by Harper Bliss
“Sam and I were going through a bit of a rough spot when I started therapy. Anyway, that has nothing to do with what I’m trying to say.” She waves her fork about. “Jill, my therapist, said some things about your profession that made me think. Obviously, it’s very hard for me to imagine how you must feel, but I can definitely empathize with you feeling like you’ve lost the identity you’ve been clinging to for a big part of your life.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. “She must be really good. Your therapist.”
Hera nods almost reverently. “She’s helped me a lot. Especially after Sam passed away so suddenly. But also before, when she made me realize that every single one of us is always busy reinventing ourselves and that going through a rough patch comes with the territory of change.”
“You’re a very wise builder, Hera.” I grin at her. “You should put some of your words of wisdom on tiles like they used to do, and put them up in people’s houses.”
“I can do one for your kitchen, if you like.” She grins at me.
“I think I’d like that very much.” Hera can say what she wants about not being interested in anything romantic. Or maybe she’s the kind who doesn’t realize she’s flirting.
“I’ll have to consult Jill and see what I can come up with. No extra charge.” She gazes into my eyes ever so briefly then redirects her attention to her plate. “This lamb is delicious, by the way.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I decide to seize the moment. “Are you interested in art at all?” I ask.
“Not hugely,” Hera says matter-of-factly.
“Alyssa, the woman who was working at the Pink Bean opening, has a show in Liz and Jess’s gallery. It opens on Thursday night and I’ve been invited. I was wondering if you’d like to, perhaps, join me?” My insides coil into a tight ball. I feel like I may have overplayed my hand—if I had a hand at all.
“Is Rocco going?” Hera asks.
I purse my lips. “I’m not sure. Liz invited me.”
“Why don’t you take him instead of me? I think he would appreciate it more. Art openings are really not my scene.”
“What is your scene, if I may ask?”
“I don’t have much of one, I guess. I prefer a simple, quiet life.”
“Liz told me Alyssa is ‘mind-blowingly’ talented. Are you sure you want to miss that?” I quirk up an eyebrow in anticipation of her response.
“Please don’t see this as a rejection, but when I come home from work, I’m usually knackered. I love what I do, but I haven’t done heavy labor in quite some time and I turned fifty last year. What time does it even start?”
“Seven-ish, I guess.” She’s giving me an opening. “I can check right now. The invite’s in the kitchen.”
“If you can guarantee I’ll be in bed by ten, I might be swayed.”
“I hereby solemnly swear you’ll be tucked in at nine fifty-nine. I’ll drive you home myself.”
“You’re going to drive me?” Hera’s voice drips with disbelief. “Do you mean you won’t drink anything at all?”
“If I’m driving you, then that will be the case.”
“How about I drive you?” She tilts her head. “That suits me more.”
“Are you doubting my driving skills?”
“I doubt everyone’s driving skills.”
“Except your own?”
“I have nothing to doubt about my own.” Hera’s lips curve into a smile. If this isn’t flirting, I surely must have lost the hang of it years ago.
“Come on, Hera. I’ll pick you up and drive you home. Give me a chance to at least prove that I can negotiate a car through Sydney traffic.”
“All of that so I will redo your kitchen?”
“And perhaps give me the number of your therapist.” I reflect Hera’s smile right back at her.
“I’ll never give it to you. It would be a conflict of interest.”
“Why?” I put my cutlery down because I’m done with my lamb—the evening has taken that kind of turn.
“Because I’m already seeing her.”
“And that means none of your friends are allowed to see her?” I straighten my back.
“I think so. There must be some sort of code.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure there’s a code of ethics, but I’m also pretty sure there would be no mention of friends seeing the same therapist. How could there ever be enough of them if not?”
Hera leans back. “It would make me feel uncomfortable, I guess.”
I pause. Hera has polished off most of her dish. “I have to respect that, then.”
“I can ask Jill for a recommendation.”
I nod while I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “So, can I pick you up on Thursday then?”
Hera doesn’t say anything, just nods her confirmation.
I refill our wine glasses—she hasn’t said anything about driving herself home tonight so she must trust certain taxi drivers’ abilities—and hold mine up to her the way she did at the beginning of the evening. “Friends,” I repeat her words, although, to me, at this stage of the night, they have a very different meaning.
“Friends,” Hera says, and clinks the rim of her glass against mine. “The kind you see on those silly TV shows, you know, who go to art galleries together.” Out of nowhere, she sends me a wink that, if I hadn’t been seated, would knock me to my knees.
Chapter Twenty
Hera
Jill sits there with a slight smile. I haven’t even said anything apart from hello. I’m still not sure why I mentioned her to Katherine, why I divulged that particular piece of very private information about myself. I know very well that these days it’s almost trendy to discuss one’s mental health issues—like a badge of honor—but I’m not in the habit of discussing this part of my life.
“I’m waiting for you to start,” Jill says. “I sense you may have a thing or two to talk about. Something exciting.”
I shake my head. When I saw my sister yesterday, a woman I’ve known my entire life, she didn’t bat an eyelid. She just chattered away like always, not noticing anything different about my demeanor. Or maybe I’ve gotten too used to hiding my inner life from her.
Jill picks up on the slightest change in me instantly, though, and it’s a comforting as well as disturbing thought.
I’m not one to launch straight into a conversation about my feelings, however. I need my engine to rev up, my lips to form a few unrevealing words first. “It’s been an interesting week.”
Jill nods and gives me time to continue. Her office is not a place for verbal fireworks—which is probably one of the reasons I’ve kept on coming here for so long.
“I’ve, um, agreed to work on Katherine’s kitchen.”
“That does sound interesting.” Jill narrows her eyes.
“I still have a while to go on my current job, though, but…” My engine seems all revved up already. I haven’t been to the Pink Bean all week, even though I really wanted to go. But Katherine must have told Rocco about asking me to the art gallery tomorrow and I know what Rocco’s like. I couldn’t face his inquisitive looks, not quite yet. “I went to her home. She invited me to dinner and then…” I pause to collect myself, as though I still have trouble believing any of this myself. “She asked me to this art thing tomorrow night, even though I made it very clear I’m not looking for, well, you know, anything like that. Anything she might be offering.” I’m slightly out of breath after pushing all these words from my mouth too quickly.
“And what do you think she might be offering?” Jill asks.
“For some reason I fail to understand, I think she might be… interested in me.”
“And you’re not interested in her?” There’s that smile again, more defiant this time. As though she already knows the very thing about me that I’m not willing to acknowledge myself.
“I like her and I think I made it clear we can be friends, but no, I’m not really interested in anyone. I can’t be.”
“Even tho
ugh you clearly are very interested in her.” Jill draws up her eyebrows.
“As a friend. Yes. I mean it was nice to be in her company. She’s very easy to talk to.” And easy to look at, I add in my head.
“As a friend,” Jill repeats my words.
“I know what you’re thinking.” I may as well call her bluff. “Just like you always assume you know what I’m thinking.” The smile I send her isn’t half as assured as the one she keeps shooting in my direction. “Yes, I like her. I admit it, but I certainly did my best to not give her the wrong idea about me. You know that I’m not up to a relationship, and that’s regardless of the fact that Katherine used to be a call girl.”
“Let me ask you this then.” Jill rests her elbows on her knees. “Do you think you deserve credit for wanting to be friends with her?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Of course not.”
“Since you just very boldly claimed to know what I’m thinking, do you mind if I tell you what I am actually thinking? Or would you like to tell me first?” Her smile has softened.
“Go ahead.”
“You’re different today from any time I’ve ever seen you in all the years you’ve been coming here. There’s a lightness to you that you just can’t hide, no matter how much you’d like to.”
“I haven’t made a new friend in a while,” I say matter-of-factly but, as I say it, it’s as though I can feel the lightness Jill just talked about glowing inside me.
Jill nods. “Tell me about the art gallery thing then.” Jill points at the abstract painting—that comforting blob of color—on the wall behind her. “I’m quite interested in all things art.”
“Katherine’s friend Liz and her partner Jessica own an art gallery somewhere in Potts Point. They’re showing art by one of the baristas who works in the Pink Bean coffee shop in Darlinghurst.”
“Would this be the Griffith-Porter gallery?” Jill sits up a little straighter.
“I think so, yes.”
“I go to all their openings. I love the work they exhibit. It’s always right up my alley and surprisingly affordable, considering Jessica’s pedigree.”
Jill has lost me and… did she just infer that she might be going to the same event? “Do you mean you’ll be there tomorrow?”
“I had planned to go, barring any emergencies. I usually don’t work on Thursday evenings.”
I shuffle nervously in my seat.
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” Jill asks.
I purse my lips. “I think it’s logical that it would. I’ll be there with Katherine and I’d feel… watched.”
“Sydney is a big city, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes run into clients in social situations. Don’t worry about it. I’m very discreet.”
“I actually told Katherine about you.”
Jill draws her eyebrows all the way up. “You did?”
“It came up in conversation.”
“You must really like her then.”
“Actually… I was meant to ask you for a recommendation. I think Katherine might be looking for a therapist.”
“And you didn’t feel comfortable referring her to me?” She nods. “I get that.” She pauses. “I’ll email you some names.”
“Thanks.” Now that I know Jill will be there tomorrow, my gut instinct is to cancel the whole ordeal. I have no interest in over-priced paintings and ninety-nine percent of the art I’ve ever seen has confounded me more than garnered any of my genuine attention.
“Please don’t cancel your date with Katherine because I’ll be there,” Jill says quite sternly. “You now know beforehand so it won’t come as a surprise.”
“How does it work when you run into clients?”
“It depends. Some people don’t acknowledge me at all, with some I just exchange a knowing glance. Others may even introduce me as their therapist, while most seem comfortable referring to me as an old friend. It’s never really a big deal.”
I sigh. “Maybe not to you.”
“I can’t make you promise me anything, Hera, but I urge you to not make a problem out of this.” She locks her gaze on mine. “Cultivate your friendship with Katherine. It’ll be so good for you.”
I find it impossible to hold her gaze for very long because, even though my brain is telling me I should absolutely not go, my heart knows that Jill is right. Getting to know Katherine has already been better for me than I could ever have imagined.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kat
When I ring Hera’s bell, I can’t help but wonder what she’ll be wearing. She did put on a shirt for the Pink Bean opening, but maybe her professional pride played a part in that.
Her house is in Bronte and looks immaculate from the outside, with flower pots gracing the window sills.
When the front door swings open I say, “Your carriage has arrived, my lady.”
Hera grins at me, then looks over my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re taking me somewhere in that white thing over there.” She shakes her head.
Before I reply I take in her attire. Not only has she donned the same kind of pristine white shirt that she wore at the Pink Bean opening, but she’s wearing a light gray blazer over it.
“I thought red was more your color,” Hera says. “But here you are, with a white car and a blue, what do you call it...” She points at my jumpsuit.
“I like all the colors of the rainbow.”
Hera nods. “Have you eaten?” she asks.
“Do I look like a woman who forgets to eat?” I bring my hands to my hips.
Her cheeks turn pink. “I—I meant, do you want to come in or head off straight away?”
“I’d love to come in.” I pause for a moment. “How did you know the white car was mine?”
“I know the cars in my street. None of them are white.” She steps back to let me into a narrow hallway.
Hera opens the first door on the right and ushers me into the living room. I take in the wooden cabinets along the wall, the worn leather sofa and matching armchairs that stand upon a thick patchwork carpet. The room is decidedly small—especially compared to my open plan home—but it somehow feels cozy, rather than cramped. Like you’d want to curl up in the sofa with a mug of cocoa and a book, and forget about the outside world. I imagine it served as a safe haven for Hera after her partner died.
“You have a lovely home,” I say as my gaze settles on her.
“Do you want to see my kitchen for inspiration?” She grins at me.
I want to see everything, I want to say, but don’t.
“Would you like some water?” she asks and gestures at the sofa. “Sit for a second. I’d like to, uh, discuss something with you before we leave.”
I settle in one of the armchairs and wait for Hera to return with a glass of water for the designated driver.
“Don’t freak out,” she says, after she has sat down in the chair opposite mine. “But Jill, my therapist, is going to be there tonight.”
“Really?” I tilt my head and, just in time, refrain from making a joke that might not be received very well.
“It’s a coincidence. I didn’t ask her to come or anything.” Hera gives a nervous chuckle that is very unlike her.
“Why would you?”
“I’m just a little bit annoyed by it.”
I can’t help a smile from spreading to my lips. “Because you talked about me with her? And now there’s a good chance she’ll meet me?”
Hera nods.
For a woman who has been on her guard since we met, she can be surprisingly open about things. I doubt she realizes what kind of signals she’s been sending me. Whether she’s aware or not, I’m receiving them loud and clear.
“Would this evening be more comfortable for you if I let you drive?” I give her my warmest smile.
She smiles back. Her eyes sparkle at me. “No way, I want to see you in action. If I don’t like it, I’ll just take a taxi back.”
“I promised you’d be home before ten an
d I’m a girl who keeps her promises.” I narrow my eyes. “Always.”
“Let’s be on our way then.” Hera rises. “If you can talk and drive at the same time, maybe you can tell me some things I really need to know about art on the way.”
“It’s not really about the art,” I whisper in Hera’s ear. “It’s more like a social gathering, but don’t tell Liz I said that.”
“I actually really like this.” We’re standing in front of a dreamlike depiction of the Sydney Opera House. “Don’t ask me to explain why, but it speaks to me.”
“You don’t need to explain. And I agree, these are really good.”
“Hello stranger.” I feel an arm on my shoulder.
“Caitlin.” I turn to her. “You remember Hera? Rocco’s aunt?”
“Yes, of course. Lovely to see you again.” Hera flinches a little as Caitlin kisses her on the cheek. “I have a bone to pick with you, Kat. I get the feeling you’ve been dodging my calls.”
“I asked Liz to give you my message. Clearly you haven’t received it.”
“I have, but I’ve thought of a different angle.” She looks over at Hera. “I don’t want to monopolize you tonight, but if I come over to the Pink Bean next week, do you think we can talk?”
“A different angle?”
Caitlin gives a slight nod. “I’ll tell you all about it over one of your delicious coffees. Let’s say Monday?”
A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes. Caitlin and Hera both grab one while I ask for a glass of water.
“Sure. Monday it is.”
“I’ve bought two already.” Caitlin nods at the paintings. “They’re stunning.” She cocks up her eyebrows. “Obviously I’ve known for a while that many a barista has a hidden talent.”
“Speaking of,” I ask. “Where’s Jo?”
“At a gig.” Someone comes along who taps Caitlin on the shoulder and she excuses herself.
“My sister said to refer Caitlin to her if she’s so desperate for an interviewee,” Hera says with a smirk on her face.
