Page 5 of Pride
They couldn’t be any worse than you and your wandering eyes, I wanted to say, but I just gave him a tight-lipped smile and turned to stare out of the window again.
Traffic in the city was heavy for a Friday night, and after sitting in it for longer than felt comfortable, we pulled up outside Berkeley Art Gallery.
Mr Gold waited for the driver to get out and open his door, and once he did, Gold got out, not bothering to turn and help me out of the car. The driver reached forward to offer me his hand, but I refused.
“I’m fine,” I told him. “But thank you.”
He smiled and nodded, closing the car door behind me and tipping his hat in response. The driver got a genuine smile from me in return. He deserved it. But when I glanced ahead, I noticed Mr gold hadn’t even bothered to wait for me. He was striding towards the security waiting at the doors to the gallery.
There were velvet ropes along the front of the building, and people dressed in suits and smart dresses were queueing up outside, waiting to get in. Most of them watched Mr Gold with disgust; their noses turned up as he ignored the line and went right to the front.
I did a little speed walk to catch up with him, and when I heard the security guard, I wished I could back away like the Homer Simpson meme and disappear into a hedge.
The security guard put his hand on Mr Gold’s chest as he said, “No. Not gonna happen. I have clear instructions not to let you in tonight.”
Mr Gold pushed the security guy’s hand away and sneered back at him.
“From who? Who the fuck would dare to do that? You know I’m here to work. Don’t you want the gallery on the front page of my newspaper?”
“Rules are rules,” the security guy replied, standing right in the doorway, with his arms folded, blocking Mr Gold from entering. “You’re not getting in. Not tonight.”
“We’ll see about that,” Mr Gold snapped and went to walk forward, but another guard appeared beside the first and asked, “Do we have a problem here?”
The first guard thumbed at Mr Gold, while I willed the ground to open up and swallow me whole. “He thinks he’s getting in. I told him to do one.”
The second guard nodded, like he knew what this was all about and turned to face Mr Gold. “You heard him. Fuck off.”
I knew Mr Gold wasn’t liked in the office, but he was still the editor of the newspaper. He held a position of power in our community, something which meant fuck all, apparently, to the people at Berkeley Art Gallery. Hearing how they were talking to him made me feel total and utter embarrassment. I hung my head, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone as I inwardly cringed.
“This ishisdoing, isn’t it? He’s being an asshole, showing me up in front of everyone out here,” Mr Gold seethed.
I had no idea who the ‘he’ was that Mr Gold was referring to, but I was guessing my night wasn’t going to be as fruitful as I’d hoped. I felt shame standing here, listening to this exchange, wishing I wasn’t a part of it.
Security just barked back, “I’m not at liberty to disclose who blacklisted you, but the facts remain, you are blacklisted, and you’re not welcome here.”
Mr Gold threw his head back and let out a defeatist sigh. I was surprised he seemed to be giving up so easily.
Then he pulled his phone out of his jacket and stated, “I’m ringing the mayor. This is complete insanity.”
He wasn’t giving up.
It wasn’t a defeatist sigh at all.
Mr Gold shook his phone in the guard’s face and added, “Once I get off this call, you’ll be out of a job.”
“I highly doubt that.” The guard sighed. “But knock yourself out, mate.”
Mr Gold began pacing the street, muttering on the phone, but I couldn’t really hear what he was saying. The guard gestured for me to move aside so he could unhook the velvet rope and let the next couple into the gallery. They both looked down their noses at me as they sauntered past and headed inside. I felt like a bloody fool standing here, shivering in the cold.
Then, a chubby hand thrust a card in front of me, and I turned to find a ruddy-faced Mr Gold gritting his teeth and holding out what looked like an invitation to the exhibition.
“I won’t be able to attend this event tonight,” he stuttered, then righting himself, he added. “I have another more pressing engagement. You’ll need to go in on your own, Emma. Get the interviews, take some photos, and do the work you’re employed to do.”
I was speechless.
“But I don’t have a camera,” I stated. “I thought I was here to assist you.”
Mr Gold leaned closer to me, his hot breath blowing in my face, making me recoil as he spoke. “You’ll do what you’re fucking told to do. Use your phone to take photos and make notes. Unless you want to join the unemployment queue on Monday.”
