Time-Lapse by J.B. Heller
Chapter Twenty-One
Bianca Markham strollsinto the gallery like she owns the place, examining the placement of each piece. I watch her carefully, trying to gauge 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 favorites,” 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 across 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. It’s more about this place bringing 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 had gotten the sense that 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 ass for a couple of days to keep him happy”—I cringe. Being a kiss-ass 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 smile 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 I show Bianca around and receive her approval of the layout, 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, I find my brother waiting for me. He smiles when he sees me. “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 how I’m going to come up with extra tickets.”
He takes the bait and sighs. “You’re going to make me kiss your ass, aren’t you?”
Shrugging, 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 drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Dress nice. Like, in-a-suit nice!” I call after him.
Someone is poundingon my door. And I’m in no shape to answer it. We’ve only been here for… maybe three hours, and I’ve already cleaned out the mini bar and started on the bottle of gin I had room service deliver.
The pounding continues. “If you don’t open this door right now, I’m letting myself in!” Bee calls.
I should have known it would be her, but in my current state, thinking coherently isn’t exactly my forte.
Seconds later, she comes stomping into the living area where I’m presently sprawled across the plush gray couch. Her eyes narrow dangerously. “You’re drunk?” she asks, her tone full of disappointment and accusation.
I grin and nod. “Yep.” The nodding was a bad idea. Now my head is spinning. Or is it the room that’s spinning?
Next thing I know, Bee is in my face, clicking her fingers right in front of my nose. My eyes cross, trying to focus on them.
“Oh my God, you’re fully tanked. How did you get this drunk so quickly? Did you start drinking as soon as we got here?” she asks.
Again, I grin and nod. “Yep.” Damn it. I shouldn’t have nodded again. I frown as everything shifts around me and my stomach clenches.
Bianca’s lip lifts in disgust. “Really, Huxley? Since when do you drink? In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been drunk, what, three times? And that was in the beginning. You haven’t touched a drop in years. What are you doing?”
She’s talking too much. I lift my hand and press my pointer finger to her lips. Well, I was aiming for her lips, but I get her nose. Close enough. “Shhh,” I say.
Then, I start thinking about the word ‘shhh’. Is ‘shhh’ even a word? It’s more like a sound than a word.
My pondering is interrupted by Bianca shoving my hand away from her face. “Jesus, you can’t go anywhere like this. I was going to take you to get a decent suit for tomorrow night, but I’ll just do it myself.”
I scrunch my nose. “A suit? What for?” I’ve never worn a suit in my life.
With her hands on her hips, Bee looks down at me. “You are wearing a suit tomorrow night, and you’re not going to argue with me about it. Understand?”
I attempt to give her attitude right back to her and roll my eyes. Bad idea. My stomach curls again, but I swallow it down. “Whatever. You’re not my mom. You can’t make me.”
I’m proud of my comeback until a wave of anguish washes over me. My mom never made me do anything. She didn’t care enough to even try being a mother. This time, when my stomach rebels, I don’t have the strength to stop it. I jump to my feet and dash to the nearest sink—the kitchen—and empty the contents of my stomach.
The smell of rancid alcohol hits my nostrils, and another wave of nausea washes through me. I smell like him after a binge. The knowledge that I’m behaving like him, turning to drink instead of dealing with my emotions, causes my stomach to revolt again.
Resting my head against the sink, I take a few deep breaths to regain my bearings.
“Feel better, big guy?” Bee asks from somewhere behind me.
“Not really,” I tell her. “I feel even worse, actually.” And I’m not referring to all the alcohol I’ve consumed this afternoon.
She sighs loudly enough for me to hear her then says, “Well, I’m going to get you a suit. You should have a shower and sleep it off. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, she leaves me hunched over the sink.
When I think I’ve regained my equilibrium enough, I straighten and turn on the tap to wash away the vomit coating the sides of the stainless-steel sink. Then, I take Bee’s advice and head for the shower.
I crank the hot water in the luxurious black-and-gray marble shower and step in under the spray. The pressure is amazing, and I rest my forehead against the wall as the water cascades over my tense shoulders.
The shower is just what I need. It clears the fog that still lingered in my brain from throwing up. I need to sort my shit out, or I could end up turning into my father. And I’d rather die than be anything like him.
That’s all I’m sure of by the time I step out of the shower and wrap a heated towel around my waist. I need one of these towel warmers at my place. I think that every time I stay at one of these fancy hotels. So that’s two decisions made by the time I walk out of the bathroom.
I don’t bother putting clothes on when I get to the master bedroom. Instead, I flop down across the soft gunmetal-gray quilt atop the king-size bed and swiftly fall asleep.
