Serial Reading: Just Like Suicide pt. 23

Sorry, looks like no contributors are set

[cont.]
Did he buy the necklace after someone told him about the tabloid photo or did he buy it after noticing that her response to him had changed? Seeing that photo had changed her. Gaining emotional distance, as Maggie would call it, mimicking the psychiatrist she’d seen regularly when she and Dennis first adopted her. The necklace was a clear indicator that he knew he had crossed a line.
Odessa, who is always early, pulled into her parking space behind the gallery nearly an hour late. She had to face it: the magic for her was over. It had completely unraveled. Love does have a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.
Really now. What’s love got to do with it? And then she laughed. She was framing their relationship in terms of pop lyrics. Oh leaping lords, her thought process was becoming as derivative and trite as his plots. She hardily laughed at herself. Well, she told herself as she unlocked the gallery, this really is his loss.
The day was about what they always were at the gallery. She looked at the backlog of photos of Azure, commenting on the cutest ones. Really, she needed to be kinder to Tiffani who was pregnant again, so she offered to help pay for Azure’s preschool or a nanny so Tiffani could prepare for the new arrival. The stocks Dennis had purchased were rebounding in value so she could afford it. Tiffani texted back that the assistance was very welcome since they were moving into a larger apartment at the beginning of August. Odessa immediately volunteered to fly over to help with the logistics. Much to Odessa’s surprise, Tiffani accepted the offer with a whole line of hearts mingled with exclamation marks. All of those money transfers and fluffy organic baby clothes and requests for vegetarian recipes finally reaped a reward of acceptance. Or maybe Tiffani was truly desperate. Whatever. It was good, regardless of the reason, since Jack would be pleased. And Azure was such a ham in the little videos. Cute as a button.
Lawrence texted every hour how he was looking forward to seeing her wearing the necklace. When would that be? Heavens, he never stopped. Odessa didn’t reply and refused to fixate on it so she went back into work mode, spending several hours returning calls, first to museum curators followed by those from artists. She contacted several collectors to alert them to pieces they might be interested in, sending pictures along as enticements. She called art consultants to follow up on their clients’ response to work. She did all of the usual tedious business things in her usual efficient way, but the camellias on the desk kept distracting her. She’d brought them back to the gallery, her way of taking Lawrence out of her private life. They were already starting to turn brown right along the edges, every casual touch and rub a pale bruise. Moving them around so much hadn’t helped. Tomorrow the browns will continue to spread, gradually obliterating the gentle pinks. So sad how short lived they are, how vulnerable they are to decay. They are so lovely, conjuring up so many memories, wonderful memories from a lovely childhood. Her paternal grandmother had planted camellias when she was a young bride – one dark red, one candy cane striped, one pink like these – all around the north side of the family home. When Odessa was little, she’d crawl to the back of the bushes and cut some of the flowers hidden back there to put into the cut crystal vase by the mirror in the entry way, always looking for a perfect flower to pin on her momma’s Sunday hat. Her momma was born and raised in Alabama, and camellias were the state flower. Every season her momma would remind her of that. Odessa, born and raised in Mississippi, didn’t even know the state flower. The camellia became her flower too. Just look at the soft pinks, the elegant velvet of the petals so easily bruised, the delicate aroma. She liked the fragility of the petals, the pristine way they curled open, so neatly arranged, revealing that explosion of yellow at the center. And she couldn’t grow them in LA. She tried. The heat and the drought killed them every time. She couldn’t bear to watch them slowly die.
Just before closing, Lawrence called “because you aren’t responding to my texts” and insisted that they meet for dinner. “Dress up,” he told her, “and wear the necklace.”
She did dress up but she kept the necklace in the box. When she walked into the restaurant, he stood up, ready to beam that charming smile of his. Seeing that his necklace was not around her neck, he frowned. His body posture literally sank. Her momma always said men ran around because conquest gave them the illusion of self confidence and self worth. For the first time, she saw him as a weak man. Despite herself, she felt sorry for him.
When she sat down at the table, she placed the box between them.
“We need to have a talk,” he said, but that stern look didn’t quite work with all the cosmetic surgery. He just looked constipated, bless his heart.
“Indeed we do.”
“I sense something has changed.” He paused and looked intently at her.
“You are a perceptive man.” She thanked the waiter for the glass of champagne and continued perusing the menu as she marshaled her emotions. “Have you looked at any of the tabloids recently?” she asked him, closing the menu and placing it next to the jewelry box.
“No. Why?”
“I leafed through a few of them while I was waiting in the line at the grocery store just before you left on your book tour. They had a photograph of you kissing your assistant. I think it was on page six.”
“I can explain that.
“I think the necklace explains it all.” She paused and tilted her head to one side, like a mother trying not to intimidate a shy child while offering criticism. “You are having an affair with this young woman and you think a necklace will encourage me to look the other way.”
“Odessa, it’s only sex. You are the one I love. You know that.”

Related Stories