Love's Rendition
Part 11
by Tragedy88
E-Mail: Tragedy88@goplay.com
Disclaimers: See
Part 1.
Thomas
had insisted I go to his show. He also
insisted I still just call him Thom though everyone around him called him Mr.
Thurbs. He said he hated it, that it
made him feel like his father.
I figured that meant it just made
him feel like an old man.
I wore the dress I’d worn to his
party while Allison wore a conservative knee length dress, with thin shoulder
straps that crossed in the front and ended at her waist in a thin silver
chain. She looked good. Okay, not just good, sexy. It was all I could do to keep my eyes from
straying to where it hugged all her curves.
As we reviewed the collection before
the public and the reporters were allowed inside, Thom walked beside me with a
raucous grin.
“She’s looks good, huh?” he asked.
I blushed furiously but nodded. “She looks good in anything. Allison could wear a burlap bag and still be
drop dead gorgeous.”
Thomas chuckled. “Damn straight. If only I was a few years younger.” He paused. “But then these
days…with queers and stuff-“
“Thomas!” I chastised.
“What?” He turned to me. “Oh, not politically correct, huh?”
I stuck out my tongue at him. “Gay, not queer and stuff. There’s no telling who you’ll offend.”
“Well, I didn’t offend you, did I?”
He glanced at me with a wink.
Oh great, does everybody know? I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know I had it stamped on my
forehead. Who else knows?”
“Only those who take the time to
watch you around her.” He inclined his
head towards Allison, where she stood with one hand on her hip, contemplating
the lighting and placement of one of the pieces.
After a second I looked away. “You don’t have a problem with it?” I asked
quietly. Allison was turning and
walking our way.
“Not at all,” he answered just as
softly. “Well, my girl.” His voice rose as he spoke to Allison. “It looks good. Opens at nine, right?”
“Yup.” Allison paused and glanced around. “What do you think, Grace?”
She turned back to me as a young man stepped up to her side. He had a disheveled surfer look, that worked
oddly well with his dark suit and pinstriped tie.
“It does look good. Chris did a great job,” I answered.
“Thank you, and you might be?” the
young man asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Allison said. “Chris…this is Grace. Grace, this is my assistant, Chris.”
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“And nice to finally meet you,
Grace.” After a second he let go of my hand and turned to Allison. “Five minutes, you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Mr. Thurbs?” Allison inclined her head towards him.
He held out his arm to her and they
made their way to the front doors and the official opening of his priceless
collection to the public for the very first time.
•••
After
he was sure the show was running smoothly Chris approached Allison, and asked
if he could speak to her a moment.
"Sure, anything wrong?"
she asked.
"No, no. Nothing wrong," he assured her. Chris glanced across the room to the young
woman by Mr. Thurbs side. "So,
that's her, huh?"
Allison followed his gaze, then
nodded. "Grace Jordan," she
said softly.
Chris caught the smile on his boss'
face. Well, I'll be, he thought.
"She's a hottie," he grinned.
She turned to him with an arched
eyebrow. "And what do you know
about women, Chris?" she asked smugly.
He chuckled. "I know she looks good in that
dress." He paused. "And I know you haven't been able to
keep your eyes off her."
Allison shrugged. "What can I say? I know how to pick 'em." There was a twinkle in her eyes. Chris
is right, she thought. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off
her. There's...something about
her. I know she's lived on the streets,
been on welfare, ate at the Kitchen....
But, there's more to her then how much money she has or doesn't
have. And I plan to find out what that
is.
"Uh huh, just friends," Chris
mumbled, with a grin.
"Oh you be quiet, you little
chraa," Allison replied. She left
him with raised eyebrows, as she made her way back into the crowd to play
hostess.
•••
The
show had gone over better then anyone expected. It had been in the papers, and termed one of the best and well
executed showings in the history of the gallery.
Now the first snow had fallen;
white, wispy flakes covering the city in a blanket of beauty. But the filth was still beneath it.
The holidays brought more work, and by
that time I was stretching myself pretty thin.
I slept and ate little, traveling between Allison’s, work, and the
apartment. No place for any length of
time. It reminded me too much of when
I’d first come here. Street to
street. Doorway to doorway. Minute by minute.
Allison asked a number of times if I
was all right. I’d shrug, say ‘sure,
fine’ and be on with painting. The pain
increased and my trips to the bathroom lasted longer. Finally I dropped into the walk-in clinic. And all they could tell me was to take a
vacation. I was stressing too much and
working too hard.
•••
One
step at a time, I told myself. Only
another hour on shift. Okay, so you’ve
gotten clumsy these last weeks. Broken
two plates…and the wine glass…can’t forget that.
It’s so hard….
A hand tapped my shoulder and
tiredly I turned to face my boss. I
knew this was coming.
“May I talk to you, Grace?”
I nodded and followed him to the
little alcove just before the kitchen doors, near the bathrooms. “What’s up?”
“There’ve been some complaints-“
“About me,” I interrupted. I held up my hand before he could
continue. “Save your breath. I quit.”
With shaking fingers I tugged at the knot on my apron till it finally
gave way. I tossed it at Donovan on my
way out the door. My whole body seemed
to sag in a combination of relief and disappointment as I hobbled down the
sidewalk to the subway.
•••
I
didn’t go back to the apartment. I
ended up on Allison’s doorstep a day or two later.
“Hi, Vella.” I smiled weakly at the woman holding the
door. “Am I early or late?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Late.”
I looked at my watch. I didn’t think it was off by that much. “Five minutes, Vel, that ain’t bad.”
“Try five minutes and a day.”
“Huh?”
Vella placed her hand on her hip and
stared me down. “Ms. Allison expect you
yesterday and clear her schedule so you paint.
You never show up, Grace.” Her
voice lowered and she leaned around the doorframe. “You all right, Grace? No
drinking?”
“No,” I hastened to assure her. “No drinking. May I speak to Allison? I
should apologize.”
“Not wise.” The maid leaned further forward and dropped
her voice again. “Ms. Allison very upset when you not show up
yesterday.”
I sighed. “I know. I lost track of
the days. Please, Vella, let me
in? I’ll explain to her-“
“Explain what?”
Allison’s deep voice came from
behind Vella. I looked up and away,
ashamed that I still felt that uncontrollable lust roiling through my veins
whenever I looked at her.
“Ah, I see. Grace finally showed up,” she murmured.
My scruffy, torn sneakers were
suddenly very interesting. “I mixed up
the days, Allison. I’m sorry. I can make up the time today.”
“No. I have appointments.”
Allison paused. “Saturday?”
“Okay.” I looked up slowly and found those gorgeous blue eyes watching me
carefully. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
Saturday was a long time away.
•••
(c) 2000, Tragedy88