It was surreal to stand in the crowded and cordoned off area of the foyer at the hotel and be surrounded by things I’d created with my own bare hands. Some I’d formed idly, some carried memories and impressions of all my pent up emotion.
After being greeted by Allison, the events coordinator and then Mira, the curator from Picture This who had offered to handle any transactions for the evening, I was introduced to the arts and culture editor for a local newspaper. Then a few minutes after that, a very nice lady handed me a thick business card and told me she was from Moss & Magnolia Magazine in Charleston and would love to do a feature on me. I was buzzing, knowing what a high-end magazine it was, showcasing the best of the luxury southern style living. I think I nodded mutely at her.
“Did I totally fluff that?” I asked Jazz as we moved on.
Jazz assured me I’d been sweet and charming. After a few more introductions and tense smiles at cameras, I pulled Jazz over to the middle of the room, to the calm area in the eye of the storm, to breathe. The music from the string quartet in the corner was barely noticeable under the hive of conversation bouncing off the polished floors.
My wave sculpture, a monument to the lowest point in my relationship with Jack, sat under a spotlight that made the single piece of red sea glass glow. I felt connected to it about as strongly as I felt it was completely foreign to me. Something I didn’t recognize but knew intimately. Very disconcerting.
“Wow,” Jazz said. “It was always beautiful, but seeing it here on display, under the spotlight, makes it just … wow. And why won’t you sell it again?” She snatched two toothpicks with something delicious smelling on the end from a passing waiter and handed one to me.
“It’s all about Jack. It’d feel weird to have it owned by someone else.”
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find Tom Price had slunk up behind us. “Hello again,” he purred, pushing his glasses up between his eyes.
A shudder ran through me, and I stared, speechless.
Really?
“Jessica Fraser,” Jazz stuck out her hand. I quickly slapped it down without thinking. Tom Price raised his eyebrows, and I could imagine Jazz was doing the same.
“Tom Price,” he said to her.
“How did you know I was here?” I finally managed.
“Oh, little orphan Keri Annie, your life is public now. Or is this artistic endeavor of yours just a hobby? Hmm?”
I swallowed.
“I just came to let Keri Ann know,” he looked at Jazz, then back at me, his brown eyes unblinking, “that the story dropped tonight.”
I heard Jazz practically growl next to me.
“But you should have some time to enjoy your evening, your success, or what have you. Where is Jack, my boy, anyway?”
“You mean you hoped he’d be here so you could get some updated pictures of them together?” Jazz snapped.
“Well, yes. I didn’t come for the unimaginative finger food,” he said twiddling a toothpick between a fat thumb and forefinger. “But I’ll settle for a picture of just Keri Ann. I would have thought he’d be here getting you some additional exposure. Although I did overhear someone saying a New York critic is here. A friendly phone call from Jack perhaps, calling in a favor for his girlfriend?”
“Well, that’s blatantly untrue.” Jazz narrowed her eyes at him.
“Does that matter though, really?” Tom Price canted his head and drew the last word out like a piece of slime.
My face scorched with impotent frustration.
“But I wish you luck, Keri Ann. Truly. Excuse me.” He turned and moved slowly through the throng, for all appearances like a sweet gentle man admiring some art.
“He really is despicable,” I said quietly, my fingers trembling.
“Let’s get you some champagne and calm those nerves.”
“Do you think it’s true?” I asked Jazz. “Do you think Jack pulled favors to get me some press?”
“Honestly?” she handed me a glass. “No. I think the gallery did or word of mouth.” Jazz paused. “But if he did, I wouldn’t blame him. I’d do the same for you if I could. I love you, and I want you to succeed. If it was at all within my power to show your talent to the entire world, I would.” She looked at me seriously. “And if it was within my power, and you didn’t let me do that for you, I would be really hurt … I’d feel like you didn’t value me.”
I swallowed, thickly, raising my glass for a calming sip. The champagne tasted like sand as it passed my thudding heart and splashed into my belly. “I should eat something more substantial,” was all I said.