‘Jamie! I know we said coffee, but I need a drink,’ said a man I could only assume was Tim, as he cast a hand to his lined forehead, desperation in his eyes, before proceeding to stroke his other through his long grey hair down to his well-kept beard. I looked down at my black jeans and white shirt, comparing them with his leather trousers, asymmetrical ripped T-shirt and thick-rimmed glasses. He was so much to look at.
‘Well that’s what we’re here for,’ Jamie said as she turned to me. ‘This is Jess.’ She ushered me to take a step forward but Tim was already striding with purpose towards the door from which he had entered. We followed into a people-free gallery space, with colourful abstract shapes hanging from ceiling to skirting board. Their beauty caught in my throat as we passed them, turning the corner towards a small meeting room in the back. Mismatched furniture filled the room, each piece a work of art in itself. I pulled out a white iron chair, its delicate patterns reminiscent of lace. Tim went to the tall wooden cabinet, gorgeous in its archaism, bending down to retrieve a bottle of bubbles that looked almost as old.
‘Oh, Tim, you don’t need to do that.’ Jamie raised a hand in polite objection. ‘We’ll be fine with a coffee, won’t we, Jess?’
I nodded, mute.
‘No, I need this,’ Tim said dramatically. He filled three flutes, two mid-way, the last one right to the top. Jamie and I accepted the glasses that were half full.
‘Bad day?’ Jamie asked.
‘You have no idea.’ Tim took a gulp, shaking the question away but clearly longing to go on.
‘Have you heard from him?’ Jamie took a cautious sip, seemingly reluctant to lose control. I looked between them, assuming that him must be Carlo, Tim’s ex-partner.
‘Have I, fuck.’ Tim rolled his eyes, taking another swig. ‘Probably sunning himself in the tropics, laughing into his Long Island about leaving me in the lurch.’
Jamie shifted in her seat as she tried to maintain her smile, clearly not comfortable with conflict. I guess even her brief disagreements with Sam, simmering under her surface, had told me that.
‘Could you not just have cancelled the contracts this time, called off the exhibition?’ Jamie tried to reason, as I studied the bubbles rising in my glass. Now didn’t seem like a great time to ask for a favour. But what choice did I have? Jobs wouldn’t be coming up until summer. Sydney was on lock-down. Sam had said so. And both of them wanted me to offer; at least I could solve someone’s problem whilst trying to solve my own. I guess getting a place like CreateSpace on my CV wouldn’t hurt either.
‘What? And let Leo Todd, CreateSpace and the Australian public down?’ He flung a large hand to his forehead with a flourish. And let Carlo think I can’t do this alone? I could read between Tim’s worry lines, partially because I knew the impress-my-ex routine too well. And did he just say Leo Todd? I searched my mind to place the name before recalling the artist who had started his career as my peer – applying to the same damn competition – before rocketing past my wildest dreams. I looked at Tim, desperately not wanting to work here, but feeling pretty desperate myself.
‘The Australian public?’ Jamie repeated. ‘I know Leo’s work is great and all, but I think the public will have lots of other things to worry themselves about.’ Spoken like a true doctor. I knew those lines well.
‘I think Leo’s work is great,’ I said over the rim of my glass, although no one had asked me. I looked at Tim and held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask me why or what my favourite piece of Leo’s was. Other than his application piece way back when, my jealousy had limited my knowledge of him to the fact that he was a British artist with an international flair. Thankfully for me, he had chosen to keep his identity private so I’d never had to see his silly smug face. No doubt wanting ‘the public’ to give him a backstory better than the truth: he was born posh, privileged and with a London postcode. I’d naively tried to avoid his type even at Art Today. Now I wanted to bloody mount his masterpieces. I couldn’t think of anything worse – other than, perhaps, Sam finding out what a screw-up I’d lied my way out of being.
‘I just need a spare pair of hands, someone to oversee the installation of the pieces, to hold my flipping clipboard, for Christ’s sake,’ Tim went on, choosing to completely ignore Jamie’s suggestions and my attempts to impress him. I sat on one hand, the other shaking as I lifted my glass to my lips, looking for an out, any other way. ‘Jesus, I’d even take a day, two, pay cash in hand, offer free booze.’
Jamie looked at me, her wide eyes willing me to bite.
‘I could do it,’ I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. What was I doing?
‘Could you?’ Tim asked, both hands now resting on his beard-framed lips, rimmed eyes widening with glee.
‘Oh, Jess, that would be amazing!’ Jamie added, beaming from ear to ear.
‘Just for a couple of weeks,’ I added.
‘That’s when Jess starts her new job,’ Jamie said, obviously thrilled to be helping Tim out. Please stop, my eyes willed her to steer clear of the details. But why would she? She had no reason to doubt them. I looked to Tim, taking another gulp of his champagne. Maybe he wouldn’t even ask. ‘At Art Today,’ Jamie added, with excitement. Oh crap. I forced myself to smile and nod.
‘You’re at Art Today?’ Tim gasped. I remained silent, reluctant to incriminate myself further than I already had. I was, I had been. For years. If Tim checked with the magazine, I could just laugh away the crossed wires, save my standing in a world I didn’t even want to be a part of any more. ‘I’ll take you for as long as you’ve got,’ he continued, clearly impressed by my magnified credentials. He was so desperate, I’m sure he wouldn’t even have cared if he did know the truth. ‘Just to tide me over, any time you have to give, really.’
I could say exactly the same. Just for a week or so. Just to tide me over. Then I’d get a real job – ‘an offer I couldn’t refuse’ – and slowly wriggle free of the bind I’d got myself in.
‘Great!’ Jamie said, a problem-solver just like Sam; at least they had one thing in common.
‘Great,’ I said with caution.
‘Can you start tomorrow?’ he asked, although it didn’t sound like a question. I mirrored his smile as best I could, nodding. ‘Thank you, Jamie-boo,’ he near enough sang, rising to his feet to kiss her on both cheeks before turning to leave the room. ‘Who needs Carlo?’ he muttered as he started to lead us back through the gallery, a spring in his step.
‘Thank you,’ Jamie said to me, as we followed Tim. She paused by one of the canvases. It was narrow but stretched from floor to ceiling, covered in orange sweeps of every shade broken by jagged black lines stroking every which way: a burning beanstalk beckoning us somewhere magical. ‘It’s so good of you to use your two weeks off to help Tim out.’
‘It’s the least I could do,’ I said. Despite my better judgement, I felt a little accomplished at having somehow got myself two weeks’ worth of work at CreateSpace. My twenty-year-old self would be buzzing. Now, my late-twenties self was just trying to keep up.
‘No seriously,’ she said. ‘It’s so good of you to give up your precious time off.’ Turned out time wasn’t that precious when you had little to fill it with. I studied her profile, testing her tone for hints of sweetness or sarcasm.