CHAPTER2
The gallery was on Cañon, several blocks off Rodeo Drive. The front glass wall was framed by Brazilian granite, ivory veined with palest blue, which also covered the floor in the two main rooms. Kari stood by the front windows, examining the first painting that adorned the left-hand wall. When she reached out to adjust the frame, one of the gallery owners rushed up, flapping his arms like a wounded stork. “Kari, dear, please, I beg you. It was perfect.”
She took a step away. Wrapped her arms around her trembling middle. “What time is it?”
“Precisely ninety seconds since the last time you asked.” Tall and impossibly slender and incredibly well groomed, Raphael was born to rule the California art trade. Graham, his partner in life and art, served as a quietly conservative balance to Rafi’s flighty ways. Somehow Graham kept Rafi from simply floating off on whatever stylish breeze happened to blow down Beverly Hills’ wealthy lanes. Rafi stepped over to where he filled her field of vision. “My dear, if confronting your family with the truth frightens you so, why not let us handle this?”
The answer was, Kari wanted nothing more. But her former therapist and closest friend had insisted, in her own gentle and iron-willed manner, that Kari do this herself. And Kari knew the woman was right. Even now, when it meant stripping away the masks that had shielded her all these years.
Graham spoke for the first time since Kari’s arrival. “Here they come.”
Rafi started in, saying, “Kari, dear, sweetheart—”
“Leave her alone,” Graham said.
“Well, really, anyone with eyes can see the poor girl—”
“Rafi, come back here and be quiet.”
Graham might as well have shouted a command, given the way Rafi huffed and turned and scuttled back to the gallery’s second room. Kari unwrapped her arms and took the three hardest steps in years. And stood by the entrance to greet her first guests.
The instant her father rose from the limo, Kari knew he was in one of his rages. The jerky movements of his body, the clenched jaw, the crouched position there by the limo’s rear door, how the driver backed away. Justin rose from the limo’s other side and spoke across the roof. Her father chopped the air between them and poured fury into his phone. All the flavors of her early years were on display in the street outside her gallery event. Her father’s wrath, her brother’s need to play diplomat. She watched Justin round the vehicle and gently but firmly pull the phone from her father’s grasp. While Justin poured verbal oil on troubled waters, her father stomped down the sidewalk, stabbing the air with one fist. Kari remained standing there behind the glass wall. Invisible.
Justin, her older brother, was the spitting image of their father, minus the extra eighty pounds from age and living the rich life. They were both dressed in slacks from three-thousand-dollar suits, striped shirts with white collars and cuffs, flash ties. Her father’s bark was audible through the closed glass doors, but his words were indecipherable. Both men lived for this. Father and son were now partners in one of LA’s most successful agencies. They thrived in the hypercompetitive LA film world, masters of the only universe that mattered.
Kari’s attention became held by how her reflection was planted ghostlike between the two men. She studied herself anew, starting with her outfit of midnight-blue silk slacks, matching Ferragamo open-toe sandals, slate-gray jacket over ivory blouse, pearls Kari had inherited from a grandmother she did not remember. And had never worn before this night. Her hair and make-up were courtesy of a shop Graham had selected. As she watched, the scene coalesced. The two men, the limo, Kari’s reflection, the door standing between them. A portal to a tomorrow she had strived toward and feared for almost three years.
“Graham?”
“I’m here, darling.”
“Would you take a photograph?” She watched him lift his phone. “No, stand farther to your right. Good. Can you shoot me and them without a flash?”
“Hang on and let’s see.” He clicked his phone’s camera several times, then walked over. Showed her the screen. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.” That would become her next painting.A good one, she thought.
Planning her next creative effort granted Kari a remarkable sense of calm. Which in itself was an astonishment, given what she was about to do. Strip away years of ghostlike life. Reveal the woman she was determined to become.
Kari had spent her childhood skirting around the edges of her fractured family. She had had no idea what caused most of the sudden eruptions. Had known only that silence was her safest refuge from becoming a target. Their explosive rages had come with increasing frequency, heightening her desire to maintain a safe distance. When she was eleven, she traded her upstairs bedroom for the pool house. Kari had often suspected it took months before her parents even noticed the change. It was there in her little private space that Kari’s dream and direction and life finally took shape.
She was almost ready when Justin handed back the phone and gestured for their father to join him. As they approached the entrance, Kari told the two men hovering behind her, “Thank you both. So much. For everything.”
Graham took that as their time to retreat. “We’re just a scream away, dear.”
Kari took a long breath and opened the glass door. “Hello, Daddy. Justin. Welcome.”
Her father entered first, gave her cheek a perfunctory peck, and said, “You look very nice, dear.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” Kari had mostly dressed for her mother. Wanting to avoid Beatrice’s lofty disdain, the sniff, the disappointment, the dismissive shake of her head. All the actions that had scarred Kari’s early years. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”
Maxwell Langham shook his head. “Can’t. Not tonight.” He glanced around, a quick dismissive scouting. No work of any artist on his radar. “I’m trying to understand why you felt it necessary to bring us both here.”
Justin stepped up. “Wow. What did you do with my sister, and can I get your number?”
Kari hugged her brother. She had always appreciated Justin in moments like these. His ability to defuse situations with a quick wit and a swifter smile. Words had never come easy to her. “Thank you for making time.”
“No problem. But Dad’s right.” He glanced around the place. “If you wanted us to buy you one of these, all you had to do was ask.”
