“Come on, let’s get this bottle open before the hordes descend and confuse us with a fancy Mayfair gallery.”
28
RAIF
Knicker flashes requirethe purchase of at least three full-priced artworks…
I study the bust of a woman—a piece of modern statuary—not an actual woman.
Women other than Lavender seem to hold little interest for me lately.
Given the promise I made on the terrace and the rewards I reaped beyond the flash of her underwear, I should buy every piece in tonight’s exhibition.
I’m not sure Lavender would appreciate it at this point. I’ll buy what’s left to make the night a financial success. But for now, I’ll just keep out of the way.
I dip to examine the figure better. It’s not bronze, though it has a similar patina. Something about it captures my attention.
Wa/orrier.reads the exhibit label. A play on Warrior/worrier. The woman looks like she could be both. I note the artist’s name as T. Marius Homeland.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Primrose appears next to me. Her hair pulled back into a chic chignon makes her look older. Her white shirt and dark-colored skirt give out corporate vibes.
“It’s still for sale?” I guess. There’s nothing noted on the neatly typed card.
“Yeah.” Primrose wrinkles her nose. “Most of the pieces are. People are saying all the right things, all that arty bollocks those kind of people speak, but in monetary terms, the night isn’t going as well as Lavender hoped.”
“Oh, really?”
“More like, oh shit. She’ll be so upset, and you know what that means. Or maybe you don’t,” she adds, eyeing me. “She’ll turn into a stroppy cow because that’s what she does when she’s upset. Me, I just cry and let it all out. Lavender prefers to bottle it. Make a vintage of it. At least, until it explodes.”
“The night isn’t over yet.”
“I think she’s feeling the pressure. Mum’s here. Brin and El. Heather and Archer are coming later, too. All we’re missing is Whit and his lot, but they’re still on holiday. And Daniel, who’s in Thailand and doesn’t seem to have any plans of coming home.”
“That’s good, though, right? Family support?”
“Double-edged sword,” she answers with a sigh. “They mean well, but sometimes Lavender takes innocuous stuff to heart. She pretends she doesn’t, that she’s super tough, but she’s a tender soul under that spiky hedgehog stuff.”
Tender isn’t a word most people would conjure up when they think of Lavender, but Primrose is on the money. Her attitudeis a defense mechanism. You’ve just got to pay attention a little harder to spot those little chinks in her armor. For me, it’s the way she is with Daisy. It’s also apparent in smaller things, like the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not looking. The tactile touches that seem less and less like pretend every day.
“What do you think the issue is? Why things aren’t selling, I mean.” I turn back to the warrior-worrier. “This one is pretty good.”
“This one’s great. But some of the pieces are a bit…” She makes a weighing motion with her hand. “The assemblages are good—there’s been interest in one or two of those. But did you see the metal sculpture pride of place on the way in?”
“Can’t say I did.”
“I’m not sure how.” She slides me a brief glance. “I’d placed it somewhere else but when I popped home to get changed, it had mysteriously made its way to the front of the gallery. It’s certainly…” She taps her index finger against her chin. “Confronting.”
“I guess I should go take a look.”
“Prepare yourself. It looks like a giant metal vagina.”
I chuckle at Primrose’s deadpan delivery. “I think I would’ve noticed that.”
“What’s worse is what the piece is called.”
My mind goes several places, but it wouldn’t do to offer any of them up. “I can tell you’re just dying to tell me,” I answer instead.
“Episiotomy.” She pulls a face. “I didn’t know what it was, and I’mnotglad I asked. Ignorance is sometimes bliss. And the opposite of that makes a girl wince.”
