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“Oh but I am worried about it,” I mutter too low so he doesn’t hear me. I glance at him sideways, lean slightly toward him to take a sniff of him. He smells like Jack, aftershave, soap, normal. “Looks like you had quite a time at the glass museum the other day.” He raises his eyebrows, but I see a patch of crimson on the side of his neck, small, pale at first, then quickly turning darker.
“The show looks great, Laura,” he says. The patch fades.
“And you must be Jack,” Summer’s sweet voice says from behind us. She’s wearing a backless black dress so short she’s tugging at it with her free hand, with enough décolletage to glimpse the mound of her breasts and a hint of the lacy edge of a black bra. And it’s funny, but I completely forgot that I’d asked her to flirt with Jack. For a moment, I consider pulling her aside and asking her not to do it, but then I think, screw it.
“This is Summer, my assistant,” I say.
“I think that you, sir, need a personal tour,” Summer says lightly. Jack chuckles and looks at me.
“All part of the service,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. I am grateful that she remembered, I won’t lie. The most important person in my life is Charlie, and I’m never giving her up, and certainly not for Bronwyn—selfish, narcissist Bronwyn who doesn’t even know her own daughter’s favorite color, can’t remember how old she is, has no idea her little girl knows all the planets by heart and used to have a pet caterpillar called Mr. Fluffles that roamed happily in our backyard. The only person Bronwyn is interested in, is Bronwyn. And right now the only person that can help me get Bronwyn’s sticky claws off my family is Summer, and when I turn to Bronwyn, I see that her perfect face is starting to slide down around her mouth, like melting wax.
So that’s nice.
SEVENTEEN
I give a speech that is nothing like the one I’ve prepared and won’t remember two hours from now, and declare the show official open. People clap. I’m so proud I’m bursting. I watch people studying every piece, standing back, discussing every work. My friend Sarah is here, lovely Sarah who is an assistant curator at the Art Museum. I take her through my own mini guided tour, my favorite highlights sort of thing, skipping past Summer’s photograph, and she loves the show. At one point I catch sight of Bronwyn—I say catch sight as if it was an accident when, in fact, I can’t peel my eyes off her—staring at Jack and Summer who by now have meandered down the gallery, Summer with her arm hooked into his in a way that is strangely intimate.
Gavin is back this evening taking photographs for our social media pages—it should have been Summer, she’s the better photographer, but Gavin wanted to be here, and he needs the money—he gets Summer to pose with Jack, and if I’d set this up, I couldn’t have done a better job. I watch Summer playing it up for the camera, her arm still locked with Jack’s and her other hand on her waist. Jack looks uncomfortable, and for a moment I feel sorry for him but the look on Bronwyn’s face? Priceless. It’s not even a look. More like a rotting fruit, her whole face falling inward, no longer supported by the liquified flesh beneath that once taut skin. She taps Charlie’s shoulder quickly and even though she is too far for me to hear, I can make out the words on her lips:Let’s go.
I smile to myself. Can this really be mission accomplished? Can I celebrate? Grab a flute of champagne for myself and go all out?
I make excuses to go and say goodbye to Charlie when Adrian Kurilak from theSeattle Timeswalks in. Adrian who I’d invited to review the show, along with other reviewers, but I never expected to turn up. I glance back at Bronwyn and Charlie and see that they are walking to the door. I catch Summer’s elbow on my way through the crowd and whisper that Adrian Kurilak is here, very important reviewer, could she go and talk to him? Take him through the show? And please tell him I’ll be there in a minute.
“Of course,” she says, and puts a hand on Jack’s arm. “Thank you for talking with me. I’ll see you soon.”
Jack nods, smiles like an idiot, blushes, then notices me.
“Bronwyn and Charlie are leaving.” I point them out. “I’ll just go and say goodbye.”
He glances in Summer’s direction who is now deep in conversation with Kurilak. “I should go too, then.”
“Why?” I ask. “You can stay a while longer, can’t you? Stay till the end, we’ll go home together.”
He makes a show of thinking about it, but then he says no, he should drive them back. I pout, he kisses the side of my head and we walk to where Bronwyn and Charlie are standing.
“You’re leaving already?” I say to Bronwyn, bending down to hug Charlie.
“Yes. Charlotte is bored, Jack is obviously busy…I thought I’d take Charlotte to the movies instead.”
“Oh? Isn’t it a bit late?” I ask.
“Not forHarry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It’s on at seven at the Regal Meridian. In 4D! Whatever that means. We can pick up something to eat on the way, okay Charlotte?”
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should let it go, but I don’t. “Okay, I mean, it’s her birthday party tomorrow, the movie is two and a half hours, isn’t it?” I lean forward. “Don’t you think she’s a little young for that one? We love readingHarry Potterbut the later films? They’re a little dark and she’s so impressionable…”
She tilts her head at me, smiles. “I don’t know what’s wrong with my hearing, but I could have sworn you were giving me advice about what movies I can take my daughter to.”
“I want to seeHarry Potter!” Charlie whines.
“I know, honey, but…” I lean closer again so I can keep my voice low. “I’m sorry, Bronwyn. I didn’t mean to…I just think it’s a little scary for her, right now. And it’s her birthday party tomorrow and she should get a good night’s sleep.”
Her face breaks into a wide smile. “You do understand it’s only Harry Potter, don’t you? You couldn’t possibly object to me takingmychild on a special mother-daughter evening out, surely! That would be…not very nice of you.” She’s loud enough that a hush has descended around us.
“It’s not that,” I whisper.
“Oh, good! For a moment, I thought you might be upset that I’m taking my daughter to the movies. Anybody would think you were jealous of our special mother-daughter bond!” She laughs. “Surely not. After all, I’ve made a big effort to be kind and inclusive and get on with you. Is this about Jack? Because I really don’t know what else I could possibly do to make you feel comfortable about my close relationship with Jack. We’re just trying to be good co-parents, Laura. That’s all.” She smiles, puts her hand on my forearm. “Are you all right? You look angry. Have I said the wrong thing?”
I’m dying. By now this is a performance for everyone’s benefit and judging from the silence in the room and the glances people are throwing at each other, it’s a hit.
