I looked at him and opened my mouth to speak but damn and blasted Aaron got there first.
“Not vacation. Moving,” Aaron answered, I heard gasps but worse, I felt a fierce electrical current whipping all around me and I knew what that meant. Aaron, somehow oblivious to the current (and the gasps), went on, “Which brings me to my next subjects. Taxes, health insurance, residency visas. I’m looking into them and I’ll get the information to you by the end of the week. I’m advising Crete, better weather and London is expensive, would be difficult for you on a fixed income, even yours. The exchange rate is certain death. Also, I’ll need to get into your storage locker so the auctioneers can have a look at your belongings and give you a quote for selling them.”
“Moving?” Ralphie butted in and I looked at him.
He was pale and I felt that hard, hot thing start forming in my chest again.
“Moving,” Aaron (again!) answered.
“You can’t… I don’t understand –” Ralphie stuttered.
“Ralphie, we’ll talk about it later,” I said quietly, trying to ignore the thing in my chest and the current in the air.
“Ralphie? Is this Ralph Mankowicz?” Aaron asked.
“Aaron, please, maybe we can go –” I tried damage control.
“Yes, I’m Ralph Mankowicz,” Ralphie answered, ignoring my effort at damage control.
“I have some paperwork for you to sign, son,” Aaron replied. “It’s in the car, I’ll just –”
“No!” I cut in, “Aaron, can we –” I started again but Ralphie interrupted me.
“Paperwork?”
“Yes, to sign over the gallery,” Aaron, ever informative, answered.
The air in the room was now heavy, tense and electric and I knew everyone was watching, listening and not liking what they heard.
Why, I will ask again, was everything in my life so… fucking… difficult?
“Sign over the gallery?” Ralphie repeated.
“Yes, to you and a Mr. Leon Simmons,” Aaron told him and his gaze came to me, heavy, wiry, white eyebrows raised in question. “Isn’t that right?”
I didn’t answer Aaron because Ralphie was looking at me, his eyes were wide, there was confusion written plain on his face, right alongside what looked an awful lot like hurt.
My heart squeezed.
“Ralphie, we’ll talk about this later,” I tried again, my voice quiet.
“Later? You want to talk about it later? You’re moving and signing over the gallery to Buddy and me and you want to talk about it later? What’s this all about?” Ralphie didn’t feel like letting me try, he felt like being dramatic (as usual) and angry (not as usual).
“Let’s go somewhere else –” I tried yet again.
“No, I want to know, right now, what this is all about,” Ralphie replied, arms crossing on his chest.
I swallowed then to get it over with I told him on a rush, “I’m giving you and Buddy the gallery, as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
He stared at me, face shocked. Then I watched as his eyes went hard.
I thought he’d be pleased.
He was absolutely not.
“You’re joking,” he breathed.
“No, I want you to know how much I appreciate everything… all that… just everything.”
“You could do that by not moving to fucking Greece,” he snapped back.
I blinked.
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t want your fucking gallery. I want you and not via e-mail from your new life on the Med. I want you here. Close. Where we can drink lemon drops and watch Veronica Mars.”
I couldn’t think what to say. I thought certain sure he’d love owning the gallery. He was good at what he did. The best. He’d be his own boss. He’d make loads more money.
He must not get it.
“Ralphie, I’m not sure you understand. I don’t just own the gallery, I own the building. You and Buddy will get it all. This is LoDo, prime real estate,” I informed him.
That’s when Ralphie leaned in and shouted, “Fuck the building!”
I winced.
Apparently he got it.
He just didn’t want it.
“Ralphie, please quiet down,” I whispered.
“I will not be quiet. I cannot believe you’re moving to Greece. That’s… that’s insane.”
Now hang on a second!
“It’s not insane,” I shot back.
“It is! Who moves to Greece? Do you know a single soul who’s moved to Greece?” He didn’t give me a chance to reply before he continued, “No? Me neither. No one moves to Greece. Goes there. Yes. Gets laid. Definitely. Drinks ouzo. Lots of it. Gets a sunburn. Of course! But you don’t move there!” He was still shouting. “And giving me a building? A building! Are you nuts?”
Seriously, this was getting right on my nerves!
Why wouldn’t anyone let me be nice?