes—or I’d have to start again.”

  I look up, and her smile is not as wide as before; it slips to the side in hesitation as she studies my face.

  “Phenomenal pieces.” I peel the first Post-It Note and place it on the wall behind the bolster, only to write on a few others. Letty moves closer to me as I finish placing the notes that read mesmerising, evocative, and sensuous.

  “Aw,” she coos. “That’s pretty feedback on my shells.”

  “Who said it was about the shells?” I lean down and brush my lips on hers and feel her smile. “I’m not. They’re amazing, though. You still love your shells, huh?”

  “I do. I even have a few from when we were kids.…” Her voice trails off, and I try in vain not to tense beside her. One of the last times we were together, I crushed the shell I’d gathered for her when I arrived home to find my dad had died. Guilt shrouds me again. I have a lot to answer for.

  “I was such an idiot back then. I don’t even know how to say.…” My voice cracks, my throat dry.

  “Hey.” She rubs my arm. “You don’t have to say anything.” My pulse quickens, as the iron in my blood dissipates. How the hell does she make me feel light and weighted at the same time?

  “There you are, darling!” a very familiar voice calls out, and I turn to find Annette walking straight for us. I tense, wondering how I’m going to confess this.

  “Oh, and you’ve met Mr. Lawson. Excellent. He’s a big fan of yours!” She leans in to kiss Letty on the cheek, completely oblivious to the bomb she’s just dropped. Fuck. My stomach tenses. Looks like I don’t have to tell her after all, and that’s not good.

  “Hi, Annette,” Letty says, her voice raising slightly, as she leans back to stare up at me. I’m not sure if I know this look. Is she confused? Shocked? Is that the look of Your balls are about to be removed and made into a display piece for everyone here to see? Or her Are you a fool? look?

  “Cole here is one of our best patrons. He has admired your work for the past few years. I admire his generosity, especially brightening up Heavenly Downs Home. I’m sure the residents loved your landscapes. Must give them beautiful daydreams,” she titters, not noticing the tension developing between Letty and I.

  “They’re great pieces,” I concede, tucking my finger in my collar to pull it from my neck. Did someone turn on the heater?

  “You bought some of my pieces for a nursing home?”

  “It was Poppa’s,” I offer, running my hand behind my neck, my eyes staring back at the shell to the final piece. This is definitely a shit time to ask if those people are us.

  “Don’t forget the clients you gifted her artwork to, as well. That was a lovely gesture for your business.”

  Letty’s jaw drops as Annette continues to prattle on.

  “I know these pieces will be snatched up soon, so you might have to jump in before they go.”

  “You give them to clients?” Letty’s voice is barely a whisper, but I hear her.

  “Oh!” Annette looks past us to wave at someone she sees. “I must dash, but darling Letty, I emailed my friend Henri, too. He might enjoy your pieces also! Oh!” Annette’s hand reaches up to wave at someone in the distance. “Tessa’s over there. I must go ask her about the fabulous plant she put in that prism. What an ingenious idea!” She squeezes both our shoulders and winks at Letty before leaving us to marinate in her big reveal.

  “Well, you might have another admirer, this Henri guy.” I cover my chin in my hand, not sure what to say.

  “So, you’ve been buying all my pieces from Annette?” She ignores my crappy diversionary tactic and turns to face me, as heat swells under my collar again. I force my fingers to not adjust it again.

  “Not all of them, but most.” I shrug. Fuck. How do I even tell her that her work was the only link I had to her?

  “Why do our clients get a canvas?” Her eyes narrow, assessing me.

  “It’s a thank you. A sign of appreciation for doing business with us.”

  “But they can cost over three hundred dollars!” she shrieks, and I step forward, clasping her arms, as the guilt claws at my insides.

  “I don’t care how much they cost. They’re amazing, and when clients are paying several grand for our designs, it’s nothing. They get to have something that will make their building better. Plus, a few have come and purchased your other pieces, too. I always leave the gallery details on a card with the gift.”

  “So, it’s company money?” She folds her arms, but I continue to grip at her sides. She wants to divide us, but I’ll hold on.

  “No, never. I … pay for it.”

  “Bloody hell, Cole. This doesn’t even make sense. I’ve been doing this for a few years, and you’ve spent that time barely talking to me.”

  There we have it.

  The moment where I admit why I stopped talking to her. Why I blamed her for keeping me away longer, while my dad had his heart attack. I blamed her for missing his death and couldn’t think of her without wanting to scream at her. Why my dad’s faulty heart was hidden from us, and I was too young and stupid to realise that nothing could have prevented it. Or why when I finally got over my shit, and realised my feelings for her still existed, I was a jealous arsehole who lost it seeing her with someone who wasn’t me.

  I drop my arms, and I close my eyes in defeat, squeezing them together as images of those red and blue flashing lights enter my mind. My mum leaning over the stretcher, her wails filling the bleak, dark sky. My dad’s lifeless body, never going to embrace her or us again. My thoughts pitch forward to the arms of a taller guy wrapped around Letty as she kissed him in the foyer of my fucking office building. Endless images torture me, and they all scream in my face about what a massive idiot I’ve been. Now buying her artwork seems like such a pathetic gesture. A joke on me.

  I open my eyes and expect her to be standing away from me, but her arms are no longer folded.

  “I have so much to explain, but I want you to know that aside from all that bullshit, sincerely, your artwork is phenomenal, Letty.”

  “Hey.” Her voice gentles, surprising me, and her hand reaches up to touch my face. “Anyone tell you lately that you’re ridiculous?”

  “Not today, but there’s still time.” My voice breaks, the memories of my past clutching my heart, but as her thumb draws back and forth across my cheek, the ache slowly melts away. Her shoulder sinks slightly, as a small smirk crosses her lips. Why isn’t she storming away from me?

  “I need to explain—.”

  “No,” she reproaches me. “I can’t believe you gifted my work to the clients and the retirement home.”

  I lean into her touch and feel a change between us. The electric current simmers and draws us closer. “My mum has a couple, t
oo. Just a heads-up for her birthday next month.”

  “You’re unbelievable.” She shakes her head, removing her hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear before looking at our feet for a moment. “All this time, you believed in my art more than my own family did. I thought it was just close friends and my sister who cared.”

  “No, Letty.” I reach for both her hands and draw them to my chest; her eyes rise slowly to mine. “You are remarkable. I thought I was going to have to chase you out of here. I can understand if you’ve changed your mind about us.”

  Her chest rises and falls, as a cheeky smirk slides across her luscious lips. “I think I’m done here tonight. I just met my number-one fan, after all.” Squeezing my hands, she leans forward on her toes to brush her lips against mine, whispering, “Time for me to unpack my overnight bag in your spare room.”

  “I think you mean the room to the left of it. Mine.”

  “Oh, we’ll get to that one, too.” Her tongue runs across her bottom lip, and I’m done. I grab her hand and drag her across the gallery, narrowly missing other patrons and barely missing knocking freestanding pieces over. I dart past her parents before they can spot us.

  Tonight is all about us.

  Letty

  The crepe from my dress swishes across my thighs as we walk slowly, hand in hand, to Cole’s front door. My duffel bag drapes across his shoulder, hung from his upturned fingers, as each step brings us closer. A chill of nerves slithers across my skin, as each hair stands on end in anticipation. Are we really going to do this?

  Yes, you bet your shiny-arsed shoes we are. My heels tap across the concrete, as I struggle not to break out in a Dorothy-esque skip. If I had a ponytail, I’d twirl it around my finger while clicking my heels together. I swallow the bundle of excited nerves as we stop at his door.

  The unmistakeable sound of a deep ruff makes me smile. The mysterious Duke, who I’ve heard so much about, barks by the side of the house. I hear a deep sniff as we stand by the front door.

  “Looks like someone is excited to see you.” My voice rises in mirth, as a loud thump against the side fence continues to remind us of the eager dog.