Katherine
As expected, the Old Pearl has a queue out the front door. If it wasn’t for the fact that I knew one of the owners, Nicole, I would be right outside with about other fifty or so patrons wanting to have lunch here.
In a matter of weeks, it has become the restaurant in town to be seen at. The food is amazing.
I check my watch. Five minutes late. Robin was rarely late. She better have a good excuse. I don’t like to impose on others and I know a table is being kept for us.
To distract myself, I focus on the artwork near the entrance.
Instantly I compare it to Blake’s work.
Whoever this artist was, he or she was not a patch on my Blake.
Oh dear, now I am already thinking of him as mine. He is not mine. Repeat after me, Katherine, I think to myself, he isn’t yours.
I decide the blues look too artificial. No ocean is that blue. It’s neither pale nor dark. And then there’s the boat. There’s something wrong with the boat. I think it’s out of proportion. Maybe the artist was still learning, a relative of one of the employees.
Someone elbows me in the ribs and I check my watch again. Seven minutes late. Robin better have a good excuse.
My eyes go back to the painting.
Perspective. I suddenly realize the perspective is what’s wrong with the painting. Just as I formulate the specific problem, my thoughts are interrupted by an extremely unwelcome incident.
This time someone knocks me so hard in the back I stumble forward a few steps, nearly knocking into one of the waitresses carrying three plates of mouthwatering food.
Instead of a sorry I hear an ‘oh it’s you.’
Slowly I turn toward the offender. My heart plummets right into my little toe. What the fuck is Dale doing here and who is the slim, big-busted blonde hanging off his arm?
For a few seconds we stare at each other.
I wish for some event to occur that would have me disappear from this space right now. Of course I know this is silly, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing for it to occur. We all sometimes wish for impossible things.
Where on earth was Robin? What was the point of a best friend when she was not there when you really needed her? I needed her right here, right now.
“What have we here?” Dale’s unpleasant voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Hello, Dale,” I say through tight lips. Don’t stoop to his level.
I notice that the blonde says nothing. Like a well-trained poodle, she keeps her right arm through Dale’s and pretends she notices nothing, eyes directed at something or someone in the restaurant.
“Already been dumped?”
The taunt in his voice doesn’t escape me. Despite my best effort not to show any emotion at this tactless remark, my heart feels as if it’s been stabbed by a pointy dagger.
Instead of giving a reply, I raise my eyebrows so as to convey I don’t know what he is talking about.
Dale does one of those fake laughs I always hated.
“You can’t seriously be thinking Blake will stick with you.”
He emphasizes the ‘you’ in a way that leaves me cringing. I know what he’s going to say, like a captain knows his ship is sinking, or a chef knows his meal is ruined, and yet there’s nothing that can be done about it.
Again, I curse my bestie for her tardiness. Then I curse myself for having agreed to come to this restaurant of all restaurants.
“I don’t recall asking you for an opinion.” I finally answer just to say something.
Another fake laugh from Dale. The poodle glances at me and then goes back to staring straight ahead.
“Really, Kath. Everyone knows Blake discards his models like other men discard their underwear.”
I think the analogy is a poor one. I try and remain some kind of composure. I don’t want to lose self-control in public. Not here. Not now.
“What makes you think I’m sleeping with Blake?”
I try and sound casual. In reality my heart is beating so wild in my chest I’m surprised others can’t see it. Despite my attempts to protect myself against Dale’s words, they do hit their mark.
This time Dale leans forward so his face is really close to mine. For the first time I realize how his breath smells like a deceased cat. Had I really once stuck my tongue into that mouth for a kiss? Goosebumps travel up my arms.
“Come on.. Don’t pretend. Everyone knows Blake fucks all his models.”
I feel my cheeks redden at his emphasis.
I resist the temptation to slap him. I force myself to remember how he was having sex with the peroxide woman only a few months ago and here he is with someone different again.
Desperate. He’s desperate and trying to hurt you, I remind myself.
“I don’t know where you get your information.” I say as calmly as I can, my insides a battlefield of world war three. I need to keep my emotions under control. “How do you know I’m posing for Blake?”
As far as I know, no one knows about the painting, particularly since Blake gave me his word it would never be on display.
“I told you,” Dale has straightened up again. “Blake fucks all his models.”
I feel a ringing in my ears and the world goes a little out of focus. Don’t take the bait, I remind myself.
To distract myself I make a fist and dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands until it hurts.
Searching for something suitable to say, I’m distracted by a commotion behind me.
The poodle, Dale, and I turn around at the same time.
No words can express how relieved I am to see my salvation has just arrived.