Page 7 of We're Just Friends
“I’m Jake, and this is my friend Hillard.” I started to pull my wallet out.
“Nice to meet you, Jake,” Crystal purred, hoping I’d give her another chance. “In a rush to be somewhere?”
I paused, giving her that one bit of attention she was craving. Her long, fake eyelashes had clumps of mascara on them, and her plastic surgeon had given her way too many lip injections. She practically looked like a duck. I knew focusing in on those types of women that hard was definitely not something you wanted to do if you were thinking about taking one home, but I had no intention, and her personality had tripped me up hard.
“I just had a long day at work and need to get to bed." I looked over at Hillard. "I’ll catch up with you when I get back, man.”
“You sure you don’t wanna stay,” he asked as Brandi made herself more comfortable in his lap.
“Yeah,” I said, throwing a twenty on the table.
Realizing that I really wasn’t interested, Crystal turned her chair toward Hillard, and he winked at her. She immediately got up and sat on the other side of his lap.
“More for me then,” he replied as both ladies giggled and tilted their heads back. The last image I had of them was both sets of breasts pushed up against his chest, while he ordered yet another pint of Guinness.
Hillard was definitely taking both of them back to his house later on.
I walked outside into the chilly dark night. My driver, Mick, was waiting for me directly in front of the bar. Upon seeing me, he got out and opened the passenger’s door. I slid inside and rested my head against the leather headrest.
“Where to, sir?” Mick adjusted his mirror as he climbed in and made eye contact with me.
“Just take me home,” I replied in a quiet and tired voice.
We drove through the streets of the city, up and down the hills of San Diego. The place was lively as it usually was at night, packed with both locals and tourists looking to have a good time. I could hear the bursts of music coming from the different bars as we passed.
San Diego was a beautiful city with lots of history and, of course, the world-renowned San Diego Zoo. When I first moved here soon after college, I would walk the city for hours in the perfect climate, just to clear my mind. Over time, though, I often wondered what it’d be like to just walk or bike to work, but with my long hours, I was lucky I could even make it home without falling asleep in the car.
My job, social life, and the city were wearing me down. I was financially successful, but emotionally my tank was running on empty. I desperately needed a vacation.
My condo was on the very top floor of a high-rise building in the center of the city. There were floor to ceiling windows in every room, giving me one of the best views you could find. As I walked in, the sound of the door shutting behind me set me at ease. I tossed my keys in the bowl in my foyer and immediately began disrobing as I headed toward the shower. I washed away the grease, the hot sauce, and the growing dislike of the Crystals and Brandi's of the world.
After washing down some antacids with seltzer water, I climbed into bed and turned on the television. Instead of watching the news like I usually did, I found myself staring out the window and into the night.
After growing up in a small town like River Valley, I still found it amazing how so many people in the city never closed their shades. It was as though everyone wanted to watch everyone else while still being secretive and shady, which was a bit hypocritical. I was really starting to wonder just how truly happy I was in life. Or had I tricked myself into thinking I was?
I rolled over on my side and closed my eyes, allowing my body to sink into the mattress. As I started to fall asleep, I thought about how Hillard was probably entertaining those two blondes at his place by that point. He didn't waste any time. I probably would have had more fun with the help of some bourbon to numb my thoughts, but I still didn’t regret my decision. Things felt like they were changing, and I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad one.
3
Julianna
Iwalked into the art gallery wearing my favorite pair of Prada loafers, black khakis, and a black and red Ralph Lauren blouse. My hair was swept up into a bun, which I kept professional and not messy. I also made sure that my makeup was on point without being overdramatic, reminding myself I was going to work, not to a bar. As the curator for the gallery, in lively Sacramento, I had to look very put together and polished.
This evening was one of our big art showings, featuring works from artist Gregory Williams. It was going to be a long day filled with art hangings, rearranging, prop handling, and getting the gallery ready in general for the crowd. There were bottles of champagne to be stacked, flowers to be placed, and lots of cleaning to do. The owner of the gallery was very particular. The entire place glowed, covered in a white sheen with clean-cut lines, and nothing to pull your eyes away from the art except for the hand poured letter T in the center of the floor. T was for Telltale, the name of the gallery.
“There you are,” the owner, Helen, said as I walked toward her down the main hall to the offices. “I need you to bring up these paintings from the storage room as soon as possible. Come to my office after you’re finished, and we’ll discuss what needs to be done next.”
I followed Helen down into the storage room and took note of the pieces she was speaking about. Truth be told, I had been doing this job for years and knew exactly what needed to be done. Helen was a bit neurotic, though when it came to big openings. She panicked and usually wasn't much help, staying in her office checking and rechecking the schedule to makes sure everthing was going as planned. But I appreciated her. She worked with my daughter's schedule when the divorce started and even offered to have some of her big Russian friends, "take care of it for me." I would have laughed, but there was something about the way she said it that made me think she was dead serious.
As usual, I was in awe of the art that was chosen, even though I had a hand in choosing it. All of Gregory's pieces were stunning, but there were a select few that really stood out to me. Those were the ones I wanted to make the centerpieces of the show. I was lucky with that one; usually, artists came in with a specific way they needed the work to be hung, making it all part of the show, but not Gregory. He trusted in our expertise.
I pulled the cart around and began to slide the pieces into their separate racks for transport out to the floor. As I carefully slid one of the pieces on and shut the small latch, the sound of footsteps behind me brought me pause. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a silhouette in the doorway. I stopped and turned, putting my signature Telltale smile on. "Hello."
The man was tall and slender. He was wearing a pair of straight legs black denim jeans with an untucked white oxford shirt, unbuttoned three buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There were small chips of paint speckled here and there over his tattoo-covered arms.
“I’m Gregory,” he said, quickly putting out his hand. “They told me I could find you here with my paintings.”
I immediately stuck my hand out and sized him up, but not too obviously. “Yes, I’m Julianna, the curator for your show. You’re extremely talented, Mr. Williams. I’m sure these paintings will do very well tonight at your opening.”
